Demons

How did we get here? Where the fuck do we go now? Floating, looking down, looking around. There’s green and gold and raven black, so, so black. I can feel my shadow shifting towards it. I can feel… I don’t know.

I want to pick up the pieces of my fear. I’m not afraid of my demons, only my angels. Life is so slow. I feel my heart beat, my lungs keep gasping for oxygen, expelling carbon, and pieces fall apart. I fall apart.

I think I’ll make friends with my demons.

Dark, shimmering red eyes. Thank god. Something to feel something about. Staring back, an eternity, one of many, many eternities.

Walk past, turn my back. They’re only eyes. Nothing to…

No one left will feel what I feel. The ones who did had to leave and now, now they’re so far. So, so far. I can’t feel them anymore. I can’t feel anyone anymore.

They stare at me, look at me, watch me as poison passes through my lips to let me let go, as clouds stream from my mouth and nose, letting me float. Do they ever do anything? They watch, they lament, they wish they could let go as I do but the only thing holding them back are their own fears. They watch, they lament, they wish they could see life as I do - a challenge, a bother, a bore, something to master. Something to feel.

That’s the real problem, isn’t it. Trying to feel something, to mean something. No one knows what they want. They think they do, but it’s all superficial. “I wanna meet someone and fall in love.” Why. “Because I wanna be close to someone.” Why. “Because… I don’t wanna be alone?” Always a question. They don’t know why they need someone else. They don’t know why they start conversations. They don’t know why they think they need anything.

Am I any different? I don’t know. People look up to me, I look up to people. Am I more special than anyone else? Probably, and probably not. Life is ridiculously mediocre. There are so many places to feel unique and so many more to feel like nothing. Is one right? Is anything right?

I choose to believe: no. Nothing is right, everything is right. Shouldn’t where you’re looking from matter? Shouldn’t a person’s life be whatever they want it to be? Why are so many of them the same? Why are so many of them worthless, and sad, and looking and failing to find a way to matter?

I turn back and see those dark, shimmering red eyes. Eyes in the dark, eyes of hunger. Dangerous eyes, murderous eyes. I walk towards them, fearless, I know they won’t hurt me. They’re alive. You wanna bet they’re satisfied?

Eyes rise, tooth filled maw gapes open, and I’m bored. “That really your end goal? To eat one more human?”

A pause, a question, another uncertainty, and I leave. Even my demons are just another.