It seems that humans have an obsession with light,
That where there is light, we lack in fright.
It seems that there is fear and uncertainty in the dark,
That nothing is certain, yet everything imagined.
What if the dark were a blessing,
So that there would be no guessing as to what lurks in the shadows?

Hope, a crude thing:
People who possess it, end up losing it due to pursuance of an objective centralized on solely having Hope.

Hope: A cruel thing,
That tears things away from those who wish for it.

Hope: A villainous thing,
That can be existent and absolutely unrealistic.

Hope: A false thing,
That we imagine to console ourselves that there is a reason to go on.

Hope: A lie,
We tell to those we love to get the point across that we will always be with them.

Hope: An ugly lie disguised as a beautiful truth.

Was the saying not with beautiful lies and ugly truths?
It seems that Hope is a shapeshifter,
As well as a master of deceit.

Our Demons are not under our beds,
They are in our eyes, wherever we look,
On our lips, whenever we speak,
In our minds, whenever we think,
In our memories, whenever we remember,
In our hearts, whenever we love,
In our tears, whenever we cry,
Our Demons do not exist without us,
They exist within us.