04-18-2020, 10:52 PM
[align=center][div style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11px; width: 60%; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"]Unwelcome parasite, bloated and foul, denizen of fettered depths belching wrecking sulfur.
Of minimal substance the manner he beat against unyielding stone, chipped away at holy streaked facet of crowing world aching with a delicate weave of agonised strands, a prison within which a crevice his own he sought with fervor. Integral the quiet understanding parsed within the depths of ebon hued twilight, lingering where mind may latch with a tentative conviction. Worsened the razor edges of tightly grasped illusion, clutched to chest until the terming beat of his heart was a parting bloom, crimson petals crying out in a silenced voice.
Unnecessary had grown the recall of passage, how the seconds coalesced into a ceaseless beat pressing into the aching backs of shuttered eyes, exhaustion a toll ringing through atrophied muscle all he listened to. All he needed, at least, until the gruelling hum of preservation arose among the din, a pitiful, garbled moan escaping between the churning mess of striped vegetation. Never still, never silent. Be it the quiet lull of song produced from ambling momentum beating a soft drum against thawing earth or that of dormant body uttering a lowering cry seeking what mind is unwilling to graze, unwelcome such absence.
Possibly it is for such the soft toll of suspended silver cups ring forth, among the dark fibres of twined strands held the twinkling voices of tiny bells. Almost, in the depths of mind grown dull beneath ceaseless wanderings, he can feel her hands, how they tug with a quiet seething anger, faux beneath the affection lacing sharpened tongue.
"By now I would have thought you knew not to let him do this."
Warmth suffused the rumble of laugh arising forth within air painted beneath the orange hues of departing dusk, fretful the flickering gaze of child perched where wandering hand may not find him. Yet aloft still held the calloused cup of palm, loose the curl of fingers where another settles, holds with a tentative graze barely connecting them. Peaceful that which played out within the enclosed space of living area brimming with knick knacks of varying uselessness, time bringing the boy forth, a pleasant weight curled against his chest. So too has the actions of fingers threading through the entanglement of dark strands halted, all too thin the arms that encircle within loose grasp about his neck, leaned into the manner fingertips trail along his arm.
"Bin ich gleich weit von dir, bin doch im Traum bei dir." Familiar the curl of bloodied tongue, of an age well past, documented better within the yellowed framework of ill begotten history than that of failing recollection. There had they been, spectres flickering and twisting before the uneasy flutter of lead laced lids, poor replicas painted across the soft rise of pale dunes. He is but another, a fragmented construct stitched together by hands grown shakey, the deep divets pressed into the accumulated grains all that remained of lumbering progression. Premature the conclusion of such, confusion a dour shroud encasing the stilled tumble of unconscious thought.
Thin stream of curling smoke, a pale plume of cotton fuzz. Prone lay that of originating point, low burnt a mixture of own construction, old and nagging the budding growth of want tickling at the back of his throat. Had he been of a different mind staged approach when the early scenes arose among the scenes of gathering heat, prevailing a quiet dread, a darkly hued beast born of dejected indifference and the humming pulse of slumbering instinct. Had been he of a sound mind not encased beneath the echoing tingle of parting static bisecting the slowly accelerating train of tempered thought, turned from he scene may he have been.
"Benötigen Sie Hilfe," sullen slur of barely formed syllables, clumsy grown the tongue that had bore minimal use within recently passed weeks. Closer did he lumber forth upon legs that shook with a faint tremor, base the pool of dwindling strength upon which he drew, half lidded the ebon depths settled against prone ursidae.
Of minimal substance the manner he beat against unyielding stone, chipped away at holy streaked facet of crowing world aching with a delicate weave of agonised strands, a prison within which a crevice his own he sought with fervor. Integral the quiet understanding parsed within the depths of ebon hued twilight, lingering where mind may latch with a tentative conviction. Worsened the razor edges of tightly grasped illusion, clutched to chest until the terming beat of his heart was a parting bloom, crimson petals crying out in a silenced voice.
Unnecessary had grown the recall of passage, how the seconds coalesced into a ceaseless beat pressing into the aching backs of shuttered eyes, exhaustion a toll ringing through atrophied muscle all he listened to. All he needed, at least, until the gruelling hum of preservation arose among the din, a pitiful, garbled moan escaping between the churning mess of striped vegetation. Never still, never silent. Be it the quiet lull of song produced from ambling momentum beating a soft drum against thawing earth or that of dormant body uttering a lowering cry seeking what mind is unwilling to graze, unwelcome such absence.
Possibly it is for such the soft toll of suspended silver cups ring forth, among the dark fibres of twined strands held the twinkling voices of tiny bells. Almost, in the depths of mind grown dull beneath ceaseless wanderings, he can feel her hands, how they tug with a quiet seething anger, faux beneath the affection lacing sharpened tongue.
"By now I would have thought you knew not to let him do this."
Warmth suffused the rumble of laugh arising forth within air painted beneath the orange hues of departing dusk, fretful the flickering gaze of child perched where wandering hand may not find him. Yet aloft still held the calloused cup of palm, loose the curl of fingers where another settles, holds with a tentative graze barely connecting them. Peaceful that which played out within the enclosed space of living area brimming with knick knacks of varying uselessness, time bringing the boy forth, a pleasant weight curled against his chest. So too has the actions of fingers threading through the entanglement of dark strands halted, all too thin the arms that encircle within loose grasp about his neck, leaned into the manner fingertips trail along his arm.
"Bin ich gleich weit von dir, bin doch im Traum bei dir." Familiar the curl of bloodied tongue, of an age well past, documented better within the yellowed framework of ill begotten history than that of failing recollection. There had they been, spectres flickering and twisting before the uneasy flutter of lead laced lids, poor replicas painted across the soft rise of pale dunes. He is but another, a fragmented construct stitched together by hands grown shakey, the deep divets pressed into the accumulated grains all that remained of lumbering progression. Premature the conclusion of such, confusion a dour shroud encasing the stilled tumble of unconscious thought.
Thin stream of curling smoke, a pale plume of cotton fuzz. Prone lay that of originating point, low burnt a mixture of own construction, old and nagging the budding growth of want tickling at the back of his throat. Had he been of a different mind staged approach when the early scenes arose among the scenes of gathering heat, prevailing a quiet dread, a darkly hued beast born of dejected indifference and the humming pulse of slumbering instinct. Had been he of a sound mind not encased beneath the echoing tingle of parting static bisecting the slowly accelerating train of tempered thought, turned from he scene may he have been.
"Benötigen Sie Hilfe," sullen slur of barely formed syllables, clumsy grown the tongue that had bore minimal use within recently passed weeks. Closer did he lumber forth upon legs that shook with a faint tremor, base the pool of dwindling strength upon which he drew, half lidded the ebon depths settled against prone ursidae.