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Shane Lee May 7
There is a belief that Angels are pure
And Demons are evil.
Why is there the belief Angels are pure?
Why is there the belief Demons are evil?

The gruesome, dreaded, and terrifying Angel of Death
Is just the kindest and most merciful of demons.
The hated, haunting, and sinful Demon Lord of Hell
Was once ethereal and a beloved Angel.

One does the job appointed to it - but this brings hatred, fear.
The other only being what it was created to be, but this is NOT in
     the best interest of humans.

What distinguishes the Angels from the Demons?
One is Pure and one is Sin?
Would that mean God creates purity within sin and sin
     within purity?
Or is that we? Is that human?

Do we interpret such beings as we humans would interpret a myth?
Or do we cling to such things as truth
     for fear that we are inadequate because we choose to be
          rather than because we were created that way?

There are times when the only company are Demons.
There are others where Angels are the reason we are alone.
They are not always doting.
They are not always viscous.
Are we simply insignificant?
I MEAN NO DISRESPECT TOWARDS ANY RELIGION!!
That being said, I just have so many questions on how we view religion itself and the beliefs within them. There was sooooooooo much I wanted to write but it was just sooooo long lol
Anyways … I hope this is enjoyable and is READ AS POETRY rather than an attack on religion or belief.
© Shane Lee
Red Robregado Apr 13
Devious legions lurking in broad daylight,
fiercely wandering like they always do;
preying on willing souls for centuries,
luring them by offering fantasies
But ****** are they—young Wormwood and Screwtape—
until men start slaughtering each other  
for tacos; flesh and blood jump to Sheol.
m lang Feb 1
we've been playing for months, yet
i am no longer the master of my own game.
i sit and wonder, "how did i get here?"
without ever truly questioning myself.
simply because i knew.
it is as though I am currently without a name.
considerably since "This" is no longer Me.
who I am, who That is,
                I am no longer certain.
I have simply become a replica of Its impression on Self.
      "tick tock, tick, tock."
the arrogance of time refuses to stop,
and "now" becomes a fleeting "then"
as My life slips through "Her"
into a dazed, drunken phase.
time only lingers in the present
for those who are truly Present.
Her time is lost, so what is My time
when the days blur together?
"Her" memory sanitized and wiped cleaned.
***** cleans wounds, right?
Dissociation to self,  the insouciant desire to care.
an erratic, chaotic, tumultuous torrential downpour.
I'm theatrical sure, but passionately so.
"Passion," i'll drink to that.
                   "Pain" has me pouring another,
                                                    and another.
"Reward me," and we'll cheers to the clear liquid that
warms my throat with each increasing gulp.
"Relax." you worked hard, take one or two.
              Six deep, Seven's the magic number,
                          plus, what's one more?

yet one will never be enough.    "sleep or shoot."
            
                            don't forget to swallow.
                            you know you love it.

stop saying no when You can say "yes,"
and stop holding back, when I'm telling You "NO."

                         stop fighting...
                                                ...su­ccumb to the misery.
  
 besides, just one pour will make it all better.
9-8-2022
m lang Mar 3
i'm at war.
but how do i fight
my own demons?
how can i pull myself down,
when they push me above.
above my conscious layer,
in the ego is where they thrive.
if i can submerge
into the subconscious,
if my will aids my side,
i will fight
and i will survive.
EliMay Mar 4
I breath
I see
But why?

I am the same
as a mere shadow
of nothing more then
flesh and bone.
A thought
A dream

Me
Just me.
Alone
But never Lonely
Afraid
But never Scared
Real
But Unreal
Sane
Yet Insane
Lost
And never Found
Alive
Yet also Dead.

Darkness
Loneliness
Frightened

I am a thought
A Dream
A being of flesh and bone
One that no one will see
I see you crystal clear,
A lover’s lust away…
For I dine with darkness,
Bidding you as your seer…
You shouldn’t have met me,
Playing with my dear blood…
All it takes is one spell,
Rising hell from the mud…
Fixed suns will bring famine,
All your love with starve out...
Begging God for mercy,
You will receive Mammon…
What love you have is lost,
Only for demons crossed…
Jordan Gee Feb 23
It all started with a walk through a graveyard.
We came to sprinkle glitter,
we came to ring the claw bells,
we came to read the eroded epitaphs on 200 year old tombstones.
Instead we found a “working” aimed at killing someone.
A black bird without a head.
Lopped clean off.
Some kind of voodoo.
Consecrated with a dark blessing by a tombstone.
Naturally we took the bird home.
Laid it out back in the freeze.
It was a “working” aimed at killing someone.
A santera over on east King street informed us of the details.
Told us to burn it and take a sweet bath.
Told us to put water next to the door to catch the demons off our shoes,
tracking in all the demons off the street.
I put water next to my bed to catch the demons in my sleep.
I wondered to myself just what exactly was going on.

