Demon’s Wrath

Fire nesting in your chest
in silence burns, it smolders, waiting
to feed on hope with lust, on fallen crests.

Hatred crawls in darkly, pushes
through your veins in heavy rushes,
branches sinister; it thrusts them through the flesh.

Black, of warmth devoid,
burns the fire roaring;
trembling, blackened guts recoil.

Then all is ashes.