My demons will be the end of me,
Yet, they’ve unsuccessfully tried so many times before, endlessly.
Tonight however, an old adversary returns with an archaic fiendish blade
Accompanied by modern capsules of nightshade.
Now, it’s time to begin, shall we?

Darkness envelopes me, silencing my every plea.
The devil in my mind escape through the shadows, finally again free.
Fresh carvings onto my rugged canvas, wine red ichor flowing.
My demons will be the end of me.

I lose focus, light disappears from my soul as I attempt to flee.
I lose consciousness, I beg for comfort but I know there is no guarantee.
I lose sensation, death’s finality encroaching, I've never been so afraid.
Yet, I fear nothing as I begin to feel bliss drifting off into the dead sea.
My demons will be the end of me.

i see the light
just out of reach,
out of touch.

the slow fade
from that life
grows ever more
each day.

yet,
there still is
that slow burn
that She yearns for,
that She craves.

Her voice sprouts
in the back of my head,
filled with hate.

Her ever vile laugh
filled with such sin,
such guile.

my mind blocked
by the burn
of Her ire.

i’m sorry,
i failed to stay happy
like you strived to do.

i still trust Her lies,
i still fear the pain,
i still hear that flame.

my serrated anxiety
dictated by Her
warped reality.

She’s still in my head.

Artist painting
Erratic strokes
Devil on his shoulder
Guiding the hand
Playful smile
One more stroke
Go faster,
Get that corner,
Deeper
The artist puts down his brush
Covered in a red ichor.
The devil stares at the artist
Yet the artist stares back
At his devilish companion.

Sorry old friend,
I missed the finishing stroke.
Looks like we’re going to
Try again some other time

I see your cold blue eyes,
Piercing through your golden cloaked hair,
Glaring at me.

Just as the sun sets in the west,
You rip away all light from my soul,
Absorbed by your black void.
You are the impending night,
That I fear will shut away the
Radiant sun.

.

I see your warm brown eyes,
Held by the crest of your smile,
Glancing at me.

Just as the sun rises in the east,
You radiate your light over the horizon,
Illuminating the new day.
You are the rising sun,
That I crave to wipe away the
Endless night.

An artist once again inspired,
Ready to create his art.
Sleek metal against a rugged backdrop.
Carefully coordinated strokes caress the canvas,
Yet erratic to the bystander.

An old friend assists the painter.
Carefully guiding his hand.
More strokes here,
More colors there.
With a devilishly playful smile,
And a hopeful stare in his eyes,
As he awaits the artist’s masterpiece.

Finally, the artist finishes his work.
He puts down his instrument,
Covered in red paint,
He admires his newest edition to his gallery,
Smiling.
Yet is met with a disappointed frown.

Ha-ha.
Sorry old friend,
It seems that
I missed the most important stroke.
Don’t worry old friend,
I still have enough inspiration,
To try again.
Some other time.

Standing tall at the edge
Of the coast’s corroding groin,
You radiate.

Your amber hair entangled with
The whispering western wind,
Just as Zephyr carried Venus to shore.

Your ethereal and luminous glow
paused in that moment
of the approaching sunrise.

The light trickling through
The gloomful veil to smile at you
Just as the glimmering goddess.

Your warm brown eyes,
Held by the crest of your smile,
Glancing back at the light.

You radiate your light over the horizon,
Illuminating the new day,
Just as the sun rises in the east.

Just as the Birth of Venus

The alluring woman of rose,
Of amber hair and pale white glows.
Insatiable ire, springtime flirt.
Gentle, but provoked is to hurt
And maim, blind to all your woes.

Gleam of chocolate eyes expose
Her strong fabricated repose.
A sense that hides the extrovert,
Woman of rose.

A broken foundation that shows
Under the mask that juxtapose,
She remains radiant, unhurt.
A sense that blinds the introvert,
Filled with dreadful and crafted prose,
Woman of rose.