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.