Julianna May

Demons surround me

Screaming for blood.

BLOOD.

Like the sucking ticks

Found underneath my

Arms after trekking in the woods.

My blood is their only feast.

The meal they dream of

When they haunt others.

Mine is the taste that keeps

Them coming back;

I’m their home.

Drawing me from my slumber

To the cold hard silver

Found so often at my fingertips

Shaking hands and soul,

Slit after slit.

They call on repeat.

A CD stuck skipping,

The scratches making

Skipping worsen.

The repetition

Making, making, making

BLOOD.

Screaming for blood,

Demons surround me.