Please feel free to comment on this.
Daemon's Quill
I am spurned by the chilling
touch of the daemon,
Whose lust for my blood would never be satisfied.
Yet the quill has turned, filling much of the poem,
Which must be the daemon's work personified.
The tip was dipped into red crimson ink,
And his fangs lingering near my neck.
The daemon and its quill, a gruesome link,
And his touch singling out near my back.
The verse that roared inside my mind,
Came out from nowhere.
The curse that stood right behind,
Was telling me to beware.
To be continued... ( 
)
