1 Vague Remembrance of Yellowing Papers

I want to see the world in sepia tones.

I want to feel the rasp of a hot wind across bare arms.

I want to hear the carrion crows screaming through the sky.

I want to smell miles and miles of sand.

I want to taste the smoke on the back of my tongue.

I want a vision of rusted gates in the shape of your heart.

I want the sensation of iron red poppies brushing against fingertips.

I want the sound of metal grinding metal as swords clash to complete me.

I want the rich scent of blood in my nostrils.

I want the salt of your fingers in my mouth.

I want the trees and plants bent to my will.

I want their fear to cover me like armor.

I want the will to move mountains and crumble buildings.

I want the power to shatter souls.

I want to own the stars… and crumble them all to dust.

I want the Gates of Night to open only for me.

I want to smile as the pieces scatter.

I want to laugh at who is victorious over Death.

I want them all to bow at my feet.

I want to have your body laid out in a coffin of its own.

I want to steal your breath in the dead of night, when nothing else exists.

I want you to contain me, keep me from feeling the edge.

I want to poison your body so that it matches your soul.

I want the arrows to pierce deep, and I want your blood to run shallow.

I want a quiet house among the hills.

I want a mansion set in rolling green hills, under blue skies.

I want a great castle among rolling emerald hills melded to skies blue enough to make your head whirl.

But I have only the fading memory of pleasure and the vague smell of that flower.

Only morning sun, and ice, and boxed lunches.

Only enough power to hold on to _her_.

And that's nearly enough.

---------

A dose of the megalomaniacal, there. But don't worry, it's good for you. =D Or at least it hasn't been proven to hurt you.

darkling@aboutmontana.net