Birth
In the absence of light, I sit. Waiting for the answers to disrespect the darkness. Rattling the cage inside my consciousness as relativity becomes one. Time slows against the grain of my thoughts, a memory of a distant dream reopening like an old wound. Watching the brush touch a toothed canvas, paying attention to the noise.
She talks me down from the edge, soothing the thoughts as liquid black forms my thoughts once again. Basking her glow. I admire her despite the burn that resonates inside me. There it is again, welcome to fold. The endless resources tapping into my hands as the monsters come out tonight, Craving the fear they seek from others through the eyes of the artist. Precious fear who controls the fate of decision.
Fat bloodied fingers now sucking my soul, away. Every piece tearing my life away, but those devils could be angels, just stuck in the headlights.
That's the trouble with angels, they speak to loudly.
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