My chrometophobia, my fear
of money haunts me,
those paper witches of Hades
with numbers painted
on their backs;
the higher the numbers go,
the higher up my fear goes,
 
those paper witches,
flying dragons
with protruding snouts
with fire shooting out,
sporting wings of razor thorns,
carrying blood sucking parasites
on their thorny backs,
flying low and laughing at me,
terrorizing me,
hovering above my pillow,
entering my dreams,
my nightly horrors,
watching me sweat,
tossing me around on my
crumpled sheets,
 
waiting for me to awaken,
to intimidate me
with their shrewdness,
to watch me gaze at their
newly transformed, scintillating,
ambrosial bodies, addictive smiles
covering up their arsenals of evil,
infernal fires in their souls
that come out with one touch
upon their glossy skin, paralyze me,
overpower me with their acumen,
tie my hands up and lead me down
to the pits of hell where
I have no control over myself,
those paper witches, bastards
of my nightmares, my fear of
the monetary, my chrometophobia.

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