(no subject)
Demons of the mind come in all shapes and sizes, I believe based on how strongly they have a hold on one's self.
The smallest of the demons that pillage the simple thoughts of my mind is the deceptively diminutive Anger. If such a creature stood among us, he would stand level with a person's thigh upon almost satyr like legs. The predominant feature is its wide gaping mouth, stretching half as wide across as he is tall and filled rows upon rows of pointed teeth. As large as the mouth is, he is unable to open it as large as he would like and is therefore made almost entirely ineffective. Small, weak arms ending in three finger-like claws serving to merely guide what food he can into his mouth. Above the mouth a puggish nose is pressed against is already squat face. The eyes are heavily slanted, white throughout with no pupils. Atop his head is black, oily hair and a pair of small, sweptback horns. Anger gnaws at you, his pointed teeth digging in and doing their dirty work. My Anger cannot swallow me whole, as much as he would like. He cannot conquer me, he never has, and he may never. Even though there are times I would wish to be consumed by Anger, he cannot open his jaws wide enough. So he gnaws at me, irritates me, but never has control. Sometimes, I wish he could.
I don't understand my emotions. Not a damn one.
The smallest of the demons that pillage the simple thoughts of my mind is the deceptively diminutive Anger. If such a creature stood among us, he would stand level with a person's thigh upon almost satyr like legs. The predominant feature is its wide gaping mouth, stretching half as wide across as he is tall and filled rows upon rows of pointed teeth. As large as the mouth is, he is unable to open it as large as he would like and is therefore made almost entirely ineffective. Small, weak arms ending in three finger-like claws serving to merely guide what food he can into his mouth. Above the mouth a puggish nose is pressed against is already squat face. The eyes are heavily slanted, white throughout with no pupils. Atop his head is black, oily hair and a pair of small, sweptback horns. Anger gnaws at you, his pointed teeth digging in and doing their dirty work. My Anger cannot swallow me whole, as much as he would like. He cannot conquer me, he never has, and he may never. Even though there are times I would wish to be consumed by Anger, he cannot open his jaws wide enough. So he gnaws at me, irritates me, but never has control. Sometimes, I wish he could.
I don't understand my emotions. Not a damn one.