little demon,
look what you have become
an amalgam of nerves, tears, and blood.
on your skin,
there is an open wound,
enticing to be hurt some more.
your eyes are blank,
blinking but not alive,
beautiful but soulless.
your fingers intertwined tight,
your legs crossed,
your hair a mess.
can you hear me, little demon?
I once remember when you were not this rough-hewn thing,
you were lovely and delicate
pleasantly coquette.
but, I understand your plight, little demon.
you cannot simply let go, as you do not truly wish to die.
you want the life you live to be dead.
the hurt overweighs the joy, but you still yearn for it, however small or fleeting
you only know sadness because you were once a happy little demon.
I know it is too much for me to hope, little demon,
yet I truly hope someday you will be the little angel you once were.

.    .    .