Demons

The demons are watching,

I see their pearly teeth grinning in the darkness of my mind.

Their fleshless fingers scratch into my skin,

but the wounds are only available for my eyes. 

They sit on my back,

they hold my hands.

My companions whisper a soundtrack 

of their thoughts deep in my ears with their silky voices.

They place wilted roses in my heart,

and leave stains across my eyes. 

All the dead and dying things hold the breath of decay,

I breathe from dusk until dawn; the breath of my demons.

The scent of their decomposing skin lingers on my skin,

my hair.

Only I can see my demons,

only I can hear their murmurs, their snarls.

Their eyes reflect the writhing pain inside my head,

dark and all consuming.

When the salty tears drip down my cheeks, 

their voices coo and their fingers caress my skin.

When I lay in the dark, I can feel them pressing in on me,

seeing me off into a nocturnal haven.

Their decaying faces swirling inside my head, 

inside my dreams. 

The disintegrating flesh upon their cheeks twist into a smile,

 as they ward off my nightmares.

Hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder,

they stand in a circle and protect my fragile dreams.

They pick out the glass shards,

kiss my wounds.

They laugh and smile and encourage the happiness,

the happiness I find in the world of unconsciousness. 

As I rise in the morning,

they wipe the sleep from my eyes and pull me unwittingly away from the warmth of my bed.

My hands are full,

full of the hands of the demons that lead me onwards.

Their hands are large,

and the skin is stretched taut.

They walk with limps,

and use me to steady themselves.

Little ones crawl on my back and play peek-a-boo in my hair,

their cooing and cackling riveting and rebounding up my spine.

Throughout the day, my demons, my companions,

they trace with their grimy nails across my skin.

Hearts of blood and crudely drawn smiling faces line my arms,

only visible to myself. 

My demons are watching,

closer than the humans do.

Creatures of death by heart,

they leave me with such impressions- only just noticeable to humans.

They've attached themselves to me,

they want to help me.

But they're simple creatures, 

programmed to think of sorrows and darkness. 

They're trying, though,

trying harder than any body else. 

They leave the wilted flowers in my heart with good intentions,

and they paint across my eyes pictures that they want to cheer me up. 

My demons are watching,

I see their pearly teeth grinning in the darkness of my mind. 

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

"they stand in a circle and protect my fragile dreams.

They pick out the glass shards,

kiss my wounds.

They laugh and smile and encourage the happiness,

the happiness I find in the world of unconsciousness."

A very interesting poem...Thank you for sharing...:)