I smile over at my demon, his figure a mangled mess of a withering corpse sitting on the edge of my bed. "It's going to happen soon," he hisses in a soothing manner.
"When?" I ask, pushing away my laptop to crawl over to him.
"Oh, I'm not telling you. Just remember that you shouldn't ask for help."
He smirks, deftly picking up my shaky hand and pressing a kiss to it that stings. The demon pulls away and we both watch my crimson blood trickle down to stain the sheets.
"I'll be ready to go."
YOU ARE READING
Maybe It's Time
PoetryAn original work of poetry I'll hopefully be able to publish some day. For now, please enjoy.
