I shouldn’t want demons to miss me. When they miss, they hunt. When they smell flesh they can’t help but seek. 

I hate myself for hoping they miss me. 

Don’t draw blood or they will come. They will come sniffing and I will forget to run. Rattle their cage and I won’t have the strength to keep them at bay. 

Shear memories aren’t enough to stop me from venturing in their cave. I need a fight and  taunting them not to behave.

When did crazy spark each synapse in my brain? When did wild become feral? When did I weaken into wishing for more; wishing he’d just show up at my door? 

I don’t have the will power to stay. I need to run. I need to run away. 


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