Imp Poem by Sasha Ioffine

My eyes perceive a paradigm
I can’t believe the tragedies I’m seeing And could vendetta be a crime?
Revenge of purest sorts I’m dreaming
It looks insane and frank I am about this
That demons bubble in their blood and give the mouth a death kiss
They have a plan: it is to kill This plan involves a hefty deal
The barter from the devil stands
It stands alone, as if unreal
I see the devil. Fiends on streets are walking
Strolling, eating, meeting, talking.
The soul exchanged, a life arranged
And destiny
avenged
For a life that is deranged
A masquerade of demons commences on the streets
The window to the dreadful soul are what all imps will greet
They are among the brave `
Among the weak they lurk as well, Their life is doomed, when they perceive it well
They never stop to wonder “Will the posterity get hurt? ”
From this dreadful question, their eyes quickly avert
Within the psyche, one-thousand tumours
This is the life of diabolical consumers
A labyrinth of humans who think they are sane
Give into two-dimensional arousals of the brain
Their neurons are flooded on a slippery slide
Greed gives the illusion of the euphoric ride
And in their wretched minds they dig their own abyss
They glorify the monster and seal it with a kiss
And looking down on this mess, the pile of shattered minds I feel the wicked sense of breath grinding down my own behind
With one swift turn I spun around to see a sight that stiffened
me
The creature- devil- standing, crunching, still and cunning as can be
Was greeting me with fabricated eyes; The truth no longer- only lies.