On chasms

My demons have returned, out of confusion. They don't know what to do or who they are anymore. They don't know what to offer that will entice me. They're at a loss for the words that will bring me closer to them,  make me eat out of their palms. They are looking for a way out of this maze that is my emotional state. I can feel their disorientation. I have learned to hide the stars, depriving them of a sense of direction. 

Their wings are not erect, their eyes are bland, their teeth hidden in the absence of their signature grin. I've never feared them, but now I pity them. I pity me, for if they are bewildered I stand no chance. They are my excess, and thus my point of reference. I cannot be who I am if they've mislaid their raison d'être. I need to comfort them. I must reassure them of the safety of our coexistence. They seem abashed. It's an unsettling predicament to be in, especially when you're aloof; when your senses have been reduced to mere instruments of survival. 

I look around but I don't see, and so I've blinded them. I eat but cannot taste and so they've stopped salivating. I keep my hands behind my back while theirs have gone numb. I've missed them, while they've grown afraid of me. My intent to approach them almost seems impending. It's been a while since we've walked into the fire together. They're starting to feel cold. I need to to show them that my warmth is enough. I need to be our glowing ember.