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Endless Nights Can Only be Described Through the Eyes of the Lovely |
| Written by Egoist | |
| Sunday, 27 January 2008 | |
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Share it:      As for me, my tiresome fingers had developed a paralyzing meant to be broken by the medicines of Gods throughout the seas. Step outside one’s soul to understand on which we stand and see what cannot be stood on and what crumbles at the touch of the lover’s fingers. Gently caress the memories that developed from the sky’s memory of movements on this Earth.
Understand these languages I breathe with every movement of my chest. From my heart beat to my lung’s intake. This is a story that needs to be told from the tiresome ideas that have only been unremitting in one’s mind since the last time one’s fingers developed the sense of touch. When they could feel once more. They are nearly numb.
Let’s begin:
No vital signs. The moment of the imperfect clarity can only be described from the eyes of those yet viewed. When people are born they are given the gift of life, but receive the penalty of being a sinner at first look. Nonsense recovers its name in the holy book. Where it was once lost. Bringing my own eyes to deliver hatred to most of the world. Nonsense drops its name again, somewhere between the atomic warfare and Hell. It seems it isn’t to be recovered in quite some time. Self inflicted pains prove nothing sensible to those of clear minds. Gaps between skin provide gaps of their lives they wasted once. But the other view would only provide the gap to be filled with the memories of which had cut its way into the mind. Through every touch the raindrops lapped across each other, and forced their noiseless racket to determine the weather till the first to wake. It created the darkness while the sun set visibly across the horizon. It was the only thing seen, as the new day of autumn arrived at her doorstep, she only lived on not noticing the new discovery. She stayed calm throughout all the seasons, because every winter she would die. But this sunset though viewed as a mystique beauty to those privileged to see it once more, described the last day of the tale told for those who were free. Is this understandable? Comparing the colors and the drops, which developed a hatred towards the puddles already created, the colors would only fade again. Though they seemed lost, it was only mere time that parted them from the next vibrant display of the sun’s gratitude towards the destruction we breathe. As every intake, to breathe in the fire disguised as air, we pollute our souls, as if they weren’t already poorly struck with the metal, which killed everything else. It was only certain that the aura of beauty would end to allow the darkness to creep in and make none of the spies visible. You could feel them all around, but they were invisible. Hooded with the black cotton, which has taken shape to her body, she travels through these pines meant to be destroyed. Her hair slowly caught onto one another, gripping for the warmth, she couldn’t release. Her make up was no more, as it drained her face of color, but what did it matter, considering there was no color to derive off of. A city was off in the distance but her travels would not allow her to reach it. She was destined ever since she made the decision to disobey the sky’s rule, to breathe in more pollution than they could make, to destine herself to an outcast. It was her realizations now, which doomed upon her the new illness she had only developed in simple flashes of light. She was soon to be gone but she only wasted her life to run into the darkness. Its not like she hasn’t done it before. From up here the city lights burn, like a thousand miles of fire. Her footsteps carefully placed in front of each other as she was driving herself to her grave. It’s hard to change the perspectives upon you. Everything you wish you could describe is true, can’t be proved. It’s what makes one less, less than what to be expected. Once again. These endless nights, divided by time, can only be understood and told by the lovely. From up here her decisions are worthless, as well as herself. She has swallowed her heart after she released it from her chest, as it opened so slowly to reveal everything still intact. Her eyes had been gutted from their sockets to only reveal her memory of which the sky did not catch. But because of the discovery, she only sealed them back up because out of the realistic sights they should be carried as secret, till they meet once more. Till they gut out each other’s veins to prove they flow red, to prove they flow ever so slowly. She is not lovely as told from the descriptions of the sky. The sky allows one to make up their decisions upon themselves. The thickness of the leaves brushing up against each other, and the spies which caused no pain but their tears would only cause fear. Once you grab a hold of it you never let go. It doesn’t matter the person. It’s the effects of the darkness. You’ll never let go of the darkness. Why do we fear the darkness? We don’t, we only fear of who's lurking inside it. Then maybe she should fade back into darkness.
If only my words meant something. If only they were proof. Copyright 2008 Egoist |
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| Last Updated ( Tuesday, 05 February 2008 ) |
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