Skunk Daemons

The Whisper Skunk,

corrupted brain.

perplexities remain the same.

The cold, hard, cruel ledger.

All created shall be severed.

If only angel wings allow,

the pentagram upon the bow.

Twisted roots around my frame,

shall it all remain the same?

Can you hear the demons singing?

Heralds sweet, anthems ringing.

Soul of fire burning bright,

a torch to quench this awful light.

Moonlight strikes the pale skin,

desecrates the heart within.

Black lips and silver eyes,

slowly raised to ebony skies.

A spot of light shatters in sound,

a subtle screech twists the ground.

Sanity; is ebbing in.

Filling up the void of sin.