"False Demons," truly I am not filled with light —
love feels ill-fitting, and I’ve grown sick of it all.
__Is that evil?__ Or close enough — the unpleasant
truth amounts to how much you count on something
worth the space of time.
Time is money, but money won’t last you all the time.
I am dominated by my own selfishness —a selflessness
beneath a weak desire trying to please my conscience.
A teacup blushes from the steam of the kettle; the water
doesn’t really matter until it changes its matter.
And in perceiving the void within, I find new ways
to convince myself I’m decent; not generous —
just pouring parts of myself into that cup.
Maybe that’s adequate enough; clothed in love inside
a dark and musty wardrobe. For life wears you down,
the more you dress yourself for it — pressed against
the skin of an untruth: that we can only live as well
as the possessions we own.
Possessive as much, possessed by these things —
dare I say, _False Demons_.
Oct 20, 2025
Oct 20, 2025 at 12:21 PM UTC
"False Demons," truly I am not filled with light —
love feels ill-fitting, and I’ve grown sick of it all.
__Is that evil?__ Or close enough — the unpleasant
truth amounts to how much you count on something
worth the space of time.
Time is money, but money won’t last you all the time.
I am dominated by my own selfishness —a selflessness
beneath a weak desire trying to please my conscience.
A teacup blushes from the steam of the kettle; the water
doesn’t really matter until it changes its matter.
And in perceiving the void within, I find new ways
to convince myself I’m decent; not generous —
just pouring parts of myself into that cup.
Maybe that’s adequate enough; clothed in love inside
a dark and musty wardrobe. For life wears you down,
the more you dress yourself for it — pressed against
the skin of an untruth: that we can only live as well
as the possessions we own.
Possessive as much, possessed by these things —
dare I say, _False Demons_.
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