The clock on the wall, ticking away,
the room spins, turning life upside down,
there is a demon in the room,
screaming in my ear,
whispering the lies I refuse to hear,
Who lies like a demon?
The demons creator, of course.
He breathes liar,
He smells of nothing but denial,
only wishing to hear what appeases him.
His eyes scream at me,
telling me all I need to know.
There is a demon in this room.
His creator smirks in the corner,
watching as the world, whats left of it that is, crumbles away.
So few bricks left holding up that house.
He is angry,
realizing he now has to create a new demon.
A new mishap, to chip away at the foundation of the world.
But he is out of ideas,
he has used everything he can think of,
What could he create that would be trustworthy, and do damage?
There is so little left.
A milligram of heart.
A shred of soul.
An overstatement of the century.
One bottle.
So many pills.
Who dare dance with these thrills?
Time is watching, waiting.
Creator is thinking, brewing.
What could happen next?
Mistake the circles under my eyes for exhaustion,
mistake the tone of my voice for being a long day.
Stretched too thin, took too many pills, watched to much go to shit.
This demon is good.
He knows his way around the track, been here before.
Alot could go wrong with his next plan,
too much could change.
But what choice does he have?
He takes the bottle.
Swallows the pills.
He takes the clock off the wall,
throws it out the window with whatever morals a demon could have.
He spins with the room,
getting dizzy and lost.
He inhabits the creator.
Together they take over.
Slowly wielding with the others.
And suddenly,
I can not tell the difference any more.
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