Fantasy Feelings

Writing

They write to soothe the demons inside their head, endlessly scratching at the walls of the mind, soon destroying any evidence of a wall, destroying the evidence of being sane, yet that sanity couldn't cease to exist if it never existed at all, just like how these demons in their head have no names, neither do the stories they tell, stories of destruction and hatred and murder but the only one who is being murdered is the host by the senseless talk of summer sun lit evenings that they can't enjoy, ultimately wooing them into an endless sleep, cuddling in the arms of death, a death with a name that spells out a story, specifically one that has no end, then again the thoughts as a whole are endless streams, streams of ink to paper that make no sense until the right person can unravel the strings of their heart that strum a melody of sadness only a select number can hear, only a select number can untangle the thoughts and make them into words, which has overall become their purpose in life, a purpose to weigh out the words that aren't theirs with one's that are, trying to make a coherent sentence that will satisfy both parties, a party of which we all attend yet this is very a private party, one they don't think anyone wants to be a part of, but it's the only time the demons can speak, the only time the demons can tell the paper what to say, a time where they are in control, a control the host has lost long ago, a time where they would write senselessly about those summer lit evenings but not with much appreciation, a time long ago when their writing meant nothing more than the meal their mom has made them for dinner, a meal that consists of empty calories, a dinner that consists of empty words, their writing used to be these dinners, full of nothing yet they thought it was everything, everything was what they got once those demons came to play, came to play the strings of their heart, creating those vulnerable songs, songs are heartache the host knew nothing of, they knew nothing until those demons told the paper that's what happened to them, and that is how the host became prevalent of real words with real meanings, it is how they knew how to appreciate the little things in life, like writing, something so powerful, something that screams so loud yet has no voice, they have learned to appreciate the art of writing and how their walls are now gone, revealing the true problems that lie beneath, understanding that what they are doing by writing is soothing the inner demons inside of their head.