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11-18-2012, 01:43 PM
What becomes of a being that cannot feel, that cannot touch, that cannot embrace the glow of others? That cannot taste the whimsy of life, that cannot offer its own sentiments to the world? Does it waste away, drown in its barrenness? Or does it grow stronger, pull ever more away from the pleasures of the earth, and remain detached, thriving on immorality, conjuring entropy from the swift touch of its poisonous abyss? What becomes of the world when the creature falls ever further, when the pariah to emotion is unleashed on regal palisades?
He was like winter: tragic, chaotic, beautiful and cold. A gift from a frosty, heathen muse, engraved from ice, he struck in the chilling, silent halls, disheartened the frail, brought a lethal wake to fragile, feeble existences. A ravenous knife, twisting and gliding through the perilous winds and predacious, glacial sinew, an untouched, sullen slide amongst an oeuvre of the forlorn, the desolate. He reaped calamity, sowed persecution, blended the turbulent, anarchical threads of portended sentiments into the woebegone strands of the earth, absconded precious tidings of life, slashed, pierced, punctured the latent virtues of vestal creatures. He ruined, he scarred, he scorched, caught and tainted, ushered the condemning, damning swing of his scythe; he could have been a frozen piece of the landscape, torturing in the infernal ache of silence, snow and treachery, still, silent, grand and menacing. With his brutal malice he could sear the world’s flesh to bone, with his trenchant, morose rapier he could slice hope from dreamers, erase the wanton, yearning fixtures from divine creatures. With his frigid, graceful, enigmatic presence, he could torment the valiant, subdue the weak, dragoon the inadequate, command and demand their existence be forfeit. So wicked, so unrelenting, so ruthless in the labyrinthine midst of power, puissance, and dominion, the authority of his savage entity lent to the stoic, unfurling air of insurrection and bedlam, laid waste to the proud, wretched of lesser mortals. Glacial and morose, Siberian and Stygian, tainted by the whims of curses and derived from enchantments, carved from the hot blade of a licentious creed, he was the arctic, the tundra, the chill of hushed armaments, of unsung sieges, of augured blights. Acrimony, vengeance, hostility and malevolence, blended into the pariah, barbarous rapture of his feral discord, molten indignation, bestial reverie. Offering no warmth, no guidance, no heart in the Tartarean guile, in the Mephistopheles maelstrom, in the abhorrent disdain, he was endless carnage, eternal decadence, the raw, biting glimpse of annihilation captured in carnal form.
The wake of his vicious turmoil breathed from his statuesque frame, immorality, primordial treachery, slinking from his bones, pulsing from his veins, beating the veil of unsung violence, of unholy possession, of stoic, reclusive scheming. An ethereal relic, a detached, immobile sword with no scabbard in place, scintillating, devouring, consuming. He stood upon the wake of the earth and promised violence, ushered hedonistic elation, allured danger and finessed forbidding, the undying, severe clarity of an overwhelming monster, irrepressible, irresistible monster. Enticement in the boughs of death and isolation, minatory, sinister terror, the enveloping veil of harboring strife, craving sedition, ferocious, argent domination. He strangled the cold, unrelenting air with his own archaic, nefarious influence, felt the few living creatures burying their heads in dormant soil, hiding their roots from his raptorial predilection. Alone on the mordant artifice, he melded and fused to the tundra’s expanse, became the snow, the ice, the chilling, remorseless ether.
[For Krazie. <3]
He was like winter: tragic, chaotic, beautiful and cold. A gift from a frosty, heathen muse, engraved from ice, he struck in the chilling, silent halls, disheartened the frail, brought a lethal wake to fragile, feeble existences. A ravenous knife, twisting and gliding through the perilous winds and predacious, glacial sinew, an untouched, sullen slide amongst an oeuvre of the forlorn, the desolate. He reaped calamity, sowed persecution, blended the turbulent, anarchical threads of portended sentiments into the woebegone strands of the earth, absconded precious tidings of life, slashed, pierced, punctured the latent virtues of vestal creatures. He ruined, he scarred, he scorched, caught and tainted, ushered the condemning, damning swing of his scythe; he could have been a frozen piece of the landscape, torturing in the infernal ache of silence, snow and treachery, still, silent, grand and menacing. With his brutal malice he could sear the world’s flesh to bone, with his trenchant, morose rapier he could slice hope from dreamers, erase the wanton, yearning fixtures from divine creatures. With his frigid, graceful, enigmatic presence, he could torment the valiant, subdue the weak, dragoon the inadequate, command and demand their existence be forfeit. So wicked, so unrelenting, so ruthless in the labyrinthine midst of power, puissance, and dominion, the authority of his savage entity lent to the stoic, unfurling air of insurrection and bedlam, laid waste to the proud, wretched of lesser mortals. Glacial and morose, Siberian and Stygian, tainted by the whims of curses and derived from enchantments, carved from the hot blade of a licentious creed, he was the arctic, the tundra, the chill of hushed armaments, of unsung sieges, of augured blights. Acrimony, vengeance, hostility and malevolence, blended into the pariah, barbarous rapture of his feral discord, molten indignation, bestial reverie. Offering no warmth, no guidance, no heart in the Tartarean guile, in the Mephistopheles maelstrom, in the abhorrent disdain, he was endless carnage, eternal decadence, the raw, biting glimpse of annihilation captured in carnal form.
The wake of his vicious turmoil breathed from his statuesque frame, immorality, primordial treachery, slinking from his bones, pulsing from his veins, beating the veil of unsung violence, of unholy possession, of stoic, reclusive scheming. An ethereal relic, a detached, immobile sword with no scabbard in place, scintillating, devouring, consuming. He stood upon the wake of the earth and promised violence, ushered hedonistic elation, allured danger and finessed forbidding, the undying, severe clarity of an overwhelming monster, irrepressible, irresistible monster. Enticement in the boughs of death and isolation, minatory, sinister terror, the enveloping veil of harboring strife, craving sedition, ferocious, argent domination. He strangled the cold, unrelenting air with his own archaic, nefarious influence, felt the few living creatures burying their heads in dormant soil, hiding their roots from his raptorial predilection. Alone on the mordant artifice, he melded and fused to the tundra’s expanse, became the snow, the ice, the chilling, remorseless ether.
[For Krazie. <3]
