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My head aches. Beating a constant melancholy, occasionally speeding pace and pressure, forcing my skin apart. The pain keeps on increasing; as more strings rupture through my skull and hang above me, as if mandibles cracking and clicking, biting at open air with great snaps. There will be a time when I cannot see the sky for all that watches down, and as each is born, others grown. Each grasp onto an abyss, created from my thoughts. The thumping pain just grows as does my inner most desire for these lost souls to succeed. Through all my pain I endure, through all my suffering I find a profound reverence for those that leech and suck on my very being. They are, after all, me, I created them, and if the time comes, I will be the one to destroy them. If failure is the only option, I cannot fail that.
I stare deep into them; an infant beginning to grow into a swirling sphere, colours glow a deep red and fade to blue, fiery depths to open waters, forever a white beacon shining from the epicentre, born from love. A happiness spreads through my body, of what there is. A feeling I have never experienced before, a gratitude to everything that surrounds. What little I really have, past the pain, I have something; more than anything else.
But my destination is not in this bliss. I must design that which is dark. A white sphere begins to grow; red fault-lines emerge, stark and abrasive, cracking through the delicate, soft surface. A murky blue, a distant green, forgotten past the olive, each one of my creations quiver as the colour forms a basis. Then the smouldering black, leaking like ink, not quite a perfect shape but a messy, dirty circle. It will pulse, malformed as the time passes.
Wry, encased in a piercing glass at the tip, each one different, every single one putrid. Arcing out at odd angles. I try, try to fail at beauty, but beauty surrounds me. Each sphere is filled with anger, with hate, but within every whirring pool delicate innocence is born. Something so hard not to love. However much the core tries to be rotten, it has all built to a utopia.
Hatred, fear, spawned deep inside me, an infection that tried to slowly chew away at what I create. My mind cannot hold what I seek; I am surrounded by utter wonder, no loathing of a life granted, instead a freedom, and certain solace in the tragedy of my brainchild; no burning pits, no terror, instead an equality that survives through itself, only by going in search of a nothing could such a something happen. Mandibles click and chatter faster, dropping once they are finished with whatever they have drained from me.
Always a smile. Somewhere, someone, something, a land long enough to pain from experience, but grow and eventually love what hardships are ahead. Never can the everlasting gaze be broken. Those eyes I grew stare deep into me; hatred passed on until it is no longer present. Full of beauty.
I can sigh a thousand times over. Nothing more but watch on as my world flourishes, instead of withers. Omnipresence will drive me into that beautiful ground, that dropped from my wires long ago.
I stare deep into them; an infant beginning to grow into a swirling sphere, colours glow a deep red and fade to blue, fiery depths to open waters, forever a white beacon shining from the epicentre, born from love. A happiness spreads through my body, of what there is. A feeling I have never experienced before, a gratitude to everything that surrounds. What little I really have, past the pain, I have something; more than anything else.
But my destination is not in this bliss. I must design that which is dark. A white sphere begins to grow; red fault-lines emerge, stark and abrasive, cracking through the delicate, soft surface. A murky blue, a distant green, forgotten past the olive, each one of my creations quiver as the colour forms a basis. Then the smouldering black, leaking like ink, not quite a perfect shape but a messy, dirty circle. It will pulse, malformed as the time passes.
Wry, encased in a piercing glass at the tip, each one different, every single one putrid. Arcing out at odd angles. I try, try to fail at beauty, but beauty surrounds me. Each sphere is filled with anger, with hate, but within every whirring pool delicate innocence is born. Something so hard not to love. However much the core tries to be rotten, it has all built to a utopia.
Hatred, fear, spawned deep inside me, an infection that tried to slowly chew away at what I create. My mind cannot hold what I seek; I am surrounded by utter wonder, no loathing of a life granted, instead a freedom, and certain solace in the tragedy of my brainchild; no burning pits, no terror, instead an equality that survives through itself, only by going in search of a nothing could such a something happen. Mandibles click and chatter faster, dropping once they are finished with whatever they have drained from me.
Always a smile. Somewhere, someone, something, a land long enough to pain from experience, but grow and eventually love what hardships are ahead. Never can the everlasting gaze be broken. Those eyes I grew stare deep into me; hatred passed on until it is no longer present. Full of beauty.
I can sigh a thousand times over. Nothing more but watch on as my world flourishes, instead of withers. Omnipresence will drive me into that beautiful ground, that dropped from my wires long ago.
You've been a naughty boy go to my room. BDSM for you.
Actually, nah.
I'm washing my hair ... with Loreal
Actually, nah.
I'm washing my hair ... with Loreal
All this talk of coming and rage is making me horny.
Don't tell Cycloon, or he'll force his babies upon you.
Got a cold coming on?
Got a cold coming on?
Yeah, that kinda came out (hur-hur etc.) on purpose, also some Rage in there if I remember correctly. Rawk!
And *coughwasaboutgodcough*
:P
And *coughwasaboutgodcough*
:P
I want your babies.
In fact, even if you refuse, I'll take them anyway. So there.
Everlasting Gaze = hand-picked phrase / coincidence?
All good, vivid, yum.
