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Post by Daemon [Naryae] on May 16, 2007 19:55:33 GMT -5
The knives slit his throat, a crimson stream gushing out onto the floor. He slid off of Kaze, mouth open as he struggled to breath. Breath? No, he was simply coughing up blood. He didn't need to breath. He didn't really need the blood, either. But I could feel him weakening, I could feel him slipping back into the netherworld. Crap.
I retracted my hand, chest heaving, waiting for the next blow.
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Post by [ st r yder ] on May 17, 2007 19:08:36 GMT -5
The intention is clear, I stare, with this left hand, unable to be worded Every time I bleed, there lies the reason to live ... And I discover words being so vivid and bright
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
The Final
One by one it multiplies ... why be a sad bait?
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
[/i]
I stand, stumbling to my feet and sliding Hogosha the rest of the way off of me. Now I'm not only covered with my own blood. My breathing comes heavily and ragged as I taunt Kakashi. I'm getting worn out, but I don't let it show. I'd rather die than give up a fight.
' You.... think you can wear me out so easily? ' I laugh, the sound is choked and manic.
The knives drip crimson, some even my own blood, and the warmth slides down my hands. My face twists into the insane smile again. Then I lunged for Kakashi, aiming the knives for whatever flesh I could see.
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
So I can't live What's lost can't be born again
A song that's not even seeking the proof of living Let's put an end ... The Final
Lets bloom flowers of attempted suicide.
[/i][/size]
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Post by Daemon [Naryae] on May 17, 2007 19:18:45 GMT -5
I swore, stepping to the side as the blades cut through my bare flesh, ripping through my arm. They cave floor was becoming increasingly hazardous, with all the blood that had been spilled on it. I slammed into the cave wall, hand reaching out to Hogosha and commanding him to rise to my defense. We stumbled forward, wanting to obey, but his figure was quickly evaporating into smoke.
Give me more power.
I commanded my invader, but I knew he had none to give. I already had all his power, at least, so much that it wouldn't kill me.
Maybe it was time to step over the borderline, death or no death. Either way I was screwed.
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Post by [ st r yder ] on May 31, 2007 2:56:33 GMT -5
The intention is clear, I stare, with this left hand, unable to be worded Every time I bleed, there lies the reason to live ... And I discover words being so vivid and bright
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
The Final
One by one it multiplies ... why be a sad bait?
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
My smile only grows at the scent of his blood. It grows until my lip splits, until i'm showing far to many teeth for the image to be human. But oh so far from human I am.
I twist to face him, my own boots slipping a little on the blood. But I'm used to this, made for this.
' Do you give up yet? ' MY voice is weak. Disgustingy weak. My breath rattles in my chest, each breath, each beat of my heart pushing me closer to Death. But I cannot face Her yet. I will not face Death until the battle is over or I can no longer stand under my meager weight. I will not die without vengance on my lips and a knife in my hand.
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
So I can't live What's lost can't be born again
A song that's not even seeking the proof of living Let's put an end ... The Final
Lets bloom flowers of attempted suicide.
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Post by Daemon [Naryae] on Jun 1, 2007 22:22:25 GMT -5
I didn't reply, to focused on my own struggle. My fists were clenched, my eyes shut to the world. I wanted to take the next step, to cross my imaginary line. I didn't give a darn anymore whether I lived or died, and I didn't think anyone else did either. I'm sure quite of few people would have liked to see me dead.
Screw you.
I snarled, looking up at my opponent, blood red eyes boring into him. I envisioned his death, his blood on my hands. But wait, his blood was already on my hands, wasn't it?
Hogosha's fading form flickered, white eyes watching me. Was it possible those milky orbs held sadness?
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Post by [ st r yder ] on Jun 4, 2007 12:54:37 GMT -5
The intention is clear, I stare, with this left hand, unable to be worded Every time I bleed, there lies the reason to live ... And I discover words being so vivid and bright
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
The Final
One by one it multiplies ... why be a sad bait?
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
A laugh starts in my chest. A mocking, evil laugh. A sound that no man or animal should be capable of making. It is the laugh of a minion of Death herself. My laugh.
' That's all you can think of?' I ask, my voice is still laughing, my smile even still growing, and my heart speeding up for a planned attack.
Oh, what a mistake my waiting to finish him, playing my little games, would come to be.
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
So I can't live What's lost can't be born again
A song that's not even seeking the proof of living Let's put an end ... The Final
Lets bloom flowers of attempted suicide
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Post by Daemon [Naryae] on Jun 11, 2007 18:03:11 GMT -5
I had one shot at htis, and I knew it. Once I gathered my power, I either had to destroy him, or... or nothing, I would die, and he would be free. Free to slaughter others. But at that time I wasn't thinking about others, I was only concerned with myself. The world could go take a flying leap for all I cared. So I choose my last option and grasped the power, let my demon fully manifest itself.
