Shooting My Senses

There are so many of you
The demons of Light
I pluck one out
Shoot the other to smithereens
Still they keep popping up
Now my senses are numbed
My hand moves slowly
Being drawn like a moth
The escape is the distance
And the sheer death below
Even where you were not to be
You persist
Blinding my senses, numbing my eyes

Hollow Pride

Simplicity suffers
In the absence of substance
The mind needs to be boggled
For the good feeling to sustain
Hollow pride in nothingness
Thrills a fleeting minute
Ere being swamped by gloom