Gotta love going to bed without knowing if you'll remember anything of the evening when you wake.
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"The devil is in the details." I've heard that before, and I think it's a load of crap. I know quite well where my own devils are and it's not details. It's in tiny white pills, and the shadowed half with all the guile and cruelty of a fallen angel to match his serpent's tongue, and the way my body trembles whenever I'm this close to forgetting a promise I made myself. It's how I know it would feel if I cut again, the taste of fresh blood, the dreams for weeks afterward. It's in another state, and another country, and just in the next room. Ohh yes, I know where my devils are.
I should be sleeping. That whole 'pain' thing not really helping me sleep, that's kind of annoying. Can't dope myself to sleep, don't have enough to waste. Can't drink myself to sleep even if I was willing to mix this shit with booze more than once every few weeks. Can't just fall asleep, not with the thoughts going on in my head.
I know his name, that darker half. I know he's caught scent of my weakness lately. I know the one who keeps him in check is... less careful, of late, for his own reasons. And I've not the daily reassurance, seeing his eyes, knowing for certain who was looking out through them.
I would have sworn I saw him here earlier, standing in the corner of an unlit room. Perhaps he's keeping watch. Perhaps he's hunting. Perhaps I imagined it.
I'm too curious not to want to ask, and too tired to ask now, and... yeah. So I post. Maybe in the morning I'll still be curious, if I read this.
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