Fickle Demon

Fickle Demon

This broken thing,

Through my door it came,



Climbing the nights toxic vapors from my lungs,

My chants of inquisition to the darkness,

The dark,

It took me,

And I see,

A stealthy gloom,


Around my pulser caressed.

This broken thing,

Is stupid.

For now it’s trapped inside me alone.

Till death, It will not escape or take control.

Blessings to the next harbourer,

Of this,

This broken thing,

Of what dark warriors sing.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s