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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Spiritual · #1186663
PLEASE RATE. This isn't really poetic, but it is theraputic.
Sometimes when a cop sleeps,
the demons come.
The demons bring all the things you want to forget.

The demons bring the tears and sweat,
the spit and the blood,
Oh God the blood.

The demons bring the broken bodies from the wrecks
the sickening smell of death
and the kids...Oh God please, not the kids.

Mainly the demons bring the eyes...

the hatred and desperation in the eyes of the people you fight,
the pleading and pain of the people you try to help,
and the quiet and blankness in death of the ones you couldn't.

The demons bring sounds too....

the sounds of tires skidding and metal crunching from the wrecks,
the gunshots that seem so loud on TV yet so muffled on the street,
the screams and crying that all blend together after a while.

The demons won't leave...
Alcohol and sleeping pills work for a while
but they come back.

Some have used their own deaths to flee from them,
but most of us are scared that in causing our own death....
we'll be with them forever.

But the demons aren't all that bad,
it's better for the demons to come in your sleep,
than for the angels to come during your shift.

(they say that if you're time comes on the job, your fallen brothers come back
to take you home)

So the next time you see a cop having a bad day and he seems irritated,
and you think "What a jerk!"
Stop for a moment and wonder:

What demons came to him last night or what new ones did he meet today?

Maybe now I can sleep.


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