Snippitts of Illusions

So the demons weren't sent by any one. We made them. We made them and we fed them like little pets, and now they want to consume us because the food is rotten. We are complacent though, the demons devour us slowly, but the excretions on thier lips make the pain sweet, and we except it. So as we lay in the pools of self pity that is left from the demons feasting, we're made to wonder who sent the demons. When we finally feel the pain, the aweful spikes of agony, we cry out. We beg who ever sent them to take them back. Our cries just bounce off the wall, and flit around the room like moths to a light. We lay awake in our own agony, never realizing; the demons weren't sent by anyone, we made them out of the clay of our impulses and weaknesses and cravings, and we smiled while we did it.

posted by F.G. Shaw @ 3:53 AM