Demons.
My demons are like a dead,
Decaying branch, when a maggot
Of a fly feasts on the remains
Of a dead soul....
My soul’s gone
Yet my demons feast,
Taking me by the horns,
As I slowly turn into a beast.
With no one to control me,
I start ripping my own skin.









I love this so much, I'm so happy you reached out to me. I really like your poems!
Waw, it's so deep.
nice one