It all stopped. the pounding in my head, the fire burning inside of me. Simply stopped. I had expected something huge, like a burst of power, but there was nothing. Stillness. I looked up at Kaze, lifting one hand, and leaping forward. This would peirce his heart, I promised myself.
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Post by [ st r yder ] on Jun 15, 2007 21:48:38 GMT -5
The intention is clear, I stare, with this left hand, unable to be worded Every time I bleed, there lies the reason to live ... And I discover words being so vivid and bright
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
The Final
One by one it multiplies ... why be a sad bait?
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
I see the sword coming for me. I try to move, try to live if but for only a moment longer. But Death has decided to take me this night.
I feel the touch of the knife against my skin, then the pain of its cut. Muscles ripping, coming apart as it went through. Bones grinding, the sharp edge cutting those as well. All the while, more pain. More agony. When the blade cuts my heart, the pain doubles a hundredfold. I recoil from the sword, but it keeps moving, running me through.
The pain of Death. Worse by far than any mortal Death. As if the pain from every wound sustained in my centuries of life and death have been collected into one single, crippling blow. And not only the physical pain, but every silent tear, every restrained sob, and a burning hatred that sets my insides alight. Even I cannot fight back a single cry of pain, a single scream that speaks for not only my pain, but for the pain of those who are to strong to say something of it. To to something about the agony.
I feel myself slide off the blade, feel my heart still trying to pound, and I can still feel myself trying to fight. The trickle of my blood turns into a spurt as I fall to the ground. There, I writhe, my hands trying to close the wound. My back presses against a wall and I try to pull myself to my feet. My effort is rewarded with me bleeding faster, with me dieing quicker and the pain increasing.
I slide down the wall, leaving a smear of blood down the cave wall. My eyes are locked on Kakashi's, but they are not filled with hatred or the rage of Wraak. Instead, they are filled with the pain that I know I will feel again, the pain of dammed-up emotions and agony that have been released with that sword in his hand. That blade, shining and wet with my blood. And I swear now, that I will not take out the wrath of Wraak on him.
Then I feel Death's cold hands 'round my throat, and she pulls me under. Silence, nothing but the cold, dead silence. The one that I have begged for for so long, one that I have wanted for a while, but have been too damn coward to do it myself. And I know that I will be back. I know I will feel it again.
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
So I can't live What's lost can't be born again
A song that's not even seeking the proof of living Let's put an end ... The Final
Lets bloom flowers of attempted suicide.
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Post by Daemon [Naryae] on Jul 18, 2007 14:46:53 GMT -5
ooc: ((gah! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to reply to this -is such an evil person- That was a beautiful post, by the way.))
Blood trickled slowly down my sword, shattering on the cold rocks beneath my feet, adding the crimson liquid which already pooled there. I looked on the dead body with no remorse. Why should I feel sad? This was all his own fault, wasn't it? This was justice. This is what justice looked like. I didn't really believe that, though. I didn't understand what drove this man, what went on in his mind, what had brought him to such a point. I wasn't going to pretend like we were one and the same; tortured souls simply walking different paths. I was positive we were both tortured souls, yes, but life is far to complex to explain away with "paths" and "destiny."
I drew in a sharp breath, almost as if I was coming back to life. It felt like that. Slowly my demon crawled back into it's own cage, fingers letting go of my mind. The world seemed to clear a little, and the blood red orbs I'd been seeing through faded back to their original azure hue. Normalcy forced itself upon me, causing me to take a step back. I'd killed this man, this was his body. I realized it all at once, registering at last that our fight was, indeed over. Over for good.
I took a moment to look around. There was blood. Blood, everywhere, and from everything. Hogosha's, mine, Kaze's. It painted the cave walls, and washed the stone floors. It horrified me, and my breaths became short and ragged. Without my demon to control my fears and emotions, I was open to attack. With disgust I looked down at my sword, dropping it on the ground. There was more of the red villain, staining my hand, my coat, more than likely my face.
I fell against the wall, the overwhelming feeling of the need to escape flooding my mind. Run, run , run it told me. My feet didn't feel like listening, though. Black edged my vision, and I closed my eyes i an attempt to calm myself. I'd killed men before, hadn't I? I could bring up their bloody and tortured figures in my mind, and they wouldn't bother me. Why? Why the change? Had it really been that long since I'd left the service of the king? Surely my heart hadn't changed that much. A calloused heart should always remain calloused. Despite this "logical" reasoning I came up with, I still felt myself slipping away. In desperation, I pushed my self off the wall, falling in the direction I hoped the door was.
