This was inspired by all of the Demon!Klaine going around on Tumblr. Pretty sloppy. Very rushed through. But whatever, c'est la vie.

A lot of the changing tense, the random statements, loose ends on sentences are intentional- I guess I had to preface that because some people might mistake it as poor usage of grammar/whathaveyou. It's more or less to exemplify Kurt's downward spiral. And with that, I'll let you all read on. :)

He's here.

Around me.

In my head.

Encasing my brain.

Commanding my thoughts.

Swimming through my veins.

Swimming through my sin.

Burning holes in my memory; my control.

Digging his nails into my flesh, exposing muscle; exposing heart, blood, soul.

My sanity is slipping like ribbon through my dainty grasp, but through it all- I live for it.

I allow myself to slip. It's something I never fought. I never sought help. Through the evil of it all, I found comfort in truth. I succumb to his every waking desire like a whipped mule, feeling his hot breath on my neck as he whispers sweet nothings/bitter everythings into my bruised ear.

I sit alone in my room embracing the darkness, cradling myself as if that were to provide me any more comfort, watching the time tick on. It's 2:30am. See, here's the thing. I'm frightened. I'm absolutely terrified by this being that stares at me from my closet door. He's been there ever since I can remember. When I was a child he would call to me. Always. Every day. At 3 am.

"Kurt. Come here."

It sounded like a child. Someone like me. Someone who knew my name. So I answered.

"H-Hello? Who are you?"

He giggled. He enjoyed doing that. Laughing at what I said. I never found what I said to be funny at all. Half the time I was scared. This would put my mind in an anxious state because what I knew as fear he saw as joy.

"I'm your friend."

Friend. My 7 year old ears perked at that. Something I always wanted but could never have as my own. Being made fun of made you desperate. I could only see a shadowy figure within my seeping black closet and yet I was instantly pulled in at that word. That's how you know I was a lost child.

"What's that?" I responded trying to keep a relatively calm composure. Amidst this my heart was in my throat, my knees were glued to my shaking chest, and I was holding my blanket up to my quivering mouth like some sort of invincible cotton shield, protecting me from this "friend."

"Why don't you come here? I'll show you. Don't you like me? Play with me."

I shook my head slightly. I didn't want to move. I wanted to stay where I was, far away from Him.

"No." I pleaded.

Instantly one of my porcelain Precious Moments figurines that sat gathering dust on my shelf went flying and crashing to the opposite wall. I yelped and hid under my blanket.

I'm surprised my parents didn't hear. Sometimes I wished they did. Maybe this entire mess wouldn't have escalated.

As I was about to call to my parents He spoke to me. But not the He I had just been introduced to. A different He. His voice changed. It was deep. Gruff. Demanding. Terrifying. Overpowering.

"Afraid? You should be. Now…play with me."

I forced my eyes shut and shook my head.

"PLAY. WITH. ME." He ordered.

So I succumbed. So I listened. So I followed the captain's orders. I bit my bottom lip for all that it was worth and slowly removed the blanket.

"That's it. See, it's easy," cooed He, back to his soft child-like tone.

Bit by bit, I crawled to the edge of the bed, grasping the endboard with my tiny pale hands, resting my nose on my knuckles and staring into the closet where He resided. The wonderfully horrific thing about the mind of a child is the ability to forget and forgive.

"I'm scared." I softly said into my hands.

"What's your favorite game?" he prodded.

I hesitated.

"I…I like to sing," I whispered.

"I know," my eyes widened, "I've heard you."

From that point on I accepted Him as a friend and forever distorted the meaning of what a friend truly was. I feared him but I needed him. He was the only person I had. When my mother died, He was there. I was older. Oddly enough, he grew older too.

I came into my room crying. Bawling. Not being able to feel what emotion was anymore. I squeezed my eyes so tight that it ached my eyelids every time a single tear would release. I wiped my eyes with my shaky palms and sat on my bed in the middle of the night. Once 3am hit, He spoke. Like he always did.

"Why are you sad?" He coyly asked.

"My mom died," I exhaled; settling in with probably one of the most painful statements I could ever say.

He let out a knowing chuckle.

"That's a shame. Do you know what happened to her?"

I paused

"I can't really remember anything. All I remember is dad saying she won't be coming back any time soon… Do you know what happened?"

He didn't respond. I found that odd, but I let it pass anyway. Without my mother around, I needed Him more. I felt as if he knew that.

When I was in middle school I finally got to see him for who he was after much persistence.

I really couldn't make much detail but the prominent features were his tangerine-hazel eyes and his short curly black hair with that one tuft that curled in front, over his forehead.

For a friend, He was a very good looking boy. That's who he showed me as most of the time. He was charming, loved to smile. However, sometimes when He thought I wasn't looking I'd see elongated teeth, claws, black eyes, and wings that resembled overgrown bats. When in that state He enjoyed mumbling in some foreign language. Most of the time it was me dreaming. Most of the time it was me hoping I was dreaming. I believed the lie and let it become truth.

