Fear.
There aren't many things I fear in this existence. But indeed there are. Most of the times they aren't even real.
They all come in different shapes, forms, of sorts, they present themselves in curious and mysterious ways, like if there was something bigger trying to teach me a lesson.
Some product of beautiful things, some others of terrible atrocities.
The personal demons of a runaway devil I like to call them.
Ever since that April Fools they come every night. Always at sleep. Like dark predators that pay visit to their favourite prey.
But the greater enemy isn't them, but myself. For the tricks that make me suffer have always had a common origin. Myself.
This is even worse, as it doesn't lower itself play hide and seek. Oh, no, they don't have to.
The thoughts. They are like an unimaginably heavy burden. A weight I have always carried on, like if it was meant to be. Something strange that has always been there, like a second me. Another persona. One that has been able to call home to the dark deep boundaries of my consciousness.
Always with a solitary purpose. He's a filter, a small, but powerful dot where once light was laid, now full of insecurity and low self-esteem.
He takes advantage over everything I do, think and feel, about every memory of every human I've ever known, every choice I've ever picked. But from all of these, the worst is loneliness.
I've been alone before. I've felt invisible. Insignificant.
Back when that took place, this worn owl realised that the only remedy was embracing it, keeping the desperation inside. And so a facade was born. A facade of apparent need for perfection, ironically, unreachable. A facade of unrealistic confidence that breaks down every time the day comes to an end. A mask, of a devil-kind of person that didn't actually want to be evil, but rightfully good.
A runaway devil.
And this runaway devil is now asking help to an angel, so he can get redemption.
Don't leave me, please - he begged.
But deep down, the voices kept murmuring.
She eventually is. Everyone will.
-horus;
They all come in different shapes, forms, of sorts, they present themselves in curious and mysterious ways, like if there was something bigger trying to teach me a lesson.
Some product of beautiful things, some others of terrible atrocities.
The personal demons of a runaway devil I like to call them.
Ever since that April Fools they come every night. Always at sleep. Like dark predators that pay visit to their favourite prey.
But the greater enemy isn't them, but myself. For the tricks that make me suffer have always had a common origin. Myself.
This is even worse, as it doesn't lower itself play hide and seek. Oh, no, they don't have to.
The thoughts. They are like an unimaginably heavy burden. A weight I have always carried on, like if it was meant to be. Something strange that has always been there, like a second me. Another persona. One that has been able to call home to the dark deep boundaries of my consciousness.
Always with a solitary purpose. He's a filter, a small, but powerful dot where once light was laid, now full of insecurity and low self-esteem.
He takes advantage over everything I do, think and feel, about every memory of every human I've ever known, every choice I've ever picked. But from all of these, the worst is loneliness.
I've been alone before. I've felt invisible. Insignificant.
Back when that took place, this worn owl realised that the only remedy was embracing it, keeping the desperation inside. And so a facade was born. A facade of apparent need for perfection, ironically, unreachable. A facade of unrealistic confidence that breaks down every time the day comes to an end. A mask, of a devil-kind of person that didn't actually want to be evil, but rightfully good.
A runaway devil.
And this runaway devil is now asking help to an angel, so he can get redemption.
Don't leave me, please - he begged.
But deep down, the voices kept murmuring.
She eventually is. Everyone will.
-horus;
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