Angels are those 100 foot tall celestial beings with the thousand eyes and seven pairs of wings. They burn with celestial flame and run ichor through their bones. Demons on the other hand, even with the bad reputation, are far less frightening. They’re fallen angels, shouldn’t they still have all those attributes? Well, no. I don’t think so. Demons have adapted look more like humans. Sure if you stare too hard, too long, you’ll notice something for a spilt second, but most people dismiss that as a trick of the eye. Demons blend into the crowds, in the shadows, in the darkness in our hearts. They were made into less celestial beings, and they have every right to be angry. Thrown out of heaven like food for the dogs. They are retaliating. They’re disrupting God’s so called perfect creation. They are bringing chaos into this world. Humans don’t know this and think of it as a regular encounter, a passerby on the street, the barista at your local coffee shop, the fruit vendor tending to their goods. Demons are making it a normal enounter, so normal that we get comfortable and can’t tell the difference. It’s their job to do this. Soon enough we can’t tell the difference.

Demons look like humans, because really, aren’t we all just demons in disguise?

Love is truly an art
where til death do us part
For the true love we all seek
it is always in front yet it rarely speaks

For death can truly see
who we would love and marry
yet he will never tell
if our story is a wonderful tale

I have been through hell, beyond what anyone will truly understand.
There’s emotional damage that’s been done as consequence for having such an open and trusting heart.
I’ve fallen too fast, I’ve loved too easily, and I’ve trusted too many.
I am damaged and broken in ways that will never be mended.
I will never be who others want me to be because that is all that I’ve ever wanted to be.
My friends need me to be their crutch, my parents need me to be their perfectly well-rounded daughter, and the man I’m falling for,
well...
I just want to give him the best of me.
How does one pick and choose who to be for the ones they love, when regardless, the love almost always remains unreciprocated?
I would love to be their perfect daughter, but that’s not who I am.
I would love to be the perfect friend who picks up every call, but for reasons that I cannot control, that cannot be me.
I would love to be cared for, protected, and eventually loved unconditionally by the man who’s almost too perfect to be real.
But, I can't have the one person that makes me truly happy because everything else remains in my way.
I've been damaged,
broken,
bruised,
and used.
All I want is happiness, yet she shall remain a stranger to me until I find my escape from the overwhelming demands of everyone that I care for.

Nothing mends a broken soul
The feeling of giving up
and losing all goals
The constant fear of f*ckingup
and a heart with a gaping hole.