forgotten existences (poem one, theme one)days, months, years
you want to get rid of it all
and bury it deep within the abyss
us humans call a mind
suppression is the key
to imprisoning opinions,
and tearing peaceful nights of sleep,
without the echoing, of
suppressed memories apart.
and they cluster together
and intertwine their essences
a hideous masterpiece
the hallowed crevices
of your mind
you want to forget
to rid yourself of that pain
that tears apart
the mangled tissue
of your heart
and buries itself
deep within worry
you do forget, in due time
that it once existed,
that it once haunted your existence,
that you once suffered such trauma
that it still hurts so much
you keep trying,
to forget and remember certain things
but it just doesn’t work, does it?
your mind doesn’t work like that
your mind is dark,
stained by an accursed,
borne of unforgiving self-hate
and in that mass of thoughts,
NightA scream breaks the stillness of the night.
Another scream. It grows louder, and closer.
Maybe it was a bad idea to have sold that one.
Hemera, was it?
It doesn’t matter anyway.
Nothing will happen, nothing will come after me, and I will be fine.
She keeps moving.
And an illuminated figure approaches her.
"He….me….ra…." the figure breathes, voice edgy.
"What do you-"
Nyx… She recognises the name from her scrolls.
What was her name again? That other daemon…
Nyx repeats herself, staring intently.
And all is black.
Telling the DeadYou stand, alive.
You stand, above the sea of dead.
You stand, in the waning sunlight, and the collective gaze of the corpses shift towards you.
They tease, they mock, and they know.
They know what stains your hands. They know what mercy you lack.
They know how inhuman you are.
And how equally human you seem to be.
And do, pray tell, how many have been lost for your cause, how many gallons of blood have washed upon the shores of your holy kingdom, and just how many you’ve bended, beaten, broken to your godforsaken whims?
Do, do tell.