This memory,
it haunts me,
tis of a Demon,
a Demon who’s destructive path,
meant not one person close to him,
would ever be again,
tis of a Demon,
I once knew well.

He knew not to play with fire,
so he played with ice,
it controlled his very essence.

Then he met brew,
brew became his ally,
soon though he changed,
his family and friends,
became distanced,
as though they were on separate planets,
his life,
quickly became a nightmare.

Cps,
got him clean,
a series of foster homes,
set him straight,
he was bounced back and forth,
like a ball,
when he realized,
what had happened to him,
his heart broke,
more rather it shattered,
shattered like a mirror.
he cried,
day after day,
night after night.

The demons last thought,
was for his mother,
hoping her fragile heart,
could ever forgive his wrong.

This memory,
Is of the Demon,
I once was.