There is a Demon in the street.
I see it crawl from the gutter
Torn shirt, bloodied knees,
A bloodied forehead too.
Now stumbles to a streetlight
A mournful, wretched view.
Its skin is pale of a borderline
Transparent hue.
Storming eyes of blue
Burn to a manic purpose.
A purpose it wished it knew.
But the mind is a master magician
Showing us the world we want to see.
As the Demon reared its head it gazed at its own reflection
Then
  Realized,

  That it was me.