He paid so much attention to his demons that he couldn't listen to his angels.

And while his demons fed him lies, his angels spoke the truth of how much worth he held within his hands.

But since he never knew his angels, he was convinced that his hands were better off as a cup filled with his own blood.

His angels cried because he cried, but his demons rejoiced because of his pain.

He paid so much attention to his demons that he couldn't listen to his heart.

He couldn't hear the beauty in its steady beating because his demons drowned it out with constant lies.

So when his demons told him to make it stop that beautiful noise, he listened.

And he did just so.

And his angels wept because they could do nothing. And his demons sang because they had done everything.