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xx_gothaggot_xxSomething evil lurks in the corners of these wishes. I haven't been able to pinpoint its species. Like a demon it corrupts the sanctity of my dreams, mixing into them selfish idealism and arbitrary limits; but, like a human, it flails its limbs around in sluggish movements, its mind too manic to be properly expressed by its body; also, as a god, it gives me meaning, it shows me reason, as in logic and as in motive.
I'm sure that it's villainous. It screams for me to be its sinful servant, a source of living pulsing love, and of freezing sharp judgement. The kind that steals your soul away when you touch it, savoring the sight of your figure shivering from head to toe as your essence shoots out of your fingertips into its mouth. The kind that embraces you, not forcefully, but softly, like the steam of a hot bath on a winter night, letting you know it does so without malice, its intentions pure.
It doesn't lie. It doesn't pretend to be anything it isn't. Of course it doesn't, because it knows I can see it. It may hide so I don't fully understand it, but it cannot disappear. It can't explain away the features it shows. Those always stay burned into my retinas. So it whispers, it sings, it dances, letting me invite myself into its celebration, change it to my own liking. So I whisper, I sing, I dance, entranced by its red-green palette.
I have thought of it as a ghost, a vampire, an angel, a beast, a lover, a singer. An artist. Silly ol' me.
I'm sure that it's villainous. It screams for me to be its sinful servant, a source of living pulsing love, and of freezing sharp judgement. The kind that steals your soul away when you touch it, savoring the sight of your figure shivering from head to toe as your essence shoots out of your fingertips into its mouth. The kind that embraces you, not forcefully, but softly, like the steam of a hot bath on a winter night, letting you know it does so without malice, its intentions pure.
It doesn't lie. It doesn't pretend to be anything it isn't. Of course it doesn't, because it knows I can see it. It may hide so I don't fully understand it, but it cannot disappear. It can't explain away the features it shows. Those always stay burned into my retinas. So it whispers, it sings, it dances, letting me invite myself into its celebration, change it to my own liking. So I whisper, I sing, I dance, entranced by its red-green palette.
I have thought of it as a ghost, a vampire, an angel, a beast, a lover, a singer. An artist. Silly ol' me.
