Sometimes I grip my bat so hard, my chapped nails break into my skin.
I inhale my surroundings and spit out the excess misery.
They glare at me as if I were the spawn of Satan. It would explain much if I was.
It's fitting; they all hate me anyways. That's fine. 'Cuz I hate them too. Not sure why everyone gives me the cold shoulder, though.
I roam the city vandalizing everything in sight, maybe that's why.
I've been in every street fight that's come up in the last 13 years. I've been begged to join in gangs. I don't like those.
Been on the streets since I was 7, back then I was spit on while begging for food. Resorted to stealing everything in sight in order to survive. Stabbed a kid for stealing my apple, then realized I had power. I could defend myself. Learned to steal from other homeless thieves like me, got beat up and failed miserably the first hundred times. Stole a bat at the age of 14. My weapon of choice hasn't failed me since. I spray paint **** everywhere I go, beat the **** out of anyone in my way. Everything I "own" is stolen. I'm a thief. A criminal. I survive. People know it, they can smell it, I'm sure of it. .. Though I've been treated the same since I was a kid..
Maybe I'm a demon of sorts. So that's my name.
My name's Demon.
Lately I've been feeling someone's presence. Maybe I spend too much time alone. Like hell if I care, though. I don't need company. .. Still..it's comforting.. It's not a ghost. It's someone out there. It's a girl. She's real.
I used to hang with some alley cat; I'd feed her. The presence reminds me of that cat.
Maybe she wants me to feed her. Maybe she needs protection.