She possessed a demon inside of her
who lived right outside her heart;
everyone has such a demon,
either too brave
who kills the host and then dies with them,
or too timid
cowering in its home
letting the host live in happiness.
Hers was a cunning imp though;
he knew her as well as she knew him.
He knew exactly how far he could push her
before she died,
and he treasured the game of it.

He loved to crawl out of his home
somewhere beneath her ribs
and flex his daggered claws,
then drag them so delicately
across the tissues of her heart.
He craved her anguish;
her sobs of despair were his meat and drink.

Deeper and deeper
along the same incision
he would run his claws--
so meticulously.
He would continue laboriously
until he could spread open her heart
and swim through her suffering.

Over and over
he would play his game with her
until he knew that she could bear no more.
He always knew when he had to stop,
when she was so close to dying
by her own hand,
and he would retreat to his home,
waiting in a ready patience
until he could come out and play some more.

When he could stand it no longer
he would creep out
and so tentatively drag his crooked claws
once more along their track.
Finding her still balanced before death,
he would scamper in frustration back home,
her lack of tears killing him.
There he would wait some more,
pacing, staring out his window,
his claws held ever at ready.
He needed her pain to live
and he couldn't last much longer without it.

Finally he would be able to stand it no more;
He would hear her laugh and it would sting his ears
until they bled from the harsh vibrations of her joy.
He would let out a terrible shriek
and leap onto her heart once more,
screaming and tearing until his pent-up energy was depleted.
She would cry and suffer again,
and he would know relief.

chisa96 04

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