And yes, I long for it, the fever; I am made for it, I am a most ductile, malleable slave. Fluid limbs, fluid delight, aqueous convergence, red and blue.
Yet I am also core, I am also heavy, leaden, preternatural, gray and black, longing for the whisper of the pneumatic truth, of the inscrutable.
I am afraid, and thus my breaths collapse.
I am alone, and thus my flesh is ablaze.
Where is my truth? Where is the essence? Where is the root?
How have I lost my other sense? How have my wails been silenced? How can my woe be over, before another metamorphic act?
I must retreat. I must conceal. I must weave. In darkness. In solitude.
All tissues are ruined. New tissues to come. New ages, new dawns.
More nights to befall.
More...
Obscurity.
Yet I am also core, I am also heavy, leaden, preternatural, gray and black, longing for the whisper of the pneumatic truth, of the inscrutable.
I am afraid, and thus my breaths collapse.
I am alone, and thus my flesh is ablaze.
Where is my truth? Where is the essence? Where is the root?
How have I lost my other sense? How have my wails been silenced? How can my woe be over, before another metamorphic act?
I must retreat. I must conceal. I must weave. In darkness. In solitude.
All tissues are ruined. New tissues to come. New ages, new dawns.
More nights to befall.
More...
Obscurity.
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