The demon whispers in my mind
It fights to win my soul
The victim is close to being freed
Now the fallen one wants me whole
My clerical collar means nothing
Nor does any of my vestments
My faith has been made weak
The exorcisms have been far too taxing
I can feel it now
The demon is tearing out my life
I feel myself pressed against the ceiling
I look down at my pale and dead self
My body spins suspended in air
My skin is being ripped off my body
Blood splatters the room's interior
I roar through the voice of my demonic host.
The nails pierce my hands and feet
A sharp item pierces my rib cage
I'm impaled against the wall
I remain alive in all the pain
The demon has me now
A grisly prize fit for hell
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SO BECKONS THE NIGHT
HorrorA collection of horror shorts/poems comprised over a two-year period.
