Inside of me is a demon who hides behind my lungs.
He lies in wait to seal my fate to where the innocent are hung.
He drinks my blood and gnaws my bones.
And reminds me daily that I am all alone.
But I don't have to be alone.
He could be my friend.
And the pain would end.
Of course, there would be a price, something to sacrifice.
Something that I hold dear.
Something to ensure the fear.
Inside of me is a ghost posing as my soul.
He drifts within, creating sin while gaining more control.
He clouds my vision and fills my air.
And reminds me hourly why he is there.
But the words he speaks may not be fact.
No witness has proved him right when truths of him lack.
He drowned in the blood that the demon had drunk.
So now the demon owns my soul before into hell I had sunk.
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When Contradicting Images Reveal More Than Logic
I have a history of analyzing the utterly brilliant and soul-touching poetry of Mesh Toraskar. It seems I’m unable to read his poetry and move on with my life, as each line, each half-line, each word is so rich with imagery, references, concepts, et cetera, that it requires taking slow, quiet time to fully appreciate it all. He took quite a long break at the beginning of the year before returning in April with the stunner, “fresh terror to love.” He has published two more pieces since then, one poem and one Feast narrative, both of which I highly recommend. You’ll quickly deduce that I will recommend everything this man has written. Anyway, I promised to come back when words were no longer failing me and I did not. A lot has happened to me and it simply has not stopped, yet this is no excuse for being mute to the following beauty.
By Mackenzie Davis6 days ago in Writers
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