I shall not attempt to hide the complacency that has settled upon my heart, ever since I saw the carriage of fate tracing its path back to your door. Time has spun its heavy thread, yet the vigil was well worth the wait; for revenge is akin to wine—the longer it ages, the more intoxicating it becomes.
Do you feel its warmth when poured back into the hollow of your chest?
Can it melt the ice, which has long paralyzed your Dead Soul?
To harbor even the faintest tremor of pity would be hypocritical, for I am well aware of the meticulous labor you poured into your own ruin. It is no coincidence that you find yourself trapped once more within the familiar carousel of anguish.
Now, as the sun sets upon your wasteland once more, it becomes undeniably clear that misery is the only language your sad, lost soul was ever meant to speak.
You have been building your very own prison with the arrogance of an architect, blind to the truth that you never possessed any qualities of great significance - you are merely a sightless moth, fluttering toward every glimmer of light you happen to perceive. Nothing special, noting of a priority.
Did you truly believe The Almighty would avert His gaze from your transgressions forever?
Look at your hands now - all gnarled and scarred, resembling the withered bark of a poisoned, blackened tree that can bear no living fruit.
Behold the monument of your own undoing as you sit enthroned amidst the ash and wreckage of your creation, choking on the very venom you once so ardently offered to me.
Enjoy the silence that surrounds you. You have earned every ounce of its suffocating embrace.
I have no desire to watch you bleed further, for even the good memories of you have long faded away. And now that the final, jagged fragment of this mosaic has at last fallen into place, I can seal forever the crypt of a Man who once was.
There were times when I pondered what this hour of reckoning would awaken within me when it finally arrived (it was just a matter of time) - whether I would drown you in a triumphant laughter, or look down upon your demise with condescending scorn. Yet, as I gaze upon your broken shell, I am greeted only by a swallowing emptiness.
A psychedelic silhouette"
— Excerpt from 'Letters to a Dead Man'
gummygunk
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
