Number 2

You are a blank slate.

You live in the ruins of the palace that once was, tainted with the lies of dragons.

You wander through the eerie silence, never finding an exit.

You are at fault.

Shadows weave through you, tendrils of guilt. You look out the window, only to find endless crimson.

You wonder what lies beyond this barren pit of greed, greed, greed, only to find your answer in the far distance, where ash smothers, and lava burns.

Déjà vu is the right hand of Fate. Will your perfection be the final straw? Or will the final straw attain perfection?

Your blood is a flood of rubies,



What will I ever do, to reach holiness.

I'm the colourless sunset that is forever damned to this fairytale of gluttony and shame.

You think of the Far East.

It is where you were birthed (O Mother!). Beneath the golden sky, where dragons cease to exist.

You think of the deluge. Of rubies--you explain-- their never-ending condemnation the bread crumbs destined to lead you home.

A glimpse, you promise.
Return to the coliseum where you brandished Excalibur, eons ago.

Fernweh. For the beasts you fought with and against. What of their fate? You wonder. The Sisters always weaved in inscrutable ways.

What of the rubies?

Nestled in the crotch of a miser. Travelling the Seven Seas with the simplest of the intellects. Whatever the case may be, how could it get any better than this? You laugh haphazardly.

Dispersed. Strewn. Separateddiffusedspreadout. Scattered by what lurks within, he murmurs.

You think of Atlas, shoulders burdened by the symphony of billions. One day they'll understand. One day, you echo.
He gazes.
At you.


@KFCBED yeah I dunno why