Demon Spawn Poem by Rachael Swiss

We all have our demons.

Mine is large and burly-shaped
Though not as large and burly to you
He has a beard
Or had a beard
And beautiful straight white teeth
They were perfectly built for mastication
As his hands were engineered to be boxing gloves
Without all of that unnecessary padding.

My demon is all-powerful.

He visits me at night
Or sometimes on the train
He keeps my tongue tied and my hands bound
And shoves chicken bones down my throat
To cure me of my ills.

He believes in the stairway to heaven
He stands at the top and stares in amusement
Watching me as I fall
Propelled down into Hell,
The first floor -
I was always so glad that we only had two.

My demon is an improviser.

Cabinetry becomes an imprint
And turns pink skin to green
Sometimes to blue
Sometimes to purple
But red is his favorite color.

My demon can bore holes into my soul with his eyes
And then laugh at me as though I were insane.
He will smile at my redness
Blood rising to my face,
Blood spilling from my face,
And then I must thank him
Tell him that I love him
And kiss him goodnight.

A kiss of the lips for a kiss of the fist.