Weary Whispers

Like a storm without a drop of rain,
nothing is satisfying
Repaid.
It’s no longer a deal with the devil.
But a preferred torture.
Not giving in, but giving up to delicious delights
of insanity
Angels are no longer on my side, but the demons sit there in the dark.
With me.
Weary eyed and hollow voiced.
But yet there is still a calling.