Cuddled in my precious coils, hiding behind my masses, I lie: waiting for opportunity to take life and crush it in the midst of myself. They will never stand against me. When the time comes for me to reveal myself, they will all flee, courage frozen, from the face of my hideous self. Golden warships, Great white fish, the marauders of the half-open sea... flee. How many days has it been? How many days since the men would fire their harpoons in futile attempts to pierce my flesh. How many times since the sharks would gang together, hoping to feast upon my body.
This lonely authority is not for me. Fight back.
Fight back. Give me scars and annoyances. Call on your valour.
Fight back. Give me insults I can never hear. Muster your packs.
Fight back. Give me defiance. Aim your cannons at me.
I longed to be pierced through, cut up, destroyed. I long for an adversary. Foolish, to wish for what does not exist. I spend eternity at the end of the great ocean. They will not come for me. I spend eternity, ageless, waiting until the day I must strangle my life with my own limbs, for no one will dare to beat me to it.
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Friday, April 19, 2013
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
perfection.
Splotches of black paint -- no, blood -- litter the sidewalk. A gentle breezes wafts through your jackets, whispering unintelligibly, beckoning your footsteps to imprint upon the fine layer of dust coating everything. A low, rusty ladder straddles the narrow street, leaving enough room for cats and vermin to pass through. Time stills in a mosaic of idyllic imperfection.
I worked my way up the stairs, heedless of the countless creaks and snaps, focused. The door to the rooftop; my last obstacle. The air nipped at my exposed neck. What a dull rooftop. The first rays of sunlight peeked out over the western horizon. This would have to be done without contemplation. The right edge of the rooftop. It was friendly. Accepting. No time. I jumped.
Splotches of black paint -- no, blood -- litter the sidewalk. A gentle breezes wafts through your jackets, whispering unintelligibly, beckoning your eyes to cast light on the figure lying prone next to the ladder. The blood is pooling.
I worked my way up the stairs, heedless of the countless creaks and snaps, focused. The door to the rooftop; my last obstacle. The air nipped at my exposed neck. What a dull rooftop. The first rays of sunlight peeked out over the western horizon. This would have to be done without contemplation. The right edge of the rooftop. It was friendly. Accepting. No time. I jumped.
Splotches of black paint -- no, blood -- litter the sidewalk. A gentle breezes wafts through your jackets, whispering unintelligibly, beckoning your eyes to cast light on the figure lying prone next to the ladder. The blood is pooling.