
Demons

What happens when the
Angels become demons?
When those you listened
to for so long as Angels now
scream and howl as if they
were demons?
When those you loved
burn and stone you
upon your own sweat
and tears and broken
promises because they
themselves know not of
peace and happiness?
There is none that do good,
that the blood of those we
let go stain our souls, and then
who is the real demon here?
The innocent or the bloodthirsty,
the charmed or the damned,
the alive or dead?
Three demons stand by my bed,
one with no jaw and brain, one
with tear stains on her cheeks
and blood on her teeth, the last
with burns and cuts from the
earth meeting skin and a demon
pulling the strings in his head, his
followers no longer followers but
those who wish to send me to salvation
but those eyes I can never seem to remember
the color of draw me closer and closer
to the edge and darling, I can no
longer decide what is real and what isn’t
because those whispers in my head
wish a fantasy to reality that I
want to be true but I know will never be
because those Angels have become Demons and
those promises they set to keep are
now as worthless as the flesh on my bones.
He has left us but slivers of hope
and a false sense of safety in the
words he says, the promises he promised,
in the lust in his soul and the hatred
he keeps alongside in an intricate
and macabre dance of hurt and love
that some part of my soul yearns to have.
The demons call and scream and cry
and echo noises from the past that the
followers want gone but my love, as if it
were ever so simple.
Cuts and blood and burns and scrapes
and tears that feel like daggers carving through
the soul, they must have a meaning, right?
The demons are here for a reason, yet
I cannot decipher their words to say what it is.
Being a vagrant hurts, my love, wandering
from home to home and love to love and being
rejected because I, myself, am a demon
amongst you, diseased and rotten, unable
to find a place in the world.
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