The Demon of Gadara

A haunted chanting is seeping through my wall.
It sings of rotten places and the Crimson Marquis;
I scream:
“Your world is killing me –
Your words are filling me!”
My mind is torn apart as I make this last call.

My walls are churned by visions of a blazing cleft,
Of hollow words and dreaded dreams,
Of demonic herds and rapid streams,
Yet the whispering mocks the bit of me that's left.

The voices consume my thoughts, seeking for freedom.
“They get their way, I fade away –
  Oh God, my mind fades to grey!”
And suddenly I understand: “We are many, for we are Legion.”