I see Demons
in my sleep.

Their fingernails
scratch my eyelids until
little loose licks of skin
bleed
and the tears
come down
in torrents
the color of fingernails
and hell.

One descended
on me
one night,
landed on my chest
as a black raven
with green, wilting eyes.

I'm going numb, I can't feel
pain, or hatred,
or even love.

And if I do,
I let the demons devour it
until
hell is senseless
and the black-footed,
white-winged
demons
return
to flip me over
and eat what's
left of the meat
inside my rib cage.