she is alone in this cruel, cruel world. there is nothing here for her, except miles upon miles of sand, and the sweet-rotting stench of death; that clings to her delicately-toned frame, like the lips of a possessive lover. she is persephone lost within an underworld of darkness; and behind her slender body, brews the autumnal storm, as dark and as black as hades. she feels like a lamb in a world of wolves, with her innocence upon their slaughter mouths; stained red, by her blood. o it hurts to be a victim. it hurts to be yet a child, lost, alone and constantly afraid.
yet her heart is a storm where warsongs rage on, and she, it's only survivor. her heart has always been a storm for the violence that rings like wicked melodies in its visceral depths. can you feel the cry of her loneliness? can you see the crystal sheen of her dried tears? it's the howl of a wolf that makes her body cry out like beautiful poison in the night. she is a child of the moon and her body sings like a gothic melody in this shadowed trance. o but when she breathes, how it hurts to breathe. she feels the ice in her bones, cleaving her heart into a thousand, million pieces. it hurts.
each shard feels like hot glass piercing her organs, as it drips like holy poison in her veins. she feels the dried tears upon her cheekbones, welling as a river before it dries as sticky blood upon her beautiful, porcelain flesh. her sadness drips with all the doctrinal hunger of an angel, cooing from the edge of heaven, lost without a halo. her sadness is a song for the way its lonely hunger sings like a wild predator across the harsh depths of her winter gaze. she is desperate for the touch of moonlight across her flesh; for the taste of a warm breeze to coo upon her skin; for the warmth of another's breath, fluttering hot and gentle, upon her cheek. anything for comfort and softness, to soothe the torn worlds of her broken heart.
he appears to her like a shadow then. a reprieve to her despair. a prayer. a promise. a dream. her broken heart mends and perks up just a little when she sees him, him, him. her heart opens up like a flower too blinded by the moon's rays. thirsty for its carnal abundance. she feels her heart pulling together like ice-flows, caught on the pacific current; the cold water, churning in her viens, as her ice, pulsates with the arctic sharpness of her magic. there is a hunger in her gaze that drips of honey and shadows and sweet innocence. he appears through the sultry moonlight, a shadowed trace of a ghost. the lithe contours of his body, illuminated by the rimy caress of pale moonlight. he is a young boy about her age, yet all the whispers filled between them, howls with a universe of knowledge and awe. he speaks with a soft pressing purpose, yet she can taste the accusation in his tone. she can see the chilling emptiness, of his gaze; far away and as distant as the moon's ethereal company. was he even here? would this spell break with a kiss?
o he looks wise for such a young boy. she wonders if this was just one of his lives, and if he'd lived many lives over and over and over; if only he knew more than her. she wonders of what monsters creep out at night. she wonders because she is still a child that looks at the world with hungry, curious eyes. naive. trusting. innocently open. "But I'm just dreaming," her voice floats towards him, an ethereal whisper of ache, of longing, of infinite tenderness. there is an angelic coo in the way her syllables drift and sing. her voice is traced with eleven beauty for the ephemeral way they caress her smooth, ebony lips. obsidian lashes, fluttering thick upon her pale cheek, blink away tearless melodies.
"there's no harm in dreaming." her whisper trails over his flesh as she gives him a tender ghost-touch, with her lips near his brow like an unspoken plea. a soft whisper, from one girl to one boy. she wonders then if he'd like to live with her in a kingdom of dreams. a kingdom where no curfew should exist. with nothing but the stars and the sigh of an aching silver moon, riding softly upon their backs. "the stars are so lovely tonight. can't we stay out for just a moment longer?"
yet her heart is a storm where warsongs rage on, and she, it's only survivor. her heart has always been a storm for the violence that rings like wicked melodies in its visceral depths. can you feel the cry of her loneliness? can you see the crystal sheen of her dried tears? it's the howl of a wolf that makes her body cry out like beautiful poison in the night. she is a child of the moon and her body sings like a gothic melody in this shadowed trance. o but when she breathes, how it hurts to breathe. she feels the ice in her bones, cleaving her heart into a thousand, million pieces. it hurts.
each shard feels like hot glass piercing her organs, as it drips like holy poison in her veins. she feels the dried tears upon her cheekbones, welling as a river before it dries as sticky blood upon her beautiful, porcelain flesh. her sadness drips with all the doctrinal hunger of an angel, cooing from the edge of heaven, lost without a halo. her sadness is a song for the way its lonely hunger sings like a wild predator across the harsh depths of her winter gaze. she is desperate for the touch of moonlight across her flesh; for the taste of a warm breeze to coo upon her skin; for the warmth of another's breath, fluttering hot and gentle, upon her cheek. anything for comfort and softness, to soothe the torn worlds of her broken heart.
he appears to her like a shadow then. a reprieve to her despair. a prayer. a promise. a dream. her broken heart mends and perks up just a little when she sees him, him, him. her heart opens up like a flower too blinded by the moon's rays. thirsty for its carnal abundance. she feels her heart pulling together like ice-flows, caught on the pacific current; the cold water, churning in her viens, as her ice, pulsates with the arctic sharpness of her magic. there is a hunger in her gaze that drips of honey and shadows and sweet innocence. he appears through the sultry moonlight, a shadowed trace of a ghost. the lithe contours of his body, illuminated by the rimy caress of pale moonlight. he is a young boy about her age, yet all the whispers filled between them, howls with a universe of knowledge and awe. he speaks with a soft pressing purpose, yet she can taste the accusation in his tone. she can see the chilling emptiness, of his gaze; far away and as distant as the moon's ethereal company. was he even here? would this spell break with a kiss?
o he looks wise for such a young boy. she wonders if this was just one of his lives, and if he'd lived many lives over and over and over; if only he knew more than her. she wonders of what monsters creep out at night. she wonders because she is still a child that looks at the world with hungry, curious eyes. naive. trusting. innocently open. "But I'm just dreaming," her voice floats towards him, an ethereal whisper of ache, of longing, of infinite tenderness. there is an angelic coo in the way her syllables drift and sing. her voice is traced with eleven beauty for the ephemeral way they caress her smooth, ebony lips. obsidian lashes, fluttering thick upon her pale cheek, blink away tearless melodies.
"there's no harm in dreaming." her whisper trails over his flesh as she gives him a tender ghost-touch, with her lips near his brow like an unspoken plea. a soft whisper, from one girl to one boy. she wonders then if he'd like to live with her in a kingdom of dreams. a kingdom where no curfew should exist. with nothing but the stars and the sigh of an aching silver moon, riding softly upon their backs. "the stars are so lovely tonight. can't we stay out for just a moment longer?"
@Abel
