VIII. Darkness:Glass
"I cracked a piece of broken glass"
-Garbage
I am the most delicate china cup. Handle the glass with immense care and it is safe. Tainted by the touch, but safe all the same. If you should drop it, its dainty structure will shatter. A few pieces will be lost to obscurity, others blown to dust. Those ancient shards still twisted in the light will not sparkle and dance, for they are too worn and remorseful of their lost counterparts to ever be restored to the whole, that once-proclaimed beauty. What is left may not be gathered and tended to. The darkening frosted glass would claw and fight with all its force, bringing still more pain upon another. The blood would shower down, the broken soul on the ground soaking in the sin and regret whilst weeping under the burden of its ignorant corruption.
I am the broken china cup. Somehow I continue to step on the pieces, feeling them break beneath my frail calloused feet. I no longer feel the stabbing pain rip through my veins, or not physically as one might assume. This physical pain is numbed and it collects itself, eventually dissolving and widening the gaping hole inside me.
There is a small fire that burns deep inside, serving its masters that have infested my mind. They lurk within the plentiful shadows and laugh as I fail to eat. I cannot die, therefore my skin in response may only contract to hug to my emaciated figure. My blood runs cold, warming only when my demons stoop to drink it. This crimson stream serves no purpose, only reflects itself in the color of my eyes. Nor do my tears do any good, as they rip my pale cheeks and act as a cruel source of amusement to the rest of my evils.
I suppose it is impossible to forgive a man who is not even truly a man. A monster, somehow immortal. A sullen winged figure whose true purpose - and at times... desire... is to destroy. All it, I, am capable of is just that. Is that why she was taken from me? Because if she wasn't, what I was destined to be would mean...
But she's dead in my wake either way. When I was a man, a creature not yet completely taken by damnation... I killed her... I could have saved her, I believe that. I didn't. Quite possibly... I couldn't say I was incapable, or willing as it is. Oh, she had hurt me. But I wanted her... oh, I wanted her...
For me to atone: that goal will never be reached. However, I must try. I am trying. I'll be trying until my chaos is dying and my eyes turn to leaden sheets, closing me away from my convulsing chokes of pain that erupt inside of me every single time I move. Sadly, that too is impossible. I cannot die. I could not do anything then, I could not... I am bound by the fiery wings of perdition...
The gates of hell are open and I feel its hot breath. I can never step inside. Sin. My love and everything sacred, my own spirit is dead. Sin. I have killed, I am a monster, I am broken down on my knees, unable to stand, I have been broken by regret and mourning. Sin, sin, sin sin sin sin sin sin sin.... and I'll never come back...
So I am doomed to my solitary eternity. I shall lay here in my own past's shadow, not to speak a word. I shall observe. And I shall find time to cry my soft, dry cries. I flinch when someone cares to notice, snatch myself away when anyone tries to touch me. I shudder in the cold that I deserve. I shall find nothing in my darkness.
I burn with the ice stake across my heart.
I begin to like it where I am.
"I cracked a piece of broken glass"
-Garbage
I am the most delicate china cup. Handle the glass with immense care and it is safe. Tainted by the touch, but safe all the same. If you should drop it, its dainty structure will shatter. A few pieces will be lost to obscurity, others blown to dust. Those ancient shards still twisted in the light will not sparkle and dance, for they are too worn and remorseful of their lost counterparts to ever be restored to the whole, that once-proclaimed beauty. What is left may not be gathered and tended to. The darkening frosted glass would claw and fight with all its force, bringing still more pain upon another. The blood would shower down, the broken soul on the ground soaking in the sin and regret whilst weeping under the burden of its ignorant corruption.
I am the broken china cup. Somehow I continue to step on the pieces, feeling them break beneath my frail calloused feet. I no longer feel the stabbing pain rip through my veins, or not physically as one might assume. This physical pain is numbed and it collects itself, eventually dissolving and widening the gaping hole inside me.
There is a small fire that burns deep inside, serving its masters that have infested my mind. They lurk within the plentiful shadows and laugh as I fail to eat. I cannot die, therefore my skin in response may only contract to hug to my emaciated figure. My blood runs cold, warming only when my demons stoop to drink it. This crimson stream serves no purpose, only reflects itself in the color of my eyes. Nor do my tears do any good, as they rip my pale cheeks and act as a cruel source of amusement to the rest of my evils.
I suppose it is impossible to forgive a man who is not even truly a man. A monster, somehow immortal. A sullen winged figure whose true purpose - and at times... desire... is to destroy. All it, I, am capable of is just that. Is that why she was taken from me? Because if she wasn't, what I was destined to be would mean...
But she's dead in my wake either way. When I was a man, a creature not yet completely taken by damnation... I killed her... I could have saved her, I believe that. I didn't. Quite possibly... I couldn't say I was incapable, or willing as it is. Oh, she had hurt me. But I wanted her... oh, I wanted her...
For me to atone: that goal will never be reached. However, I must try. I am trying. I'll be trying until my chaos is dying and my eyes turn to leaden sheets, closing me away from my convulsing chokes of pain that erupt inside of me every single time I move. Sadly, that too is impossible. I cannot die. I could not do anything then, I could not... I am bound by the fiery wings of perdition...
The gates of hell are open and I feel its hot breath. I can never step inside. Sin. My love and everything sacred, my own spirit is dead. Sin. I have killed, I am a monster, I am broken down on my knees, unable to stand, I have been broken by regret and mourning. Sin, sin, sin sin sin sin sin sin sin.... and I'll never come back...
So I am doomed to my solitary eternity. I shall lay here in my own past's shadow, not to speak a word. I shall observe. And I shall find time to cry my soft, dry cries. I flinch when someone cares to notice, snatch myself away when anyone tries to touch me. I shudder in the cold that I deserve. I shall find nothing in my darkness.
I burn with the ice stake across my heart.
I begin to like it where I am.