Your Poetry Dot Com - A euphemism for murder

I feel it now. A shroud of emptiness, disrupting all hope around me. A burden and a reminder of my monolithic misconception of what love was. Beating me down, I feel drowned in a sea birthed of my own fallacies and treacherous idiocy. I look desperately for some glimmer of light, some faint ray of salvation to pierce the abyssmal shroud of hopelessness, but my prayers are met with the coldest silence.

In my arms I am holding something. It seems as if it were a person, or used to be. The body is cold and lifeless, just a shell of what it was. I touch its frozen face and gasp with the realization that I know this person. It is my love. I try to wake her but despite my most feverish attempts she will not respond. Her face and neck once full of warmth and soft to the touch, now lie hardened and drained of any emotion or feeling. I scream... I scream to god, I scream to myself, I scream to nothing. My angel lies in my arms, motionless, and there's nothing I can do to bring her back. My tears strike her face and run down her neck as I put my lips to her forehead and give a soft kiss.

But what happened? How am I here, and why is my angel lying cold in my arms? Think. What happened? My mind reels with effort as I recount the events that foreshadow my current situation.

I remember... A demon. A strong demon. A demon that tortured me perpetually. He is a liar and he is a heartless barbarian. He feeds on the ambitions, hopes, and expectations of other people in order to satisfy his lust for recognition and respect. He is never what he appears to be, and changes shape once cornered. He uses tricks and lies to gain trust and love then dashes his reward to pieces, much to the suffering of the one rewarding him.

This demon killed my angel? No... Yes... Well, yes... But I gave him help. I remember... The demon stays in me always, despite any effort to remove him and despite my pleas for mercy he will not vacate. He controlled me when I met my love. He spit forth his flattery and his lies and helped draw her near to me. The lies were weaved seamlessly, such as a masterwork piece of tapestry, and my love then became just that, my love. But the demon can't control me always, I can speak for myself in certain moments of weakness for the demon. I tell her I love her with all my heart and I will always be there for her no matter what she needs. We look into each others eyes and she breathes a lovestruck sigh... The most sincerity I have ever witnessed from myself. Control doesn't last long, however, and the demon has command again. My eyes grow dull and my speech only mimics sincerity. The demon spits lies from my mouth like an unholy fountain. Each lie more daring and pathetic than the last.

As she swoons at the beautiful tapestry of lies and deceit, I watch from inside myself and unsuccessfully attempt to stop the demon. He is much too strong for me.

As time passes, she grows increasingly aware of a malicious presence within me. As true as my heart and love are, she begins to see the tapestry created by the demon for what it is, and she grows doubtful of my intentions. Soon she sees the whole tapestry and questions me about its origin. I can tell her nothing that she has not already perceived for herself. She knows of the demon, and his hold on me.

She places her soft hand on my chest and attempts to draw the demon out. The demon becomes flustered and fights her. I only watch as she struggles with the beast. Why I did nothing baffles me now, but as it happened I was powerless. She fought the demon courageously. The battle lasted for seven months. Finally, she fell to her knees, covered in sweat and fatigued from the fight. She looks up at me with heartbreaking tears in her eyes. "Why won't you help me?" She says to me. I struggle with the demon for a while but he laughs at me for trying. He is as strong as he ever was. "I can't do it baby... I can't remove him." I say to my love.

"We will fight him together then." My love says to me as she stands to her feet, apparently feeling rejuvenated. The demon, however, has a strategy that would ultimately end in our defeat.

My love struggles with the demon and I join her in the fight, but the demons rage gave birth to a diabolical notion. He tells us we do not love each other. He tells us that we could not possibly be happy together. He plants seeds of doubt that flourish in our hearts. We give up the fight and we turn on each other, ready to kill.

We struggle... I win... If that's what it's called. My love is dead... My angel, the light of my world, the glint of hope and happiness that I had in an otherwise dark, lonely, and painful existance, has been extinguished. I cry... For all that I am worth I cry and I lament. No amount of remorse will bring her back. No apology, no words, no actions will help me. The demon comes out of me and for the first time I see his face. He is putrid, ugly, and his skin is dark and leathery. He smells bad, real bad. Like garbage, or rotting meat. Not at all like how he said he'd be... I hold my love and I wish for an option. With all my heart I want to be buried in the dirt that I stained with her blood. But that familiar voice speaks to me, almost snakelike with its flattery and insincerity. "At least you have me."

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