spazteca

what words have danced through lips of fire with icy tinge so delicately deliberate and so meaninglessly ascribed to epiphany.
murky waters lie as others have behind eyes open as wounds bearing likeness to obsidian. their frame a fragile structure of truth and deception; voice a mirror unparallel and cracked with the disdain of self, of pre-existing knowledge. all that is left is impossible. predictably unpredictable we must navigate the rocky shores by night. Love the storm, thy beacon. without song lest it casts off woes from one to another. disservicing what audience must feel it's ebb and flow. breaking cadence with the foresight of hindsight. as thunderous a soul lives in the eye of chaos and lightning may strike, thro the uneasy clouds of a decrepid body; but there is resilience in will and pure indignity is not pure indifference and so the soul must suffer. captive indecision corrodes the structure but releases the ephemeral like a beast to feed upon the innocence of any. all are banquets of hope and remorse, within age they lie and wait. for as dark a night may be cast with shrouded words blood is life and the living embody the end, to the last drop. when I have none left to give as feast for the souls who seek to understand or look away, alike I am vindicated and my veins will fill with sand as one moment erodes and the wind returns me to stars. celestial commune untarnishable, unprecedented by the science of beings; a divine balance of ethereal form, where I may finally cease by remaining.

current music: the locust, glassjaw