Angel on one shoulder, Devil on the other.
Bickering between them and I’m stuck in the ******* middle. I never knew it could be possible, but the Angel brings out my wrath for everything, breathing or not. The Angel squeaking in my ear turns me to the devil, for I want to stomp away this unrealistic symbol of Good and Innocence. The Devil shows me that I am quite a mercy-full being, for he speaks the twisted ways of the devil, and I may be mercy full in not acting out his ways. Days upon days they yell and yell, never reaching a conclusion. Unlike them, I have reached a conclusion; that being a paintbrush with pellets.