My Demon Skin

As moonlight ascends beyond the horizon, 

It coats the night with royal color.

What becomes visible are the past mistakes of your Gods,

that are blamed on the dull and withered claws of my hands.

They are coated in burgundy because of my demon skin,

not of the mulish stain of blood.

The knife in my hand is an accessory of your accusation,

but if you must take me as an allegory,

see the red of my hands as the putrid mistake of your Gods.