Demon Nights

There are times we can't tell reality from dreams.

Demon Nights

As if it were their God given right,
demons chase me through the night,
inside a mirror, straight to hell
or morning's sun, who can tell?

Awakened by the sound of my own screams,
not knowing for sure if it was a dream
or a journey through the secret door
under the bed, in the floor.

Down rotting stairs that groan and creak
as, in terror, I silently creep,
hoping that what I find won't be
a blackboard showing the dark side of me.

White scratched on black in a jerky scrawl,
there, my worst secrets, for one and all
to stop and read, and be amused..
The tale of a soul who's been abused.

Does everyone living life on earth
really believe they're the first
to do what they swore they'd never do?
Is each person's pain really brand new?

I stop a moment,  just sit and think,
then fill my cup and slowly drink
the blood of the wounded, dying and dead,
drowning the demons who live in my head.