his demons are calling.

poor boy chases liberty until she rears her ugly head. he always finds her two towns over with tar on her fingers and addiction on her lips. no one believes him anyway. they take his single truths as a monument of lies because they always were. yet, unyielding, he takes the stage. he renders to the last second to slip between the flats. he won't even humour us with a bow. he will have already slipped out the fire exit for a smoke and a taxi to the station.

he will just barely make the train out of town. the door will close on every magazine and newspaper the tardies shove in where the doors meet, will crush it everytime. he was smart and jammed the door with his neck so he'd not too soon forget the time he almost missed his only way out.

his will to forget is shoved in the closet with all the meaty demons he feeds at night. he keeps his demons where he knows they’ll be, harbouring them, averting surprise attack.

this poor boy carries the world, bad shoulders and all. he weeps for the company who rarely comes around anymore for they heard the demons – their scratching – from the closet. they ran scared like most do.

the poor boy lives in his mind, the only place where he can float above all this. his body will continue will continue, will keep on, keep on, doing everything it’s doing, so as not to get a rise out of the demons. isn’t that the idea? trick the demons into going away. or reversely, staying exactly where they are, so when he skips town next, they won’t know how to find him or how to keep up. it’s really a brilliant scheme this poor boy has.

the girl was a merciless stage manager. holding the script, prompting the cues. she unalarmed the door for his silent escape. she distracted the conductor with her eyes that smile, the way they do, for that split second it took him to get on. she's been meaning to ask him how he keeps his demons. hers are out of control - running the streets, burglarizing pet stores, thieving art galleries, amok!

that once merciless girl was there when his company high-tailed. she was walking up the steps with a jello mold. his company, in such alarm, knocked her jello mold out of her hands. the red and green and yellow and pineapple chunks smashed into the snow. having nothing to offer but rainbow looking vomit, she headed home, hoping her demons hadn't changed the locks on her while she was gone.

she sees him floating above it all. she sees this because she does it too. but not to worry, she won’t inform his demons. she’ll be the one holding his bus fare while he ties his shoes, the fast ones, and will be the one skipping town with him. they will run so fast their demons will have no chance and no choice but to find someone else to burden.