{27th July 2016, 11:47pm}
It will always be there; lurking in the background, hiding in the shadows. It will always be a pigment of grey in my black and white vision. It will always want more, feeding off of my colour, my light, my hues.
Drowning me dry.
I submit myself to it, because what else is there to do? Give in, give up; give everything you have to the demons inside you.
These sleepless nights take over, but I never feel awake. Emptiness; I am hollow, and you are stronger, and it does not take much for you to win.
You cannot paint a picture without a brush. You cannot sing a song without a voice. You cannot write a story without a pen.
I do not have a brush, or a voice, or a pen.
I am grey. And the demons are full of colour, full of life; how is that so evil? To be the pigment, the shade, the everything, and have everything hate you as a result. Where is the crime in living, in colour, in emotion?
Demons do what they need to in order to survive.
I must do what I need to in order to survive.
It will always be there, but I will not. And I would rather spend my star-dust life without fear of a monster, than to give it fuel and life.
I will climb so high; further and further away, until I reach the moon and the stars, and I will reach out to them, and they will welcome me, because I am a part of them.
We are all broken stars. We are all dust. And one day, we will all explode, and we will be beautiful.
~~~
//VOTE//COMMENT//SMILE//
YOU ARE READING
twilight
Nouvelles[now i see the stars, when i should be dreaming but how can i dream when these thoughts make the universe?]
