Shams, there is in me a terrible badness,
a demon,
clawing its way through my skin,
and I have to fight or it will own me
for a time
and I will do terrible things,
things that will hurt people I love
because I can.
This demon cares nothing for you,
cares nothing for me,
cares for nothing,
but to rage and destroy
carefully built houses, kicking down
the beams,
setting fire to the timbers
and dancing in the smoldering remains
with his violin as he dances
and I cry.
My demon feeds on my fears and grows
strong when they increase,
making great feasts and smacking
the very bones with his lips
as fat and blood drips off them
onto his pot belly.
If I could starve him from the source,
choke him with my own hands
and hold him down with a will
and a certainty until he stops moving,
perhaps then he will give me some rest.