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Demons.

Sat Atop Shoulders, They Plot.

By Tommy BallardPublished 5 months ago 1 min read
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An Unhelping Hand

The Demon on my shoulder is satiated but my heart keeps grumbling

It's tearing apart, consuming itself, 140 proof and nose powders conspiring together on killing me to make my heart feel less empty,

But if I just keep starving it

Maybe I can learn to live heartless

That demon on my shoulder wouldn't have to whisper in my ears, we'd be partners,

In the sunrise and sunset alike we'd discuss our thoughts and plots with an emphasis on our darkest

There'd be no strings to pull at to draw emotion

No memories that could force regression and cause remorse for a past situation

Nothing but plotting and action and plotting,

Until together we've taken the world,

And if we should fall down on our path and be cast down to the fires of hell,

We'll not for a moment lie down,

We'll plot and scheme and bleed together,

Me and my personal demon,

Until Lucifer himself takes place as our own servant,

And as we sit upon our skull-adorned throne, we'd look upon all of the broken ones, the wretched, the killers, the dregs, all that have been trapped far down here with us too

And we'd cast them swords and fuel our fires

Until we burned straight through the earth,

Until the ground become molten below everyone's feet,

Until we watched all who stayed above slip down into everlasting pain, a pain we're too accustomed to feel,

And we'd take pride at the desolate world we'd left behind,

Because if an evil man can't seize it, we surely won't let mankind.

heartbreaksurreal poetrysocial commentarysad poetryperformance poetry
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About the Creator

Tommy Ballard

I'm a professional writer, a poet, a digital artist and an amateur musician. In my free time, I can often be found pondering magnets, breaking and entering random homes to steal locks of human hair and throwing car batteries into the ocean.

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