once more, with feeling

this is early morning rising, heart pounding and hands shaking, closing your eyes and praying that today will be better - this is a headache like a vise on your skull, your aching muscles, your throat closing - this is learning pleas in every language you can find, learning help me, learningi’m trapped, learning it’s worse this time - this is your paranoia, this is your fear, this is your ghost standing over you, this is your bleeding hands at 2 am because i just couldn’t stop scratching - this is endless, this is your life, this is the decaying dust of your bones -

you saw it written in red on the backs of your eyelids spelled out in the weeping cuts on your wrists you felt it screaming at the back of your throat curling malcontent and hammering like a second pulse you knew it stampeding from your hollow chest with all the force of the truth breaking through the cage of your teeth their eyes are deaf their ears are blind your fate is certain the god gives the god takes away you never loved the sun so much as he loved his pride

I am a collection of oddities, a circus of neurons and electrons: my heart is the ringmaster, my soul is the trapeze artist, and the world is my audience. It sounds strange because it is, and it is, because I am strange.

What’s a kingdom? It starts with the world, and a war, always a war, always strife, always destruction, always grief, on the battlefield where love and life waste. where the earth shakes under your feet and starts to crumble. where you wish it would crack and swallow you up. it doesn’t, but your heart does. and then you’re on the edge of the world, and you’re holding everything you’ve been fighting for in your hands. you hold victory, you hold triumph, you hold glory, and you’re standing tall and proud and strong, but then suddenly, your shoulders bow. you see the world on your back, you’re screaming, and you realise people aren’t just people- they’re loss, they’re pain, they’re breaking. What’s a kingdom? you’ve conquered one, now it’s time to carry it.

Frenzied and frantic, kissing moonlight on the teeth. You do not weep. Troy is burning, and you dance barefoot on ruins. Honest and hardened, ripping the truth from your throat. You do not writhe. Troy is burning, and you seethe with the promise of revenge Bloody and brutal, harboring curses in your wrists. You do not wither. Troy is burning, and you dream of dead men howling your name.

The main thing, when a sword cuts into one’s soul, is to keep a calm gaze, lose no blood, accept the coldness of the sword with the coldness of a stone. By means of the stab, after the stab, become invulnerable.

                                                    { filiaconcentus}

Lips curl up in a pleasant smile, mimicking the facial expression told when upcoming danger was nearby. She does not feel fear, the emotion known by the Lilin as oppression pressure, or at least, not towards individuals or those annoying old men, the mere few occasions she has was during separation and departure from her father’s warmth and company.

The former cat continues to steal glances upwards, anxious to see if his desperate self effacement crossed with praise for Nagisa has done anything to placate the angel. Shinji looks up, eyes filled with hope, to be met with what most certanly is a look of disgust. Bloodshot mud colored eyes promptly dart away.

Anger isn’t an emotion she finds pleasure with, it’s despicable. And the most casual speaking of father in her presence is the worst, her veins boil and her fists tremble, unable to maintain the composure at the thoughts of meeting with him, being with him. It’s the purest wish of longing, to become one and to not experience anymore this horrendous aching.