With no rest for the wicked, for the sinister, the avaricious incarnation settled into nefarious reveries, doused and lacquered the springtime rain into his eldritch heart; finessed and courted until the last fibers of it were wanton, yearning pinnacles, longing tendrils. A controlled burn, building and brewing as he walked, cloaked and choked, smothering silence, ravaging and pillaging as the vestiges of showers soaked his calculating air. Damned manifestation, he wafted through the plumes of droplets, belonging to their sultry grace, their tangible, sweet nothings, because of what they offered, what they reflected, what they churned into amongst the carnivorous fringe of his deliberate machinations. Through the walls of his undulating muscles, through the lengthy, limber strides, she’d cast an earnest contemplation through his livelihood, and her element strove to meet his satanic maelstroms, ease them into their quiet, contorted infernos. Swallowed and consumed by the cascade, he was a man of hushed proclamations, scathing strokes, sultry sedition, devouring her traces, following the touch, the taste, of her delicate void. Vehemence and callousness, heartless hollows and hallowed entities, pressed close to the cool caresses of the feral showers, a malicious form immersed into the embrace of clinging beneficence, all her creeds, all her promises, all her serenities piercing the vicious slate of his rancorous statue. They led him down the road to ruin, and he lapped, savored, relished at their fineness, at their ability, to woo him into the threads of craving, pining, desire. Amidst the smoky absences, the strangling, strange disappearances, and the return of crowns, of kingdoms, he merely wanted to see her, to touch her, to ensure, secure, clinch, and then, rapaciously possess, seize, plunder, and claim all over again; the only goddess who’d managed to bewitch, beguile, and allure death. He cast stones and trailed after her heartlines, Huyana, the earth whispered beneath his dominating footfalls, undone and divine, arcane and calculating, webbed into the ancient pathways and mottled floors, beneath the marble columns and upon the circular slab; temples eager and waiting to be desecrated from the heat of his malice and menace. Against the kaleidoscope hues, he blended into shadow, into darkness, into Stygian hymns and vulture rhythms, became another effigy, sculpture, still in the sanctuary – and awaited her blessings, rosaries, and pitfalls.


@[Huyana]

i'm not here looking for absolution,

because I found myself an old solution