To Humanity,
A disease has nothing on when demons had their grip in me—
Be it when it was in my arm where they perched by my ear, or in my brain where they
Constructed their makeshift Tree of Truth and Lies.
Deceivers fed me from the tree and I would
Eat and hold my stomach past the blackened flesh and maggots.
Fear was a tape worm I contracted drinking their saliva when I called out with thirst.
Good and Evil became a blurred line and a
Hastily scrawled signature signed my Death warrant.
I know he was there and the more I screamed the more he breathed--the more I'd choke on air.
Just steps away from either side of sanity but I was tired of caring. Just like how
Kindness grated on every nerve because I didn't deserve it. And how
Love would have been easy if I had never swallowed the vials of guilt down with every look I had given to any
Man who cast eyes my way months ago. I had become treachery without even meaning to. After, the demons'
Needle-like teeth injected me with thoughts that weren't my own and I was not my
Own.
Peace was an unattainable relic. I began to
Question whether I would be safer in a ward. I even wished for the asylum where I could finally
Rest behind white walls with guards and doctors to keep me
Safe. If they could keep me then I wouldn't have to keep me. But I was
Tormented daily by the demons over things that meant nothing but I couldn't not give them my
Undivided attention. They stole all sight then gifted me with a
Vision that helped me notice these practically invisible things that were
Wrong but became my world to take on. Like tiny maps embedded in my mind where
X marked the spot of shit that I finally broke down over.
Years of plague manifested in physical forms--like the shake of my head—as if telling the voices 'no' would change their mind. The guilt I felt so long ago was ground
Zero for the anxiousness that swept over me like the wings on the Angel of Death who buried me at the bottom of that refurbished wormwood they stuck up as their damned and unholy Tree--the one the Devil carved our initials in.
When he breathes, I breathe.
But if I don't care who will?
But surely I am not the only one who cares if the Devil lives or dies.
signed,
The Devil's Mistress
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