fairyinboots

The darkness. He cowers in the corner, trying to get away. He cannot escape his inky captor as it surrounds him. It isn't quite the darkness which he fears, rather the promise of what lays beyond his sphere of awareness. He shrinks deeper into the protective corner, the only tangible thing in his existence. A lifeline from the blackness that is oblivion. Then, its there. Watching. Waiting. He cannot see it, nor can he hear a thing but his own hoarse breath, yet still he knows that it lies there, waiting. Waiting for that critical moment when his mind slips for a mere second and his guard goes down. Then, only then, will it pounce. Consuming h

The bloody sheets are pulled over the face, As reds fade to whites and blues. The serenity implodes. But few, if any, mourn this passing, For all know the victim well. We know she will remain the victim no longer. But for now, light spills across her deathbed, Bathing her lovers in her killer's own devices. No pain is inflicted, no scars are left, For in her falsehoods they remain safe. But then she stirs. The blood comes again, but only to fall away swiftly. In her coming there is a cooling hush, As her lovers' eyes are soothed, By her silver glow.

O! Fair discord. What beautiful form, By your iron tendrils wrought. This insanity insured, As the wrath-born, Is not so easily caught. It now has stirred, Roused a maniacal swarm, And you know it was all for naught.

Who are you? Are you your clothes, The lifeless drapery with which you hide your truth from the world? Who are you? Are you your friends, Those beings to whom you cling to fit in? Who are you? Are you yourself, The complex machinations of another being? Who are you? Are you your fear? Your joy? Your pain? What are you?