My demons have emerged.
They’re prepared full throttle,
The thirst to devour my soul,
The salivation dripping from their lips,
The scent of death upon their skin,
Hell’s darkness occupied in their eyes.
I could run,
Yet I’m exhausted of this same dance.
I stand, tormented with the lashes of their hate,
And with each tear of flesh,
I see them in me,
I see the loathing and emptiness in my soul,
The hollow within my own eye.
Do I dare fight anymore?
What’s the point of it anymore?
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 9:36 PM UTC
My demons have emerged.
They’re prepared full throttle,
The thirst to devour my soul,
The salivation dripping from their lips,
The scent of death upon their skin,
Hell’s darkness occupied in their eyes.
I could run,
Yet I’m exhausted of this same dance.
I stand, tormented with the lashes of their hate,
And with each tear of flesh,
I see them in me,
I see the loathing and emptiness in my soul,
The hollow within my own eye.
Do I dare fight anymore?
What’s the point of it anymore?
