Growing Up

In which I write about what I feel needs to be written about.


1. The Demon

Words don’t mean anything

Actions bite

Empty promises and broken trust

Are the Demon’s staple diet.


Surrounded by darkness

The Devil feels at home

With blue and grey all around

Nobody questions him, freely he roams.


With his black cloak

And the swirling clouds around him

The Demon makes its way

Toward your poor, innocent soul.


You aren’t the same

Once he leaves

His presence and uncanny threats

Are sparing you scanty.


With tattoos of knives and arrows

And thoughts of killing and dying

The Demon is now laughing evilly

His mission has been accomplished.


Another Demon

has been born

right out of

the ashes. 



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