You are so still, silent in the sullen darkness

Pondering the probing questions in your periphery

Demons hunt damsels in the dank night

Stealing their souls with sticky fingers

Dreams are the demon’s desires

Remember only the remains of writhing pain

Touching the cross to bare, tight skin

Feeling the fire burn within your frame

Infested by the infamous indecencies

Of your only other options

Death does his deed with the dead

Whilst you whisper worthless nothings