Paper Demons

Scarred skin made of parchment,
Blackened ink inside their veins,
Their souls formed from the essence,
Of my pleasures and my pains,

A deal with the devil gives them life,
Written in my own hand,
Where others see angels I see demons,
I can not understand,

Within each letter a cut,
Behind each word a tear,
Below each line a scar,
Inside each poem a fear,

They give my nightmares life,
Bringing only death upon my hope,
This pen and paper suicide,
For they create my hangman’s rope,

My heart pulls swiftly at its strings,
My mind forever its puppet slave,
Lies and secrets burden and bury me,
Deep inside this unmarked grave.