So the demons visit
Me in my dreams.
They force me to
Pose for pics-
Sometimes against the
Hazy background of my
Mind or sometimes
Against the hormonal
Patterns in the night.
There's one against
My growling belly and
One against the worms
Crawling in my veins.
Every morning I find
Them hung to my gut
And I've to look at
Them real hard before
I begin my day.
Night by night and
Day by day, years have
Passed like life is a
Compulsive painting-
Dark strokes everywhere.
No room to breathe.
Light hesitantly enters at
Weird angels and leaves
Before it can brighten up
Within here-
I found myself clicking
Selfies one day.
Habitual, conditioned-
It was unbelievable.
Maybe possessions
Work like that..
Demons work like that.
Maybe art works like that.
Your face constantly
Shifting to fit into
Whatever the heck you
That wants to come out
Making a noise-
Till one day when you're
Convinced that the
Demon that chased you
Was versions of yourself-
And all art is looking
Daily in the mirror.