Tea Time with Demons

Let's talk about rock and/or roll...

Okay, not really. Instead, let us speak of demons. Those shadows things, which voices taunt us in the dark. That, which there is not not drink or drug enough in the whole of creation to burn them from memory. Don't think it hasn't been tried.

I was sixteen, and my parents were having a...discussion. It was one of those, and if you have to ask you'll never fucking know. My father had pinned my mother to ground, and, as fate would have it, I knew the exact location of my father's forty-four. My scheme was simple; one shot in the air, as a warning, the second, between my father's eyes.

...I thought about this. I was going to shoot my father between the eyes. And I love my father. I always have. He's my hero...

...I didn't do it. Think of that what you will. Did I love my father too much or not hate him enough? Was I a coward or mindful, even at sixteen when I knew everything, but how to deal with it, punching a barn wall in screaming recompense?...

I did what I did. Fuck you. That's how the story goes...

The jewel-eyed girl once held a piece of broken glass to my throat as I closed a door. I was no longer willing to let her have her way. The details to that story are one that should be given its peace. Thirteen individuals too many have heard it. Still, I spent an hour in manacles because of it. Right or wrong. Even though I called for the constabulary and rescue services. I still have the nightmares. Vivid horrible fucking things. I spent close to half a year drunk and another half being a teetotaler before once more finding my heretical middle way. It was something that fucked me up worse than my x-wife leaving me, and taking my daughter in tow; those feral blue eyes and piece of glass pointed at my jugular and sewer water tongue saying to me as I called for the constabulary;

"Shut up..."

I can see that too well. This is what happens in the darkest of night when the demons come. Here is what they have to say whilst one pours the tea of ambrosia and acid.

...Listen. Mark well, and remember. Learn the lessons the demons teach you upon your sins and shortcomings. If you do not, get used to the taste of perdition...

So it goes...

A few years ago, I told Sabina I was willing to give myself to her. A singularity, even and especially since I belong to nobody. And, yet, hypocritically, I belong to her in the same dysfunctional way she belongs to me. Funny that. Funny old fucking world. She is the only one; friend, lover, or otherwise who I could speak in full, dark detail and tell her of those whispers in the dark at the same time I cleaned up shards of broken glass and mopped away bloodstains, whilst the burn of the cold metal of manacles were still fresh upon my wrists.

I could ask who better? But if you have to ask than you will never fucking know...