With some amount of luck, I traversed the cave blind and stepped into the midnight world. Slowly my eyes opened, looking up at the stars. My hands shook lightly as I gripped the cave wall, trying to steady myself.
I glanced over my shoulder, eyes falling once more on the body of Kaze. There he was, still. I didn't believe that would change, but maybe I was hoping it might. What secrets did he hold? What had I ended? This was supposed to be justice? I couldn't believe that.
Deep within my own mind I called to him, to my demon. He awakened, surprise at my boldness. I posed a question to him, and he listened. He listened, and he acted upon my wish. Later I there would be moments I regretted such a wish, when I wanted to call on him and force him to remove his "blessing" on me, but moments like that would be far and few.
He took it away. The fear, the uncertainty, the guilt, the regret. Over time I would gain some of it back, but for that moment, I was free of it all. I looked back at that body, seeing it with a new perspective. A small smile spread beneath my mask. It grew, steadily, as I turned around, venturing back into the cave. I couldn't fathom now why I'd been so upset about all of this, why it had hurt me so deeply. It all seemed simple and clear, without emotion tainting my perspective of things.
I crouched down, picking up my bloodied sword and sheathing it in it's place. Before leaving the cave again, I took a moment to look down on the body.
This is justice.
I muttered, turning away and out of the dark, bloody hole where'd a man had lost his life, and anothe man his heart.
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Post by [ st r yder ] on Jul 19, 2007 19:58:10 GMT -5
The intention is clear, I stare, with this left hand, unable to be worded Every time I bleed, there lies the reason to live ... And I discover words being so vivid and bright
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
The Final
One by one it multiplies ... why be a sad bait?
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
[[ ooc; omfgbeautifulpost. ]]
It is like being born. Almost. When you can feel your heart start up, and those first few beats feel like there could be nothing better in the world. And there is nothing better. Nothing better except that first breath. Even if you take it in a battlefeild surrounded by the scent of blood and the bodies of dead warriors. But that first breath after death, there is nothing sweeter. Even to me. Even killing is not sweeter than that breath. And then, the pain hits you. The pain of wounds tat were not healed in Death. And you spring into action.
I scrabble around for a needle and thread, one that I know that I had in here somewhere. But I know there is not chance of finding it. And I am still bleeding. Not much, but enough to slow me down. And, anyway, I do not think that I will be moving very far. But, I have to. There is an unsettled debt now. I need to get back what I lost. A life for a life. And now the anger is back. The sickening anger that forces me to my feet. I have to kill him now, no matter how much I do not want to. It is not my fault that I am so messed up and more. But revenge is the only thing that I have known for so long.
I leave that cave, leave whatever it is there, and have only the memory of that fight to press me on. It is dawn now, and his scent is still here. I can smell even my own blood amongst his stench. I will follow that smell, follow it until I have his blood on my hands. After all, Death cannot get in my way.
The predator is awake, and he is nowhere near satisfied.
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
So I can't live What's lost can't be born again
A song that's not even seeking the proof of living Let's put an end ... The Final
Lets bloom flowers of attempted suicide.
[/i][/size]
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Post by Daemon [Naryae] on Jul 19, 2007 22:35:58 GMT -5
ooc: ((I dunno what is about your posts, but they, like, give me an overflow of muse or something))
I was moving steadily towards the town, my strides wide and carrying me far. The world seemed strange to me now. I didn't really care about it, not like I used to. It felt simple, and easy to understand. There were things that concerned me, and things that didn't. If I never thought about the things that didn't, everything would be fine. But deep inside somewhere, I recognized the fact that all was not fine, at least not currently.
Behind me somewhere lay my foes body, or so I believed at that point. He was one of those things that concerned me. Someone might eventually be alerted by the smell, or simply by all the blood, and that person would get the guards. The guards concerned me, because they were looking for me. Chances were one of them would recognize my handwork from back in the old day when I served in the army. My kills tended to be just as bloody back then, too. I'm sure that guard which attacked me earlier had alerted his friends I was around town, too. This meant it was unsafe to go into town, or if I did, I would have to remove my mask and try to blend in. even without my fear, it was so bred into me to never remove my mask, that I didn't like that idea. I would rather go to the next town, get some supplies, and hideout somewhere. This was the logical course. All of this was important, and were things that concerned me.
