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  • Writer's pictureJude

The company of a Demon

My friend told me to write for no reason sometimes about “emotions” so…

What can you do with the company of a Demon? Screaming in silence, yearning violence and disregarding the finest forms of happiness. Combing the soul with sadness and stretching it to fit the sensitivity of a clit. Every hit of the demonic word can only be heard within the self, damaging your mental health and rubbishing the idea of wealth in the self. For the demon has me captivated, it is so commanding and forceful, never thoughtful of my well-being as we are hardly seeing equality. I am a slave to the continuous rave of depression, its favourite taunt. To flaunt your weakness knowing it haunts all sorts of life, as damaging as a sharpened knife scaled across the naked body. It would appear I have been stripped of my Humanity, hence I reason that sanity is no longer an option. It is dark and absent, like the morality of Gotham. Except there is no superhero to stop them, no hope no God or obscene freak of nature like Gorilla Grodd. Fantasy is another pain, as that feeling and excitement can only be experienced in the reigns of imagination again.

To refrain from the abstract and entertain reality, no wonder this unholy demon is forever mad at me. Picking at the brain and digging an internal grave, I wonder if fate opts to save the brave or if it only has faves. These mental caves host the extensiveness of my brain, shielded from the aggressive droplets of rain from these Societal clouds hosted so proudly above me. They usually smother me, opinions and laws, its flaws and racist jaws – drenching me with spit, swallowing me whole. Is that what’s meant to be Society’s role? So hopeful but unknowingly damaging, the way it doesn’t understand is maddening. Yet it judges, covered with the ideals of the real agenda. The media is Society’s biggest pretender, a vender for Islamophobia and in general hate of difference. An irresistible persistence to paint an unpleasant picture on the fixture of multiculturalism, a broken image of blackness that fractures life in application of me. I see no hope here, yet I am steered toward the benefits. Fixated on creativity in its various forms, scorned by the idea I just might never perform. How aggravating it is to see what you want to be, falling short because you were never taught about how systematically your chances are slim. To live life on that whim was never my idea, I always feared failure but was never a stranger to hope. Nevertheless the demon tokes on my faith, it becomes so hard to escape. With every pull it takes, the light shone on a realistic path becomes dimmer – it’s only right life feels as dark as night even during the day.

This fray is like War, you are never sure of peace and ceasefire is at least comfortable for a while. The real trial is surviving and winning the War, these little battles come across as unnecessary bloodshed and nothing more. These four walls are where most of my battles are fought, with the bed as my base and laptop as intelligence. From such a small room is space to ponder about existence, dive deep into the web and acknowledge its distance. As frustrating as that sounds what I have found is a lot of gold, too much to hold by the company of a demon. Semen rolled in balls of tissue. Yuck, I would kiss you to show how much I miss you. But I cannot so I hope you find a ring that fits you. I apologise for being a prick too. Though I shoulder the blame the demon should get a sip too, the wave will always continue as being sober is Hell and tipsy a type of Limbo, with a path laid out to the Heavens if I took another hit though. If not for my body being damaged it would be so simple, roll an everlasting blunt to remind me what if feels like to be happy for a month. A week or entire day, without feeling like it was a great fray to smile after a while. I was under the guile you’ll be here forever, I am sure you will be but it is not up to me. The demon is selfish and wants you back, hence every conversation is a heart attack. To soothe a demon with a lullaby of love, I wonder if I gave you gloves could you strangle it and make it go away?

Is that too gay, like we used to say when life was a little less grey? Gay, what a thing to say. To sing a song of justice as if life trusts this places hope in Human beings that I never saw. The demon adores the flaws of men, the beauty of women, how misogynistic and wicked. I was so twisted to realise and not care that we all suffer, and I am part of a few problems and more I am yet to discover. I now care more for my Black Brothers and Sisters. Through sadness and honesty you brought back a fraction of care to share, something I would not dare to do by the demons side. It has let it slide, allowing me to restore some pride. Selfishness is not a trait I can easily hide. For when faced with Four Walls my mind reflects entirely on itself. To leave this room is to wear a mask, I cannot breathe in space – the outside World is an entirely different place.

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