DEMONS

So I think my end is near. It won't be easy to let go on the life I am clinging onto for so long. It won't either be too hard after all it's said that all it takes to tear apart the soul from the body is a snap of fingers by the angel of death.

The question is would the soul go whooshing out of me into a paradox made up of endless twirls only to end up in the city of souls where it would wait for its judgment?

Or would it shear my body apart from within? Like knives cutting me from within until I am nothing but flesh and blood laying aimlessly in a puddle of clay only to be eaten by the ants, I used to squish for fun?

Or would it be painful? Painful like someone with a truck coming to drive me off the road because I may not be paying attention to it and was involved in my own thoughts of being in a world I have built up in my mind?

Somewhere between reality and imagination, it's my demon that haunts me. It's like someone living within me questioning me about why I did what I did? The demon that made me feel guilty of not being a good human. The demon that shouts in my ears, all my penurious deeds.

Somewhere far, far away in my imagination, I see myself shrouded awaiting to be mummified as I was the last of human from the family of the Egyptian king. But sometimes in that very motion, I was too known as the master embalmer famous for mummifying the Pharaoh to be set as an example for many. Later, many would take him as an extreme example of negative whereas others as an extreme example of positive.

Somewhere between positive and negative lies myself still wondering whether it's my demons that helped me be positive or is it the inane humanity that forced me to embark on a path of destruction and darkness.

Darkness, so dark that even the Erebus, the Greek god of Darkness, is afraid of it. Chaos, so chaotic that even Ares, the Greek god of War, is afraid to try and solve it. A journey where a man as simple as me; made up of an effigy covered by Bones and ashes thought of himself greater, so great that no path look hard for him. No matter what, always have a thought of him being nothing but simply a truth. That truth that exists nowhere but in the imagination of a man considering himself as the one imagining his creator.

Sometimes it's nothing but a heckle between the origin stories, whether there is one origin story to something as weak as me or maybe I may the weakest element of someone's origin story or is it that I am a part of someone's dream and is a depiction of their unconscious mind or am I nothing, but simply a simulation in a controlled environment and a slight change in variables affects my behavior. Who am I? Maybe I am nothing but a demon in someone's mind haunting them with what my daemon's haunt me with.

But soon, the reality would stand right in front of me, the reality of whether am I an existence, an imagination, a simulation, an effigy, a human a demon or simply a prisoner of my own device.