Look me into my tired eyes and tell me with full truth and honesty that you know me, tell me that you can see the thoughts and dreams behind the iris and the yearning and longings spawned from love and the loss of it. Tell me, as this darkened moon arises that this life has become all that you hoped it would be – that it has fulfilled every desire and every innate passion and purpose from inside, something of rare soul material. Lie to me a different kind of lie, as the skies begin to darken, and as the cold begins to quickly settle in. Lie to me a lie like nonother, one that would leave me speechless and gasping for words – like clinging on to a final breath. The lies that have made up the lines in the past are the very lies that helped to fabricate the hope that I still somehow cling onto even during these final fading moments. Moments where my eyes begin to darkened and my bones begin to stiffen. Moments where my heart and my mind begin to slow and thoughts begin to wander, wander far-off into realms and realities that will never be my own.
In this rising of this Dark Moon I have caught glimpses of the very madness that ties me to this seat, strapped tightly – as I am forced to witness and become part of it’s experiment. I am the final track on this shattered line, and the last piece of the puzzle before completely starting anew, whether I am to fit or not. I am forced to see the visions and am enticed even more-so to make them a reality, to bring them to life, manipulating time once again and the very structural foundation that makes up this space. It is a sin at the very least, but no longer does it bother me in the slightest – for all things of value I have truly lost or have never owned, and what value would such things have in the palms of a fading pair of hands? I could not dream of a moment where you would seem to care, nor could I dream of a moment where anyone else would – this is a bleak, jarring existence, and one that is now left without an Advent to guide it. The Lords, Gods, and Masters alike have left us to our intricate proportion’s of madness, madness we’ve conjured up out of some deep sickness that has been seeded into our psyche, somehow, someway, and now this is why we are alone.
In these fleeting and fragile moments, where the darkest nights linger onwards like a stirring and violent disease – I come closer and closer to oblivion. An oblivion that is omnipresent and constantly devouring the time and space we so desperately need – each time it draws near. It is ubiquitous in essence every time I close my eyes, and it lingers within the darkest corners of my mind, moment to undying moment – it’s span reaches across time and these shattered fractals of it. What I am to you no now no longer matters, for with certain time – decided by some unknown, yet surely beckoning, I’ll be nothing but dust in the wind, but in the meantime longing to feel that never-ending cold shadow of dark upon my face. My words and thoughts may make you tremble in fear or perhaps in anger, for the things that cross my mind now are of unspeakable bounds and of limitless limits – moving within the depths. Cloaked, shrouded, and strapped within this violently moving seat my fading has turned to a notch like never before. I can feel the touch of death on one hand, and the innate sense of desire on the other. Hand in hand, they give rise, give power, give credence to what I have now become.
