The Devil in My Dream by V.P. (Writing Our Stories)

Siting, watching, on a dreadful hill,

I see you...yes you, devil of mine,

with your flaming pitchfork and broken horns,

in the act of tormenting.

If I’m the wolf pup, she’s the Omega.

My gaze is focused on each of your fists striking,

each plate thrown and broken,

each move closer to your departure.

Leaving that hill,

my dreams still watch your every move

that paralyzes me with each flashing punch.

Waking up much older,

I see this hologram without blurred lines,

but there’s one problem, I’m not asleep.

I’m awake in this day I never thought I would see,

a day where this devil of mine is real, sitting on a throne,

laughing with his prideful glare,

but it’s not the same, something is off.

This time the flame that once scared me

is cold and no longer burning with intense heat.

I now plot while I watch you look into death’s door.

Maybe I should push you in

and save so many others from the abyssal fire you breathe,

but this door is not meant for you

but for the one goddess that gave you life.

I watch the steam from your burning tears

fog the mirror to finally show a different reflection of you,

one without horns,

crowned by a broken halo.