Poetry from a damaged soul

Its smile is death

My demon whispers secrets my demon is my friend. It knows my thoughts and knows the real me.
It smiles at me.
It is me.
I look in the mirror and don't recognize myself.
The demon smiles using my face.
It's smile is like death.
I see my eyes deep within.
You can see the sadness and the cage the old me is dying in.
I can never be myself again.
The demon has me like a puppet.
I hope the demon makes me slit my wrist far too deep.