were he a more conscious individual, he might have felt inclined to believe that the putrid heat was karmic retribution for
our sins. alas, proverbial carnival fires on high do not
woo him; apathy fixed in velvet, he is hell bent -- energy
spent. wanderlust and war symbiotic in how they've coagulated in his throat just right. stygian lungs
tight with travel. he's exhausted. ravaged. it will forever amuse him just how savage their world could be, what with how the sun drools gluttony. it's hands ( a metaphoric allusion to the streams of light which filter through empty skies ) white-knuckled, wolf mad. fingers locked like nooses. but you won't
catch me! although he may dare you to try; after all, he covets challenge wherever he can find it.
fuck if it's god or motal. bloodsport all looks the same when it's covered in red. he pauses. tail flicking. the polychromatic strands hissing as they connect with tissue. skin taut over muscle. he's
strong. and while not
gargantuan, there is little denouncing the regality that purges from his pores. vanity taking up residence in skeletal halls. the breadth of his sternum a throne. his volatile heart perched upon it's porous basin. meanwhile birds sing, ignorance ringing in the blithe litanies. a fanfare to announce him.
in comparison to this, the looming canopies of the threshold ( perhaps an allegory for impending uncertainty ) are a relief. their gaping crowns offering a spot of shade under which he could rest. equine frame nesting against a tree by lieu of one haunch pressed against the timber. inhale. exhale. oxygen drags down the throat and incites impatience. already he thirsts for whatever rejuvenated culture exists beyond the gates. that if too much time were to pass, he imagines he just might travel onward anyway. but until then, he'd appreciate the thicket's promised liberation. the wood's bestial enation. his figure dissolving poetically into tinges of gray and ink as the shadows cloaked him in film. with even the white of him ( pallid armor --- he wore it well; chalk adorned by colored spells of auburn, of black ) left sullied by the somber atmosphere. only his eyes to contrast. aforementioned pupils vivid with ferocity if nothing else. blue ripe with concentrated barbarity. the animal in him feeling coerced by the silence as he waited for one opportunity or another.
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