Demons

It's the eternal recurrence 

of your eternal existence

(maybe in different clothes,

or wearing a different perfume

or a different face).

It's the eternal trigger in my guts 

(hence, in my mind, in my tongue 

or the eternal everything

with all at once).

It's the unforgettable film

played over and over again in my head

of a labyrinth with no endings 

corners all alike,

and a Minotaur's breathing

loudly in my neck.

It's all the faces,

all the scenarios, 

all the moments 

and all the monsters

that I replay to erase.

The regrets,

the what ifs,

the guilt and the pain

bawling in the indifference,

grieving to the indolence,

rankling at the mocking

and all the energy that was spent

(as if it was ever worth)

in meaningless ones.

That's the it.

The demons.

The ones that,

once angels

(what an eye•rony!)

are now fallen from grace,

because the Deity didn't understand

that for It to exist,

it was required the it.