A Deamon's Rest

I had just woke up. Its 11:20 PM. No ones here but me, everyone's fast asleep, Dreaming. I like being up by myself, theres just sumthing so peaceful bout being alone. I'm relaxed. I can think clearly. Theres no one here for me to be aware and be careful of my actions. I can just be myself.

When you realize that everyone around you are so fragile/ so delicate, you begin to watch your every move, especialy when you know that in your true nature, you simply are a hazard to them.

When you see things differently, when you react to things differently, when ur expression of sadness is interpreted as an expression of anger/of hatred, when ur smile/ur laugh is taken as an insult, when your ideas are seen as immoral, when ur silence is feared, when ur love causes pain.

You would rather wear a mask than be seen. You'd rather be alone than enjoy their presence. You'd rather be unknown than to be truth lived.

For all this you would gladly bear, rather than to show the truth of who you are and see tears on ur return.

For there is no fate more dreadfull than that of Death. Death, the angel of darkness who's glorious truth is that of pain/of suffering. Who's beauty is covered with tragedy. Who's salvaging wisdom is that of loneness.

When you're a deamon among fragile angels, there is no rest. For home is far from where you stand. Exhiled to a place of beauty/of innocence, you are left alone. Where no one hears your words as gentle whisphers only as vengefull screams. Where no one feels your smiles as joyfull love only frightful hate. Where no one sees the light of ur soul only the shadow of ur heart. Heaven is unbearable when the only place you were ment for is Hell. In Hell, you are not alone, For in here you are seen. For in here you are understood. For in here you are loved.