demonology

          remember remember
                       the whispers of november –

                     but wait, this isn’t a revolution
                                it’s not even a rebellion
                           your white flag doesn’t drop anything but morale
                                           the one man army of nothing

              staggered steps and dried tongues,
                       cracked lips begging for Legion
                                          for we are many
                                  and the Unnamed is just many of our names

                         heavy heart and lightened shoulders
                  apostle of darkness and savior only of children
                                step into the parlour
                                            your guardian angel alive

                        a train ticket to home,
                                 small steps childishly dancing
Are you real?
                                              if you are, then I am

                                  and the screaming finally ceases

                          to conquer one’s demons,
                                     you must first accept that heaven and hell
                              are not constructs of the world
                                       but of mankind.      


Based on the book by Andrew Pyper called The Demonlogist (which I HIGHLY recommend).

a better beginning.

tiptoe through the fields
       of egg white and overfeeding
   of newspaper clippings and exit signs
slip through the weavings of those alien to your senses
               and run through terror when the alien comes to life
     blissful paradise does not exist anymore
                    and peace comes with the price
              of the brave
                                 but to gain a universe
                   there must first be
 a better beginning

the shape of your hands

gripped around warmth and song, caressing sharp teeth
and kissing bloodied lips.
no screaming, just silence set against
the crashing waves on an unexplored shoreline,
breaking and sliding back with contentment.

reminders embodied in stainless steel and gemwork
tossing and turning on the thought
of filling your hands
and emptying herself.

a grasp that never slips, holding tight to her wrists
safe and sound while twisted and bound,
in the shape of your hands.