There are things hidden behind walls of homes
seemingly perfect allusions- illusions for living
with peace, or pretending, just to keep ties together
-blood-drenched ribbons of red or violet for silent grievances

for souls once screaming prayers in the day for the night to stop
as nightmares keep ruining, and stabbing the trying to be healed
by illusions that people grow with love, not pain, and changed
in time, not painted, by colors of  black and white, pretending
to be good or bad like riddles, trying to get rid of the other devils

not the angels, but monsters, or the devil, or the demon in a nightmare
frightening the child inside the cage, of seemingly strong bonds of love
preventing cries to be heard, shoo to the bad spirits, shoo away the ruins!
but the cracks are still there, thrown far to be forgotten, or to believe
that demons can grow wings of angels, and break their horns in time
-for the need to keep the ribbon tied, and bleached to keep clean from stains.

but the feeble child was still there, behind the walls, weeping
a weak angel screaming curses from his heart, remembered
though I’ve grown horns and tails for breaking His laws.
now I am awakened, but the white walls are still there
and the ribbon still tied, but the stains are marred, still fresh
like the demon  still not forgotten.