eden found and lost — angel's awakening.
Dec 10, 2018 12:26:21 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Dec 10, 2018 12:26:21 GMT -5
I'll miss the life time of insanity
I'll give my poetry to charity
'Cause I can't afford to smile
I'll give my poetry to charity
'Cause I can't afford to smile
I wake to the icy bite of metal, the taste of rust, and a cluster headache, like someone had stirred the innards of this skull with silverware and left it in utter disarray. Heaven feels as miserable as the world - and then, I realize, with the ache of a glass heart - how bold it is of me to assume that I soared skyward. Maybe, this place, with its chemical-laden air and dull fluorescents, is the Fire Pit. Any judgment system would detect the sins festering beneath my permeable skin and the lies this accursed tongue has fashioned.
It's an effortless task: to undress a naked heart, to dig the soil for dirt.
Remember, I was not destined for the kingdom of stars, but condemned to the cold space between.
Lungs gasp aloud and I do not know if it's air I am breathing or the ether of the gods. There's no purity in it, only chemicals and an underlying foulness that gives rise to waves of nausea. I cannot believe I died to be shackled by a sense of familiarity again, a tingling in the nerves beneath that says I know this place. Despite the thousand, invisible needles adhered to the throat, tongue crafts a question at the silvery light above, desperate.
“I-Is that you? The absolute one?”
I expected you to shine brighter, brighter than a bowl of suns, brighter than a chalice of stars.
“No.” His voice is coarse, like freshly harvested grains, like sawdust. My heart leaps to the throat, thundering, pulsating to a frantic rhythm. “You’re in the Capitol now, and your job is to rest.”
A “What?” resonates through the place that suddenly grows colder and more sinister, with distorted shapes rising from the vignette of white bordering my sight. “No. I- I am supposed to be- I am supposed to be free! Let me go!” A hand tugs at whatever restraints they'd strapped me down with, or at least tries to, and I fail, miserably, muscles devoid of strength, stripped of power.
Powerless.
In this icy room, with the mechanic beeps and the jungle of plastic tubes and partial darkness in one eye, I return to square one, back to where I began, retracing old trails.
Rebirth hurts more than death, and I scream, and I scream - songs of the demented ones.
Lungs gasp aloud and I do not know if it's air I am breathing or the ether of the gods. There's no purity in it, only chemicals and an underlying foulness that gives rise to waves of nausea. I cannot believe I died to be shackled by a sense of familiarity again, a tingling in the nerves beneath that says I know this place. Despite the thousand, invisible needles adhered to the throat, tongue crafts a question at the silvery light above, desperate.
“I-Is that you? The absolute one?”
I expected you to shine brighter, brighter than a bowl of suns, brighter than a chalice of stars.
“No.” His voice is coarse, like freshly harvested grains, like sawdust. My heart leaps to the throat, thundering, pulsating to a frantic rhythm. “You’re in the Capitol now, and your job is to rest.”
A “What?” resonates through the place that suddenly grows colder and more sinister, with distorted shapes rising from the vignette of white bordering my sight. “No. I- I am supposed to be- I am supposed to be free! Let me go!” A hand tugs at whatever restraints they'd strapped me down with, or at least tries to, and I fail, miserably, muscles devoid of strength, stripped of power.
Powerless.
In this icy room, with the mechanic beeps and the jungle of plastic tubes and partial darkness in one eye, I return to square one, back to where I began, retracing old trails.
Rebirth hurts more than death, and I scream, and I scream - songs of the demented ones.
Because we never changed
the locks my dear
In too much space we hide
In both ways I apologize
[ lyrics : i apologize — moss ]
the locks my dear
In too much space we hide
In both ways I apologize
[ lyrics : i apologize — moss ]
