Demons

I don't normally write
About my innermost,
Age-old guerilla-fight,
The warfare of un-faced ghosts,
Who steal across my mind
When I'd need it the most.
They watch me go left, right.
All is well, fingers crossed...
Not quite. My barcode life
Paced and measured and dosed
In words. I cut and paste, my
Demons watch, watch, watch, forced
And curbed: they bide their time
Behind click-shut windows,
Noses pressed flat, eyes wide.
I press enter, still not sold.
Delete, undo, hold tight...
Spell check- and then I'm floored.
" You you you you," I find
Typed through and through, in bold.