Poetry | Brass Knuckles for a Demon

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Poetry | Brass Knuckles for a Demon

Eli Savage | Contributing Editor

Eli Savage | Contributing Editor

Eli Savage | Contributing Editor

By Delilah Bourque, Senior Staff Columnist

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I keep my keys between my knuckles, weapons
for walking home on a dark night
to fight a demon of my own creation.

And I’m reminded of that summer
when I clench my fist
to keep my keys between my knuckles, weapons.

Every now and again I look to the stars because they are wiser than me,
and perhaps they’d have some advice — if I listened hard enough
to fight a demon of my own creation.

I used to be afraid, before that night.
I used to think it was silly and now
I keep my keys between my knuckles, weapons.

I get in my own way sometimes,
but don’t we all
fight demons of our own creation?

There’s a ghost in the attic
and a living skeleton in the closet.
I keep my keys between my knuckles, weapons
to fight a demon of my own creation.

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