In fact, even if you refuse, I'll take them anyway. So there.
Everlasting Gaze = hand-picked phrase / coincidence?
All good, vivid, yum.
I feel the first three paragraphs were home to some absolutely wonderful description. Probably some of the best I've read on here for a while.
The later paragraphs didn't have this quite as much, but did give me a clue to as what the story might be about.
Overall I really liked it, good stuff.
The later paragraphs didn't have this quite as much, but did give me a clue to as what the story might be about.
Overall I really liked it, good stuff.
Cheers. I'll say what it was about once a few more people have read it, to avoid the old 'spoilt-by-reply' scenario.
I couldn't tell what was going on there, but it was a darkly colorful tangly web, some kind of creational something. Pretty good.
My head aches. Beating a constant melancholy, occasionally speeding pace and pressure, forcing my skin apart. The pain keeps on increasing; as more strings rupture through my skull and hang above me, as if mandibles cracking and clicking, biting at open air with great snaps. There will be a time when I cannot see the sky for all that watches down, and as each is born, others grown. Each grasp onto an abyss, created from my thoughts. The thumping pain just grows as does my inner most desire for these lost souls to succeed. Through all my pain I endure, through all my suffering I find a profound reverence for those that leech and suck on my very being. They are, after all, me, I created them, and if the time comes, I will be the one to destroy them. If failure is the only option, I cannot fail that.
I stare deep into them; an infant beginning to grow into a swirling sphere, colours glow a deep red and fade to blue, fiery depths to open waters, forever a white beacon shining from the epicentre, born from love. A happiness spreads through my body, of what there is. A feeling I have never experienced before, a gratitude to everything that surrounds. What little I really have, past the pain, I have something; more than anything else.
But my destination is not in this bliss. I must design that which is dark. A white sphere begins to grow; red fault-lines emerge, stark and abrasive, cracking through the delicate, soft surface. A murky blue, a distant green, forgotten past the olive, each one of my creations quiver as the colour forms a basis. Then the smouldering black, leaking like ink, not quite a perfect shape but a messy, dirty circle. It will pulse, malformed as the time passes.
Wry, encased in a piercing glass at the tip, each one different, every single one putrid. Arcing out at odd angles. I try, try to fail at beauty, but beauty surrounds me. Each sphere is filled with anger, with hate, but within every whirring pool delicate innocence is born. Something so hard not to love. However much the core tries to be rotten, it has all built to a utopia.
Hatred, fear, spawned deep inside me, an infection that tried to slowly chew away at what I create. My mind cannot hold what I seek; I am surrounded by utter wonder, no loathing of a life granted, instead a freedom, and certain solace in the tragedy of my brainchild; no burning pits, no terror, instead an equality that survives through itself, only by going in search of a nothing could such a something happen. Mandibles click and chatter faster, dropping once they are finished with whatever they have drained from me.
Always a smile. Somewhere, someone, something, a land long enough to pain from experience, but grow and eventually love what hardships are ahead. Never can the everlasting gaze be broken. Those eyes I grew stare deep into me; hatred passed on until it is no longer present. Full of beauty.
I can sigh a thousand times over. Nothing more but watch on as my world flourishes, instead of withers. Omnipresence will drive me into that beautiful ground, that dropped from my wires long ago.
I stare deep into them; an infant beginning to grow into a swirling sphere, colours glow a deep red and fade to blue, fiery depths to open waters, forever a white beacon shining from the epicentre, born from love. A happiness spreads through my body, of what there is. A feeling I have never experienced before, a gratitude to everything that surrounds. What little I really have, past the pain, I have something; more than anything else.
But my destination is not in this bliss. I must design that which is dark. A white sphere begins to grow; red fault-lines emerge, stark and abrasive, cracking through the delicate, soft surface. A murky blue, a distant green, forgotten past the olive, each one of my creations quiver as the colour forms a basis. Then the smouldering black, leaking like ink, not quite a perfect shape but a messy, dirty circle. It will pulse, malformed as the time passes.
Wry, encased in a piercing glass at the tip, each one different, every single one putrid. Arcing out at odd angles. I try, try to fail at beauty, but beauty surrounds me. Each sphere is filled with anger, with hate, but within every whirring pool delicate innocence is born. Something so hard not to love. However much the core tries to be rotten, it has all built to a utopia.
Hatred, fear, spawned deep inside me, an infection that tried to slowly chew away at what I create. My mind cannot hold what I seek; I am surrounded by utter wonder, no loathing of a life granted, instead a freedom, and certain solace in the tragedy of my brainchild; no burning pits, no terror, instead an equality that survives through itself, only by going in search of a nothing could such a something happen. Mandibles click and chatter faster, dropping once they are finished with whatever they have drained from me.
Always a smile. Somewhere, someone, something, a land long enough to pain from experience, but grow and eventually love what hardships are ahead. Never can the everlasting gaze be broken. Those eyes I grew stare deep into me; hatred passed on until it is no longer present. Full of beauty.
I can sigh a thousand times over. Nothing more but watch on as my world flourishes, instead of withers. Omnipresence will drive me into that beautiful ground, that dropped from my wires long ago.