The trickles fell slowly, Crimson Sins against porcelain perfection, as they burned tracks past taunt muscles--past rippling tendons--past pulsing nerves, to finally fall free of flexing fingertips into worn porous rock beneath the madness that born them. Each splatter echoed like wretched screams in the silence of the deeply buried cave. No creature, no being, not even the sky could hear her ramblings.
Words bubbled past soft lips like songs spouting out of a child's music box, but they held no rhythm, their jumbled refrains jumping from one tempo to the next with such fevered need that they sparked out like dying fireflies in the suffocating darkness.
She was An Open Wound to the world, her bright wide eyes shimmering with the colors of creation as they sought sight beyond the haunting visions that festered inside of her. She seeped with emotions, their perspiring desires soaking past ornate clothes wrapped like delicate bandages around her and filling the air with consuming incense. Her fragile frame, so flawless that stars often dropped their guard in the cosmos to whisper exaltations in her ears each night, bowed and trembled in the trauma of existence.
The fates knew not what to do with her.
When she passed from the everlasting into the temporary of mortality, she became a garish gouge in the balance of humanity, an unwanted reflection of our very nature.
So here they placed her, beyond the reach of her own kind, like a sacred jewel carved by tribulation. Here, her blood pumped with the wishes of the brokenhearted. Here, her tears trailed with the joys of the blessed--her lungs labored with the heroic. And here, her heart glowed with the seedlings of possibilities and promises of tomorrow.
But Here and Now, realities in their own right, are things she will never know.
Because here, is not where she is.
And now, is the never ending moment she cannot escape.
For she has no sense of Presence, no individual awareness, to call her own.
Words bubbled past soft lips like songs spouting out of a child's music box, but they held no rhythm, their jumbled refrains jumping from one tempo to the next with such fevered need that they sparked out like dying fireflies in the suffocating darkness.
She was An Open Wound to the world, her bright wide eyes shimmering with the colors of creation as they sought sight beyond the haunting visions that festered inside of her. She seeped with emotions, their perspiring desires soaking past ornate clothes wrapped like delicate bandages around her and filling the air with consuming incense. Her fragile frame, so flawless that stars often dropped their guard in the cosmos to whisper exaltations in her ears each night, bowed and trembled in the trauma of existence.
The fates knew not what to do with her.
When she passed from the everlasting into the temporary of mortality, she became a garish gouge in the balance of humanity, an unwanted reflection of our very nature.
So here they placed her, beyond the reach of her own kind, like a sacred jewel carved by tribulation. Here, her blood pumped with the wishes of the brokenhearted. Here, her tears trailed with the joys of the blessed--her lungs labored with the heroic. And here, her heart glowed with the seedlings of possibilities and promises of tomorrow.
But Here and Now, realities in their own right, are things she will never know.
Because here, is not where she is.
And now, is the never ending moment she cannot escape.
For she has no sense of Presence, no individual awareness, to call her own.
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