Work Text:
"...So... what do I do now?"
She loved her showers warm, biked to and fro because cars are nowhere near cheap
Watched only the finest media before she would sleep
She wrote poetry and stories because she wanted to start a band
Called "The Stars and Good Levi", she hoped anyone can understand
Never swam in the ocean because it was 50% and climbing piss
Stopped watching Harry Potter or HBO Max, not that'd it be what she'd miss
Ever since she found the curses of the horrible J.K. Rowling
But that was long before she died, and she found herself scowling
I was named Lucy but we never knew it a demon's name
So I tried to call myself Levi but I saw it was a demon's name again
But seeing everything I try to do I revert back to doing nothing
Maybe I should've been Belle because as least the name "Belphegore" meant something
Now I was in a neon landscape, not a Heaven or Hell But I was still in an afterlife, another tale to tell I was already pressured into filling my life hobbies I forgot what it was like to do nothing in a lobby
But maybe that's why I didn't find peace, what I did instead
Was feed my intrusive thoughts swimming like eels inside my head
With all the media that drowned me in a sorta null delight
But enough of that, I zoned out so I stepped into a light
And inside that light was a pearly hall decorated to an expectation
To be just like what people thought was the opposite damnation
I said that I'd wake at 9 and finally go to bed at 10
But I'm a night owl which meant I was already doomscrolling at 12 sitting in my den
I say I want to improve myself but the work I put in is gone in a flash
I stopped watching movies because I was afraid the investment was somehow rash
My phone reaches its hands, a mishmash of cartoonish arms
I had dulled my senses enough, I saw but felt none of the alarms
"COME TO ME LILITH, ENTERTAINMENT IS YOUR SOUL"
I'll probably dying forgetting to write, improve, or live when I grow old
I always loved to write but I've grown to only write synopses
I read a lot on the Reading Rainbow, butI only read what the subtitle says
The existential horror is either the phone or my own life
I'm living in a society who turns improvement into a strife
When I woke, I'd stay in bed for an hour because of a weakness
If I got up and considered improving myself, I'd confront my truth of laziness
And so all my books left unread, my ideas shortened and exercise dead,
I thought up but went either straight or downhill back to where I was led
And superstition got the better of me, saying what I write and think will
Make all my intrusive thoughts true and bring me infinite ill
I can't say a demon's name even if there's no pentagrams or candles
Cause even if I can't summon them, it's not exactly what I can handle