Creative Writing





When The Demon Buys You Flowers - Poem.

When the demon buys you flowers,
says ‘for you my love,’ scorns the sternum;
tears at the seraphic petals for divinity.

If I peel away layers of my skin,
will you stay?
If I pick up the petals
rearrange them back into your palms
will it be enough?

If I swathe you into silence
turn myself into an angel,
will you wait?
If I give away my wings
recite inta damain, inta damain,
will you listen?

The demon presses his head against the coffin,
whispers ‘I need you now,’ traces the centre.

If I pull apart my organs
tear my soul at every seam,
chant love songs from the afterlife;
beckon you into reverie,
if I carve out the world in the theology of your veins;
map out constellations in the silhouette of your name,
if I send you oxygen through soil,
plant seeds through shedding skin,
will you let the universe take me?

If I excavate the globe, 
orchestrate limbs into flames,
revoke breath into jars,
sculpt you a masterpiece;
if I adorn myself in blood,
procure the memento on your neck,
paint you the intricacies of the space in between my legs;
if I sigh into solemn symphony,
will you save me?

When the demon steals back the deceased stems,
sings ‘wait for me in the fire,’ glides to another grave;
gathers ash into urn for the sake of nostalgia.
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