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?