The house sags, cracks crawling up walls riddled in holes like sores in a diseased body. Appliances litter the foot high weeds, toys from the long-since forgotten ghosts of today; a toaster from the days before us, a fork from when we had food with which to use it.

I shudder as I knock on the door, my hands sweaty and shaking, the wood giving with the soft pressure of my hand. My mouth is closed, with words choking down an overstuffed throat. Set my shoulders, raise my head, confidence reeking with weakness.

I know that when I enter the house, she will be there, the bitter smell of whiskey curling from her sour breath, her hair matted and her clothes stained, and all of her wicked beauty will spill out from the broken shards of her fallen existence.

My feet crunch on glass and filth, the sound drawing her glazed eyes over to me, a strange blunt anger burning dully in the blind corners of her deadened mind. Her hands move like whips and her words rip through my mind, tearing and biting until my head swims and aches, my vision swirling in starry patterns; but I will forgive her, I will always forgive her, because she's only human.

Even when she holds the gun from the closet to my eye, her hand shaking and her voice cracking, Can you see it? Can you see the bullet? and the gun cocks and (Oh god is this it?) I can only forgive her.

Because I know that when the whiskey is gone, she will take me into her arms, soft voice and gentle croon, You are the best son I've ever had, so sweet, so quiet, and would you go the store for me please to get some things? So then I will have to dig in my pockets for my thirteen dollars but it still won't be enough (never enough), so that night I will lay in bed listening to her drink while my insides writhe with hunger.

Close my burning eyes, hug my arms tighter as I try not to cry when no one says anything, when no one sees the blood in my mouth or surging through my clenching heart.

I ask her about Father, and I listen to her oily words as they sink into my eyelids: he's a demon, a demon straight from hell and he left me with you and your demon blood because I'm only human and I fell for those demon eyes and his demon trickery, because I'm human and I make mistakes but now I'm cursed with you and demons and demon blood everywhere. Her cracked lips tremble as tears slide down her sunken, yellow cheeks.

She brings me no relief as I deliver to her no ease, discord pulsing through the life of our torpid existence, and yet I always stay; I always stay, though she was never there for me to bind me to her nor her to me.

But in the middle of our uneasy peace my tongue swell treacherously as heat fogs my eyes and my mind in a malicious cloud and I cough, I can't stop coughing and there's vomit and fear and the sound of her ceaseless uncontrollable screaming and the closet door is open and it hurts, it hurts so much more than usual.

I leave in the morning, because she never held me back.
The years will pass, but she will never leave me as I leave from her. I will always come back, to the girl with green eyes, cigarette smoke curling from her breath with words like glass coated in sweet poison that she invites me to taste, quietly, softly ripping my tongue, and then to the girl with fire in her mouth and hands formed from broken edges that she uses to stroke, quietly, softly ripping my skin, and on and on until I see my mother and her and her and her and still more, and the bruises never stop but my forgiveness never dries, because they're always, always human, and I cannot begrudge them for human faults.

Stare as the cigarette burns, smoke rising in curling wisps like neglected breaths. Press it to my skin to see if it still hurts.

She touches me softly, light voice and seductive croon, you're wonderful, so sweet, so quiet, and would you please pay the bill for me? And I take out the thirteen dollars I scraped together but it still won't be enough, never enough, and she will grow angry, enraged and screaming, screaming, hitting and hurting until she leaves and I chase after her, begging and pleading, sorry flying from my lips, please please I'll try harder I'll work harder, but she says its not enough and I forgive her, I can only forgive her.

Sit on the step while I wait for her to put lipstick on, crimson paint over crimson blood; stare at the sky as I wish I was a cloud; look away and be grateful I'm not.

Lay in bed and feel her screams in my mind. Chew my tongue to see if it still hurts. Am I useless? Am I useless? Why am I here? Should I be here, with my curses and demons in my blood?

I leave in the morning because she never held me back.

I shuffle forward, gritty hands in dirty clothes. Don't close my eyes, else sleep away my past; find myself before my home.

Smell the overwhelming stench of vomit, and something new. I see her through the window.

Is she waiting for me? Does she miss me? Weeping, waiting, needing?

She's lying on the floor, her hair matted and greasy, her skin dirty.

Does she want me?

He blood covers the walls, pooling around the fragments of her head: a maggot's feast.

Does she need me?

The gun lies in her hand, stiff, empty, sad.

I wonder how long it will be until someone finds her.

Walk away, watch the sky with lying crows sitting eerily on telephone wires, vultures of the city. Feel their eyes as I lay on the dirty floor, glass and filth crunching beneath me.

What does it mean?

I've been hungrier, but it still hurts to feel so empty.

What does it mean to have blood?

Is that why they hurt me?

Slide my hand against the bench, feel the splinters enter my skin. It doesn't hurt anymore.

There is a family crossing the street; Little Daughter holding Mother, Mother looking at Father, Father smiling back.

Father with blood-red demon eyes.

Father with kind smiles and demon eyes and gentle hands and demon hands and Father, my Father with evil words and all calmness and kindness and gentleness.

This is what demons are?

Is this so bad?

His eyes meet mine in a flash of realization as recognition crosses his eyes like oceans passing in rivers, and my heart rises with the moment spiking and piercing my eyes so they prick with emotion.

He sees me.

He'll be gentle with me.

The recognition in his eyes freezes.

The recognition freezes as does the gentleness, and his hands twist and he turns, slowly, so I can see written on his back finally what it means to be a demon.

I know how my mother was tricked.

I know why they hurt me.

I know what it means.

Because I do the same.