The lyre

I no longer live in the night, I live in the twilight. Between night and day, moving towards day. I have no hunger for day creatures. I just want to exist in their world. It seems to be possible, but the time I’ve spent in solitude has taken its toll on me. I feel... less. Like weaker eyes, less photons are processed. Anger has become weariness. I sculk across the castle hallz dragging these nails. 💅 the sunlight is melancholic. Hello sun. But the time I would have been excited to see it has passed. I observe things and have a mellowd  opinion on them. How interesting does life with the humans really sound? It must be better than this, which is no life at all. I am waiting for help. A homeless on the street waiting for money. Will I spend it on drugs or make something of it? (Metaphor) the metaphor is will I use the help to help myself and become a creature of the light or will I suck up the temporary high of the help and revert to old wayz? I don’t know. I’ve been listening to a man speak Frankenstein for a bit. Good book. Makes me depressed. I am the monster in the book, except I antagonize the living (maybe he does too but I havin’t gotten that far yet). Will I still want nothing after I go to sleep or will I wake up rejuvenated and forgetful of the mind space the weary mind has? I think I will want something. 

The day creatures are too precious for this world. Like aphids on a leaf, once discovered they are snacks to the insects. More like animals carelessly shot at by humans because they are different enough to warrant shooting. The creatures I once ate are still out there and may always be there to crush the beautiful bugs. Shoot down exotic birds to admire in death but God forbid life. 

You may or may not be my next meal.