On the dimly-lit Victorian London streets
A young boy and a demon meet
Not for the first time, not for the last
In a struggle to move on from the past
One wish, one sacrifice, one contract
It all ends in one final combat
But that time has yet to be reached
So for now the two figures merely meet
Not in loss, not in revenge, not in pain
Simply for one desire that remains the same
No matter the years, no matter the hopelessness
Together, they will try to find a way from the darkness
To escape a past that haunts with no limitation
Can a demon become the only salvation?
AN: Yeah, so I got bored today. I wasn't in a drabble mood, so I wrote a poem instead. No clue if this actually makes any sense, but poetry isn't supposed to make sense, now is it?