They come without knocking,
sliding in like oil across water-
slick,quiet, certain.
A whisper with teeth,
they chew the edges of reason
and spit them back like bones.

Behind every smile,
a blueprint for destruction.
Not of cities,
but of certainty.
Of peace.
Of self.

The mind,once garden,
becomes furnace-
where innocence burns
not out of malice
but curiosity
grown monstrous.

No blood spilled,
yet the soul bruises.
These thoughts don't shout.
They murmur.
They ask questions
you shouldn't know how to answer.

And still,
you listen.