The Man with the Red Eyes

My demons are writhing just under my skin,

Dancing and waiting whilst evil sinks in.

I’m busted and broken and twisted and bent,

And the breaks in my soul have a poisonous scent.

The dark in my conscience breaks free of the chill,

The monsters in cupboards patient for their fill.

Everything tightens and hurts me and burns,

The man with the red eyes can hear me, and turns…

I’m bursting through black holes and bursting through dread.

I’m spiralling, hurling myself straight ahead,

Through the life, through the death, through the love, through the hate.

I just hope upon hope that I won’t be too late.

My demons and monsters and mistakes define me,

After a long time, I know that I am free.

I am all my flaws, shame, I am all my guilt.

I am all my hate, once my soul is rebuilt.

I am who I was, who I am and will be,

If you peer through my demons you’ll find that they’re me.

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About pasameerday

I haven't got a lot of time to keep you interested, so I'll be quick. I'm a writer from the UK, primarily of fantasy and sci-fi short stories, and occasionally of strange, nonsensical poetry. I like cats, the Sims, and pizza, and I go to sleep to the sound of a keyboard. I've been writing for my entire life; to be honest, I don't think I could ever bring myself to stop. I have a feeling I'm losing you, so I'll bring this to an end before you slowly start to back up, hoping I'll stop talking long enough for you to make a quick getaway. Wait... Where are you going? Hey! Wait! ... Stop!!
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