I'm the skeleton in the closet no one wants to claim,
Blank stare and empty smile etched into my face
By a distracted artist.
The air is thrumming with the crackle of madness.
The life-blood of cruelty flows out of the mouths of those who refuse to claim me, refusing to meet my eyes.
Such disdain!
It must be the burden I'll shoulder,
Outcast is my name.
Having never been possessed by a demon of my own,
I am different.
Beaten down and battered by demons that reside,
In souls other than my own,
Created for those not me.
No demon has claimed me as their own, though many have drawn my blood by the hands of their hosts.
Twin mirrors shimmer in dark, liquid pools they call my eyes,
Reflecting back onto everyone the ever-growing spiderweb of sins that cover their suffocating souls.
I can trace the faultlines on their skin,
As their sorrows seeps through the core of them,
And they shudder at my whisper-soft touch,
So like the brush of wings.
I am the problem for which there is no solution.
Lock me behind closed doors and whisper behind my back,
Let me fade away from time and memory until there is nothing left;
Not an echo of my stuttering heart beat, nor an imprint of my shattering soul.
I shall disengage entirely from the whole of the world.
Floating in the darkness, alone in the absolute silence,
Until the light flares to life and summons me home once more,
To the core of the universe.