Every time I'd ask for his name he'd throw things at me, so I stopped asking for his name.

As I entered high school, he was there for me. He watched after me. Looked after me. He'd follow me around school, not physically, but he'd speak to me in my head. I wouldn't hear Him much but He definitely spoke up vividly when I was in Glee club because if there was something He loved, it was when I sang.

If I didn't sing enough that week, he'd claw at my back. Once my father saw the 3 scratch marks that went from my left shoulder to my right hip. I told him it was Brittany's cat.

It's come down upon me. My eyes glisten with the fatigue, my eyelids are heavier than snow on a cold street, and I really wonder if I'll make it. Besides the break-downs and the broken wings I've been creating and giving slack to the rope that was once taut. My muscles have thinned; my stride has been reduced to a sluggish shuffled saunter and I really wonder...is this me? Is this the person who I am?

My dad ended up in the hospital. When I question you about it you stay silent, as you did before when I asked you about my mother.

The bullying situation with Karofsky was getting worse at an alarming rate. At 3am He spoke again.

"Would you like it if I was your class mate? I could defend you."

"No, it's okay-"

"Really. I can."

"I know you can. It's okay, I'm fine."

"Clearly you're not fine. You are crying and bruised."

I wanted to say that he makes me cry and bruise too, but I refrained from it.

"No. I don't want you to help me. I want you to stop."

"Do you want me gone?" Histone had a sense of warning in it.

I paused. I shouldn't have paused. His voice got deeper again. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

"Because if you do, know that it will only be temporary. I will re enter your life. You'll know it's me, but this form won't know it's me, and if you mention me to this form I'll reawaken in the worst way possible. And all you can do is suffer and drown in your own bitter insanity. Because let's face it Kurt, who can you talk about this? Me. And once I'm gone… who will you have?"

I began crying and making futile attempts in hiding my salty fear from this man.

"M-me. I'll have me."

"I am you. I am every waking part of you. With me gone, you have no one."

And with that, the tangerine-hazel eyes vanished. Faded within its own darkness.

"What is your name!" I shouted into the air.

All I heard was the letter B and then it went silent.

He lived in my closet since I was a child, and with him gone I felt lost in the most frightening way. I knew his detriments to my emotional health and yet I craved his return. As the weeks went on, despite my sanity unhinging, I was happier. I grew comfortable with his absence.

When I went to spy at Dalton, things took a turn for the worst.

"Hi, I'm new here can you help me?" I asked blindly at one of the passing classmates.

And there they were. I saw them again. The tangerine-hazel eyes stared me back into my icy blue and I stood there in quaking fear. Underneath the lace napkin hid a dagger. There it was.

It was Him.

"My name is Blaine." He went for handshake, as the gentleman of a demon would.

My hand instantly was a magnet to his, against my own will.

"Kurt."

And from that moment on I was trapped within the Siren's calling. I wanted to run, I wanted to fight it, but I couldn't. I was locked in this perpetual longing I had for Blaine. I knew that was His original cruel. He wanted me to fall in love with him. He wanted me for himself. I was his little lark in a cage.

Despite my knowledge for his sick motive…I went against my morals and pursued it anyway, because I knew that's what he wanted. I was his friend after all. Maybe allowing him back in my life wouldn't be so bad.

You can sing now, I see it's something you knew you could win me over with.

He had total control over me. He won. I accept defeat. I'm waving my white flag. Because at the end of the day, maybe his methods were harsh, but he wanted what was best for me. He'll always be here. Encircling my thoughts, clawing at my morals… I always had a sense for adventure, anyway. It would be our little secret. This demon was the only friend I'd ever have.

Down the road, I'll end up transferring to Dalton Academy.

Down the road, I'd end up falling in love with him. He would end up falling in love with me.

Down the road, I'll lose my beloved pet Pavarotti.

We'll make a grave for him.

I'll painfully admit my Demon past to you as a lock and seal for the trust we have in eachother.

He'll come out in you as he said he would if I did that.

At the grave you'll tell me things. Or rather…He'll tell me things.

Things I never wanted to hear.

But you'll tell me them anyway.

How you killed my mom. For me. For us.

Despite that, I still will grab your hand and walk past the wintery oak and still love you all the same. There comes a point where you stop treading against cold, moist cement, and emotionally register you are submerged in what feels like an icy acquiescence but what is actually darkness.

Metaphorically and Physically. It is a visual cancer that spreads until your every neuron is pleading for light. Metaphorically and Physically. Sometimes our darkest hues we love to delve deep and rot in the most end up being the most comfortable. Why? Safety. Safety in poison. An invisible smog that runs my lungs like preset gears. Set to turn and tumble dysfunctional forever.

I never had a chance to make my own decisions. You were right.

I am you. You are me. I slowly became a soulless body for you to control.

The flame of Blaine is burning, but the wick of Kurt is growing short. Once it reaches the end, so will I.