And what else? I no longer had a heart. A figurative one, of course, though I didn't doubt my demon could keep me alive without one for some period of time. But, it was simply emotions that I lacked. The demon held them somewhere inside himself, and my demon slept. It had used so much power last night, and now it was weak. I could sense that now. Before I had always blocked him from my mind, never letting him touch my mind. How foolish of me, he could serve me. All of this concerned me, but I did not have time to think on any of it.
I paused beneath a tree. It was the same one Sheila and I had paused at. That memory almost seemed like a lifetime ago, and for a moment I wondered what had happened to the girl, but that did not concern me, so I cast her from my mind.
I climbed the tree, not entirely sure why. A feeling inside of me told me too. Without emotion, I found I had many of these hunches and feelings, and that it was always wise to listen. In sense, it was almost like I was simply a visitor in this body, doing whatever it wished me to do without complaint.
I looked first at the town. It seemed quite. People still hadn't risen form their bed, and only the random flash of armor among the wall greeted my searching eyes.
Next I looked behind me, scanning over the open fields and spotting the cave far off. The finally resting place for another one of my victims, or...
Not.
I clenched my teeth, eyes narrowing as I spied movement in the field. Surely he couldn't have... But sure, he had. How could I have been so foolish? Hadn't he had a demon, too? Who is to say his was not more powerful than mine?
It was almost laughable to me now, remembering what I had thought back at the cave. What secrets did he hold? Indeed, what secrets? I was curious now, how exactly it is his broken and bloodied body now hunted me. Well, there really was only one way to figure that out, wasn't there?
I leaped down from the tree, leaning against it's trunk, and waited, smiling to myself.
This concerned me.
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Post by [ st r yder ] on Jul 30, 2007 15:02:21 GMT -5
The intention is clear, I stare, with this left hand, unable to be worded Every time I bleed, there lies the reason to live ... And I discover words being so vivid and bright
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
The Final
One by one it multiplies ... why be a sad bait?
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life.
Sometimes I wish that I would not wake up from Death. Sometimes I pray that Death will give me her sweet kiss for the final time and I will face my Judgement. Even if I do not believe in such at thing, there has to be some kind of payment for my actions. SOme kind of punishment for all of this killing.
But maybe the Gods, or God, or whatever there is, has a sense of pity. Maybe they will think that I have suffered long enough I will not be punishment into an eternity of torture. Or, maybe, this life is my punishment. Maybe they have condemned me to this hunt of mine. This damned search for revenge and whatever else that I can do to bring myself a moment's peace.
And I do take pleasure in my hunt. In the chase. It is almost as good as the killing itself.
Daemon's scent pushes me further. Pushes me past normal bounds, past the point where I can control the urge to kill. But I fight, fight back against the demon that I know is not a seperate entity at all. It is myself, and there is no thought that I hate more than that.
Years ago I killed without a thought. In some respects, I still do. Yet there is my regret. I regret who I kill now, and I did not-still do not- regret then. I killed to survive then. I do not blame myself that I knew not of my condition. I was very much aware that I was killing them, as much as I was not in my right mind.
And my fight is for nothing. My strain agains tthis demon, this former self. It is all for naught. Because I can see him now, and the fury multiplies by the hundredfold. But I have enough sense to, at least, this time be cautious.
"Warned you, did I not?"
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
So I can't live What's lost can't be born again
A song that's not even seeking the proof of living Let's put an end ... The Final
Lets bloom flowers of attempted suicide.
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Post by Daemon [Naryae] on Jul 30, 2007 20:28:53 GMT -5
So you did.
I remarked, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes. This was certainly an unexpected and unappreciated turn in events, and it drew a deep sigh from me.
Is this how we shall continue, then?
I muttered. I think those words were supposed to be sad. They at least had the feeling of being sad, and something inside oh me told me that this should all make me depressed. I shrugged away the hint of emotion, though, turning my cold eyes on Kaze with a snarl.
Are we to begin now?
I realized this was foolishness. The chances of me beating him again when I was in this state were new zero. As if to prove the point to myself, I wiped my bloody hand on the tree drunk, noting with a slightly grimace it was mostly my blood. The gods new I had enough wounds on my tattered body. This was folly.
I didn't believe I could reason with Kaze much, though. As far as I could see, he was driven by emotion. That was dangerous. I remembered how powerful thoughts of revenge were. The urge to kill and slaughter the ones that betrayed and hurt you, it bring you to a different level of being, one beyond what should be possible for the body. You will never feel that way again.
The taunts of my inner demon caused me to pause. This was a downfall of this state of mine, wasn't it?
But before we start another bloodbath, may I ask, what will happen? If I do kill you again, shall we being in an endless, timeless cycle?
