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Surrealism
Surrealism
A small, tan coloured book, completely unadorned. The binding is worn and aged, the pages slightly tattered and curling towards the edges. Several small notes peek out here and there from between the sheaves of parchment and pieces of torn blue silk mark places within.
Sunday, 17 June 2007
There is one final swift and crushing blow. I stand upon the precipice of life..
I stare into it's depths and I am comforted, I am comforted..
I feel blackness envelope me and I am reassured...I am reassured...
I give, but I wish only to give unto the end
I take, but I wish only to take unto the dark
I speak, but I wish only to speak unto the maw
I hope..but I hope for nothing more than the abyss
I touch, but my touch is all dust and decay
I taste, but all I taste are ashes and dirt
I dream, but all I see are nightmares
I breathe, but all I breathe is stale
I cry, but all I cry is salt
I build, but only to destroy
I crawl, but I crawl only unto the edge
I search, but never find my way
I call, but I call only unto the void
I hide.......and the mask seals

These words are mine, they are mine and mine alone...
This mask is mine, it is mine and mine alone
Do not demean it by making it your own
Do not take it and make it your pity for me
I am what I am because of who I am
Not for any other, not caused by any other

Just nod and smile
Celestia posted @ 11:57 - Link - comments
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