Demon Hunting

We fall inside a sphere of masquerade and fear,

Streaked blood and dust all through, like little walls

Built of vanishing cards and formless souls.

Insistent and persistent lies, I idolize;

Above all else I worship any proof

That lies are real, more than the ugly truth.

And gladly death would take me in his purple hand

And squeeze me till I bled like warm, fresh juice

Into his cup. Look up; there's no excuse.

Full twenty thousand years, and half that time spent lost,

A laugh cracked out, unnoticed, edged, serrated.

Those who can hear it now are overrated.

An eye turns upward glinting like diamond facets:

Cold, wet, made of white marble with red veins...

And devoid of all that heals or sustains.