I asked. I really did want an answer. I knew if I died there would be no paradox, would there? But on the off chance this ended like it had last night...
My fingers dug into the tree bark, feeling the harsh wood on my hands, splinters threatening to enter the bare flesh. There was a purpose to this; I could feel myself slipping away. Slowly, yes, but steadily. I didn't know how much longer I could stand. Crimson drops still crawled slowly down my skin. Those drops made me feel... uncertain. It would prove my undoing, I knew that, unless I could fine some way to convince Kaze that a truce was in order. Not that I really believed he'd agree to anything like that.
But in this moment, I made a decision. I did not believe Kaze would relent from his quest, and I did not believe I would survive past the first few blows. And if I died, I would die free. Even without emotions, there was an unrelenting feeling inside of me that both hated and feared to remove the mask I wore. It told me to remove the mask, to be free for the last moments of my life. And I listened. Even my demon could over ride such a feeling, if it even bothered to concern itself with such a small thing. To me, though, it still held so much importance.
I pulled off the black void, reveling for a moment in the cool air which brushed my skin. Sunlight touched it, causing a smile to flicker over my lips. It passed quickly, though, and my eyes returned to their cold stair, waiting for an answer.
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Post by [ st r yder ] on Sept 10, 2007 19:48:44 GMT -5
The intention is clear, I stare, with this left hand, unable to be worded Every time I bleed, there lies the reason to live ... And I discover words being so vivid and bright
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
The Final
One by one it multiplies ... why be a sad bait?
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
Something stirrs, deep within the recesses of my chest. Humanity, yes, that is what it is. And I can feel it, growing, spreading through my hands, like warmth from a drink of whiskey. It calms my vengeful heart, dims the maniac light in my eyes. Brings back my reason, my logic. Tells me that I must use it.
"If you were in any state to kill me, yes I would be back," I say, my voice calm, my words so carefully chosen. My opponent is powerful, as well as victim to death.
Maybe it was the simple fact that I knew, in his death, Deamon wanted to be free. Yes, the removal of his mask told me that. And I understood that simple wish, that small pleasure it would be to die a free death. And it is that understanding that brings me back my humanity, stills the revenge that I will so willingly take out on anyone else.
My lunatic grin fades, my face a mask as efficent as Daemon's black veil.
"I am not going to fight you," I say calmly, more calmly than one would assume. In the silence, I listen to the beating of his heart, the slowing pounds that, to me, mean looming death.
"And if you do not let me help you, you are going to die, whether I raise a blade or not." Carefully chosen words, clear sppech, despite the fatigue that pulls at my eyelids.
Deep within the hell of my heart ... I can't go back A self-torture loser, not being able to see tomorrow Suicide is the proof of life
Even loved ones scatter like petals from flowers in my hand So even if I engraved the meaning that I lived in my hand, it will only be known as flowers of vanity
So I can't live What's lost can't be born again
A song that's not even seeking the proof of living Let's put an end ... The Final
Lets bloom flowers of attempted suicide.
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Post by Daemon [Naryae] on Sept 10, 2007 20:07:40 GMT -5
His words, so calm, and so gentle sounding, strike me deep. Deeper then I care to admit. I can feel them burn inside, festering like an old wound. So many old scars and scabs torn open by them, it feels like I will bleed to death from my own memories.
I slid down the trunk of my supporter, nails gripping uselessly at the bark. My body, weary, broken, and mentally scarred cannot keep my conscious in this world anymore. But I try to resist the calling to sleep, I want to block the subtle but undeniable lullaby which dances in my mind. I don't trust him, not at all. How could I? After what had happened, after what we did to each other, can one really forgive so quickly?
What hell spawned us?
I murmured, looking up at him as I fought the twilight falling in my own mind. I already knew the answer to that question, though. There was only one hell I would ever fully admit to believe in, and that was the hell man created for himself. It was our own lives, the tortured days I pushed and pulled our way through, it was the words we spoke, the words we heard, the feelings...
Why is it then, without feelings, my hell seemed so much worse? Shouldn't I feel better? Happier?
Happier...
My demon echoed, and I got his point. Perhaps my first impression was wrong. We did not create our own hell, we simply lived there. Happiness was just and illusion to keep us from really seeing that. That is why I was really better off without those feelings, I could see clearly now.
Yet my head still felt so foggy...
... and the world so calm.
No, never mind. Just... give me your hand...
I growled, pushing away from the tree. I would not be taken over by this, this weariness, this weakness. I would be stronger then it. The twilight, as fitting as it was, would soon be my morning.
I would survive in this hell.
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