My demons they have vacated the crevasse of my mind,
there poison that kept me lingering between the moments
of reality and unseen whispers that told me things I didn't
want to hear.

My reflection is vacant as if in the eyes only myself I can
see, neither the images that they portrayed are visible a
blank screen of thought just looks back at me.
Silence is more vocal, it cuts my wrists in diagonal wisps.

I mummer in uncortralable versions to facilitate the emptiness
that degrades my psyche. In needing of those that left me,
can one remain when parts are removed without vocalization.
My Demons have left me, and the only demon left is me.....