A boy and his deamons: concept 1

Staring into the dead lights

I see them staring back at me in the mirror

My own reflection an incantation

Summoning the devil to bed with me

She thrusts me into her abyss

 

Cold to the touch and still

Please carry me home

Dear God please carry me home

 

My place without comfort

My own image distorted

My underwhelming vanity

My frail grip on your sanity

Hold me close enough

To keep me at arms length

And put me to rest

Done