The Demons

I have a darkness inside of me, but I will never be controlled. My soul is captured by the shadows of the light. I'm down to my knees, begging for the release. To release my soul from the Devil that's inside of it. He creeps in my mind and shows me what fear is. He shows me the spirits that kill each and at every moment to fulfill their need for blood. I've seen them, I've seen the souls that walk amongst us and hide themselves from the living.
Their bodies surround me in circles. Their piercing noises blow my ears, and make me cringe. There is no comprehension in what I've seen, or what I thought I saw. It's nothing that can be explained, it's something that has to be believed. As their hands reach out towards me. They want to release me from this world, and take my life right from underneath my power. I'm not one of their demons. I summon them from all the pain and the loss they've experienced.
One once asked me what death was like, even though I was living. What it's like to see the dead amongst the living, and wanting to be one of them. I simply responded with the answer of; it's similar to drowning in water, but everyone around you is floating in the water, and breathing in front of your eyes.

She's the little girl I saw sitting on the swing in the park, when nobody else could. Her hair long as her kneecaps, and black as the night sky. Her face was unknown, she wouldn't show. She swung curiously as if something had crept up on her. She's the little girl on the swing that called my name years ago, and still haunts me today. She is the one who allows me to see what others can't. She's the girl who disappeared within my eyes, and never returned. She ran from me, as if I was attempting to do something, or a threat to her nature.
He's the man who watched his lover commit suicide. A man who's wife had enough. She couldn't take it anymore. As she jumped from the reflection in his eyes, and as he watched her body smack the end of the road. His life had appeared over. He wept for his lover, as she didn't answer back, and her pulse was dead. The thoughts of never seeing her again, and him seeing her give up right in front of him, made his decide that life was over for him too. It was too hard to live on a decent life without her, it was nearly impossible. He was meaningless without her, he was worthless, and helpless with the loss of her. He embarked on the gun that he had possession of, and demanded the dead to take his life for him. As he waited for the miracle, the trigger was pulled. Through his temple, went a bullet representing loss and pain through the eyes of a lover. He died that day, but he truly died when he saw his beautiful wife's soul be taken from her by her own demons. His marks described a man in which suffered great pain and loss. Cuts on his arms, wrists, barely visible to my eyes. His face was gentle, and showed compassion and sympathy. He came to me at a time when I didn't need anyone, when I didn't want anyone. He found me. He retrieved me from my bathroom, with a razor to my hips. I took one glance up at the mirror, and saw his wonderful face waiting for the razor to hit the ground and out of my hands. I spoke, only to have him say nothing in return. He made his way over to me, caressing my wrist full of cuts, and my hips covered in blood, and created his own mural of his name in my blood. His name was Ben. He came to me, he found me, he almost stopped me, and he cared for me. He returned, only to be my protector. He watched over me, and never stood less to help me.
She appeared mysterious, and never spoke, nor did anything towards me to show any gesture, or suggest a past. Her wedding dress as long as the floor and beyond, the train ripped to pieces and blood covering the front of her breasts and her torso. The pain and torture in her eyes when she looked at you could make you think that she was a threat, or at least screaming on the inside for someone to save her. She never made a sound, not a noise. Her mouth opened, only to attempt to make a noise to come out. Nothing, nothing came out. Her silent screams made her vulnerable in the house I met her in. Her walk became a limp, and her arms were intensely stiff. Her arm reached out for me, with one hand on her mouth; trying to cover her screams, as if she didn't want to be found or saved.

These are the lives that were lost in a fight, in a war against their inner demons. The Devil is inside all of us. He creeps up in all of us every once in a while, we just don't notice. We shake it off as if it was something concerning a matter we didn't want to discuss. He is taking over the mind of all of us each and every single moment, we just don't see. Sometimes he comes out to play, and sometimes he plays his game, and sometimes; he wins.