A cat got to the bird before we could
but it left us the wings by the fence in the yard.
Monica stretched them open and now they are drying in the garage.
A set of wings to fan the smoke once we light the sage on fire.
I didn’t have a good feeling.
I wanted to burn the black bird.
I wanted to stop the “working”.
I wanted to leave a green pumpkin for Oshun by the waterside.
But instead I only watched it lying on the leaves
out back under a tree
from the kitchen window each time I did the dishes.
Then one morning it was gone,
but I didn’t say anything.
I thought about other things until I saw
the stretched wings in the garage,
until I pulled the Raven card from
the Oracle deck.
Black birds came to visit me.
I was advised I better start getting crafty.
I had been diligent with the water by the bed.
I purified the demons with the singing bowl every morning.
I bless my demons in the water so they don’t use
my mouth to scream
and my eyes to cry.
But the raven came to see me still.
The one without a head, and the one in the oracle deck.
And the ones that fly around the power lines outside where I walk,
cawing and cackling in a crooked ******.

Fancied myself a priest
baptized by the Holy Spirit
home of the Sacred Feminine.
Found myself screaming in hysterics like a little boy in his blanket
after he's told nothing shall be as it was.
So much for the priest hood.
So much for the New Earth.
I pulled the Tower Card.
And that,
along with the ravens
and old man Saturn…
I had never been so afraid for my body in my life.
Now we walk around town and find bird heads on the sidewalk.
Starlings, and a little wren.
I learned my demon’s name is John and that he stands behind me.
Big and wooly like a wild thing on two legs.
He doesn’t fit in a glass of water
so I brought him to the Lemon Street Cemetery
and said bon voyage.
Buried him by a gravestone tree stump and said the prayer of two deaths.
The walk home smelled like ginkgo nuts
and the dust from the crumbing of the Tower hasn’t settled yet.
Now it’s as if I've been inoculated.
I lost my sense of taste for a week and didn’t break a sweat.
I’ve pulled the rug out from under my own
two feet so many times
that if I don’t learn to levitate
my poor tailbone won’t have a chance to heal.
Home of the root
Abode of the World Serpent.
I wasn’t prepared for what was awoken within me
that day up in the promised land,
and it's been climbing my spine ever since.
Now I bless the water by my bedside every night
in case John comes back to roost.

I cover my floors with happy feet
I paint the walls with candle light
I light frankincense and tie prayers to the smoke
I watch them float to heaven
I ring a singing bowl
I put the demons in the water and I drink them.
I see the demons i forgive the demons i am the demons
Brett Feb 6
My lucid sleeping has drawn the gaze
Of these dream demons that scheme against me.
This time of night, even the monsters have slinked away
Back inside their closet.

You have not known fear, rational or otherwise,
Until you lie powerless to the paralysis
That the dream demon wields so elegantly against me.
Like gripped by a vice, my body is held stiff.

My eyes wide open, or so my mind is led to believe
By the amorphous foe playing tricks with my deepest grief.
Contorting memories into the present moment,
A bedroom near identical to my own.

Hospital white walls, and the same clothes strewn about.
A faceless lady lay next to me, curved in shadows. My hand
Reaches out, but hovers just shy, as if set in stone.
Why can’t I move? One more attempt proves of little use.

The faint rustling of hands through silverware drawers echoes
Off a cold kitchen floor, bouncing off hallway walls, and
Slipping through my ajar bedroom door. Little hairs
Render salute, as the sound crawls like ivy up my spine.

Just then, I am stabbed by six figures seven times and burned
Alive, but yet I do not die. Oh how I struggle to move
An inch or two, but this formless force denies. I demand
The demon speak to me, but before the thought can make its move
The loop repeats. I never die, but I always bleed.
Apbrooke Feb 4
my demons are shameless autarch
and every day they legislate foreign trades
throughout my body‘s jurisdiction.
without my consent,
they would just enforce their laws
rejecting my constitution.

they demanded i remain despondent
and insisted i shouldn’t sleep at night.
my demons compelled me
to be nocturnal and chaotic
and even at times when i needed help,
they expected me to swallow the pills
of solitude and taciturnity.

they are barbaric executors.
when i attempted to defy,
they perpetrated extrajudicial execution
against me as though i have no rights
over my body.

my monsters are desperate thespians
and regard me as a colosseum.
they would gather their patrons and comrades
to witness the fireworks display
exploding from the inside of my head.
there was a night when they invited
special guests—anxiety and depression —
these two are atrocious, but they’d become
a hundred times more ruthless
when they are in unison.

that night, my monsters made me a courtesan.
they made me dance —
swirled around the two,
stripped my garments off.
by three, at dawn, anxiety, and depression
turned out to be nymphomaniacs.
they satisfied their hunger through me,
they colonized my mind,
rummaged my innocence
and left me ****** up before sunrise.

my demons are unmerciful
however, loyal:
nighteen years
and they are still with me.
they’re staying.

my demons are also my crony,
they always come to keep me company.
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