Friendly Demons

They smiled, just so,

with their lips partly closed,

just enough so you couldn't see

the jagged points

of their fanged teeth.

They sweetly grinned,

enchanted, momentarily,

by the fresh meat before them,

but when the nape of your neck shows,

the edges of their cupid's bows curl,

like a candle snuffed out,

thick commas of acrid un-celebratory smoke,

They lived framed in walls of gluttony,

fashioned from empties,

whiskey glass that rings

when you press the doorbell,

the melodic echoes chiming 'welcome',

bruising the air with wishes

smashed together by clinking, highballs.

They play all the right songs,

but if you listen long enough,

the notes are all wrong,

twisted from mouths

that sing the lyrics backwards.

I catch a glimpse of them in the mirror,

their powdered, painted faces smudged

beneath their own shadow

and realize

they are someone else's ghosts.