"throneroom" poems
the large wooden door to my throneroom is tossed aside with a bang, an army of demons storming inside. i observe their gathered number calmly. i could **** each and every demon taking part in this revolt with ease. the problem is, i have no fight left in me. i've relapsed into my addiction to human blood, and i have no strength to cut off the rebellion. i'm exhausted, and i keep hearing my own words from that fateful night in the church so many years ago, knowing they could never become reality,
we deserve to be loved
i deserve to be loved
i just want to be loved
so, when the demon army orders me to step down from my throne, i agree. even if they sentenced me to death, i probably wouldn't fight it. yet, the demons are too afraid to attempt execution. instead, they allow me to return to my old profession as a crossroads demon. my work as a crossroads demon was the only thing i've ever felt truly confident in. i loved the job, and I was the best in the business. after all, i am king of the crossroads.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 2:44 PM UTC
On ourn wedding day,
If was to findeth one.....
I'd call her mine queen,
As she'd whisper king,
Yet her whisper shall be heard upward ringing as bells to ourn creator's throneroom!!!
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC