Uninvited?

Uninvited?
How my demons come, and I don’t even ask for them! Who the hell’s crazy enough to conjure demons? I wonder. They take me by surprise sometimes. Most of the time I’m seduced.

Alleys full of gangs, thieves, dope dealers, drug junkies, kids with missing arms, dirty women sucking dicks for drug money. I turn out to be one of the junkies. A privileged client (I have money).
I talk to the gangsters and the thieves about stealing from lonely old ladies at the bus stops. I’m smoking crack in a little, dirty, hot, piss and throw-up smelly room with a zombie. I’m getting blown by an old, toothless, sick looking, beaten, bruised, starved, coughing, vomiting mother wondering where her kids are.
	I see little girls and I want them. I molest the girls in my family. I fuck dogs. I steal from my mother and father and brother and cousin and aunt. I sell their stereos, my camera, my jeans. I abandon my wife and ignore my children. I rape my best friend after I beat her with my fists. I scream evil, at the top of my lungs, to my grandma.
Dark alleys in the night, running. Eyes watching me from within the darkness. Shadows follow me around street corners, always there when I turn to look. I walk faster. Sweat pouring like rain from my face. I smoke more crack. Can’t sleep. Won’t eat. Parents, wife, children wonder where I am, when I’ll show up. To me, they’re just a memory of another world. I smoke crack in the dark alley, with the other junkies, the crack whores, amongst thieves who plan on kidnapping me, amongst gangsters who will someday beat me with a stick.

How did I let you in again, demon? A Hungry Ghost. And the memories of who I once was: a father, a man, a dreamer, a magic-user… where’s the magic gone?