Original Work: In the Flame of Your Pain I Burn
Title: In the Flame of Your Pain I Burn
Author: woodra
Rating: MUR [Morons Unallowed to Read]
Disclaimer: Mine, all mine.
Author Notes: Weird
And thus I walked out.
"Don't go there," the blind woman warned, her advice only a dust particle to me. Then she faded into receding shadows.
It was dawning - the darkness slowly yielding to the tugging of a restless chariot. Closer and closer it came - the rosy dawn, a suicidal virgin, always born to be killed in the next few minutes. Some say it is the nature cycling, I say it is murder. Freeze the time, please, and enjoy it, so it never has to come back again.
I walked on, never once turning to look back. Before me lay the long and windy path, serpantine and dangerous. My calloused hands were closed in fists and I trembled as I walked. The morning breeze, biting and unforgiving, against my light tunic. I smiled wryly and thought how inappropriately appropriate the settings were for me, austerity beneath every stone, wicked evil even in the sleepy chirping of birds, and the solar eye, bloody and broken. I smiled and I greeted my old friends, Madness and Horror, as we walked on further.
Once there used to be a house made of cut glass. Glass and mountain crystals, made of stalactites, kept like gems. It was a house of purity, forced unto soul without questions - the transparent stalls and showers and not a single towel anywhere. The silent choppiness of water: drip and drip, I slip, my grip, beneath your lips, I slip, my grip. Her hair was hazel-brown, nails cleanly cut and manicured, the whip in her hand - a retribution marring your perfect flesh. You scorched as I ran, the flashes, the flesh, and the flaring flame.
"Don't go there," the blind woman warned, her advice only a dust particle to me. Then she faded into receding shadows.
It was the end of the world as we knew it. I stood there on the cliff looking beneath (beneth your lips), watching them fly, destroy, and then fly again. They came to the sound of wailing and weeping, and as we lay together, they whispered. Shh--ss--ahh. There was moon above us, consumptive and pale, coughing down at us her sanguine light. I heard the rustling slither as they lay with me, the half-transparent shadows, lurking in the flickering nuances of their whisper. It was the end of the world as we knew it and they promised me. And I watched and laughed and run beneath (beneath your lips) the bloody fountains, brown mountains crumpling down, the rivers swelling with the dark humps, dark-green, dark-red, dark grey. The silver chime ribboned velvety pads of their stings and the chill of their breath as they grinned; the silver voices all angelic in outer darkness and the edge of it - a silver string.
The ruins reeked for fourteen days in concupiscence of her command. I lay on the shards of mountain crystals glimmering in the dark of dying stars. One and then two, then three and four, and ten and twenty - went out, slowly burning down, their icy flame blown out. I was cold and then fevered as they stripped me of my skin, my blood dripping down on the shards, their glimmer now obscure. As we lay together I asked them to be the last one.
And then I woke up to the smell of your freshly brewed coffee as you sat down in front of me, a perfect flesh unmarred. You smiled and said, "Don't go there."
Author: woodra
Rating: MUR [Morons Unallowed to Read]
Disclaimer: Mine, all mine.
Author Notes: Weird
And thus I walked out.
"Don't go there," the blind woman warned, her advice only a dust particle to me. Then she faded into receding shadows.
It was dawning - the darkness slowly yielding to the tugging of a restless chariot. Closer and closer it came - the rosy dawn, a suicidal virgin, always born to be killed in the next few minutes. Some say it is the nature cycling, I say it is murder. Freeze the time, please, and enjoy it, so it never has to come back again.
I walked on, never once turning to look back. Before me lay the long and windy path, serpantine and dangerous. My calloused hands were closed in fists and I trembled as I walked. The morning breeze, biting and unforgiving, against my light tunic. I smiled wryly and thought how inappropriately appropriate the settings were for me, austerity beneath every stone, wicked evil even in the sleepy chirping of birds, and the solar eye, bloody and broken. I smiled and I greeted my old friends, Madness and Horror, as we walked on further.
Once there used to be a house made of cut glass. Glass and mountain crystals, made of stalactites, kept like gems. It was a house of purity, forced unto soul without questions - the transparent stalls and showers and not a single towel anywhere. The silent choppiness of water: drip and drip, I slip, my grip, beneath your lips, I slip, my grip. Her hair was hazel-brown, nails cleanly cut and manicured, the whip in her hand - a retribution marring your perfect flesh. You scorched as I ran, the flashes, the flesh, and the flaring flame.
"Don't go there," the blind woman warned, her advice only a dust particle to me. Then she faded into receding shadows.
It was the end of the world as we knew it. I stood there on the cliff looking beneath (beneth your lips), watching them fly, destroy, and then fly again. They came to the sound of wailing and weeping, and as we lay together, they whispered. Shh--ss--ahh. There was moon above us, consumptive and pale, coughing down at us her sanguine light. I heard the rustling slither as they lay with me, the half-transparent shadows, lurking in the flickering nuances of their whisper. It was the end of the world as we knew it and they promised me. And I watched and laughed and run beneath (beneath your lips) the bloody fountains, brown mountains crumpling down, the rivers swelling with the dark humps, dark-green, dark-red, dark grey. The silver chime ribboned velvety pads of their stings and the chill of their breath as they grinned; the silver voices all angelic in outer darkness and the edge of it - a silver string.
The ruins reeked for fourteen days in concupiscence of her command. I lay on the shards of mountain crystals glimmering in the dark of dying stars. One and then two, then three and four, and ten and twenty - went out, slowly burning down, their icy flame blown out. I was cold and then fevered as they stripped me of my skin, my blood dripping down on the shards, their glimmer now obscure. As we lay together I asked them to be the last one.
And then I woke up to the smell of your freshly brewed coffee as you sat down in front of me, a perfect flesh unmarred. You smiled and said, "Don't go there."