03 February 2016

ews, bludmajÿk

I, close my eyes, a body in the mire and a good witch by my side, making things down as i go along, and eventho preferring to live in a fieldo fdreams have realized that it would mad, to thank every blade of grass, some of you, thelargest sphere of conciousness a broken atom, the discarded components of humanity, gathered, centric, eccentric lacivities and profitable proclivities that seem beyond the grasp of wind, so many of you a declaration and above the wages of sin, this gloomy song sure has the whistling wind, and i break to run for the dawn, the burning horizon where the sky is living night and I the livid plight of war and necromancy cannot grasp the leaving edge of sanity, this the day is darkness and the sudden starkness the curse carved into my runes that were once bones, i see it in the stones, the noise of wind the echo, the trail of footsteps a blinding fear, the paintings missssing now are all mirrors, the portraits of thetheir themselvesi mean beloved wishes system of those whom where were here now intolernt of the living arein reflection without being next to my i myself misgiving clarity for sanity and the  they take it upon themselves to take me into their hells, i fall into darkness surrounded by theshattering sky, i am the passion of nothing being burned by the wisdom of ancient battle magic o so tragic, tuanted and vunted theif of leary kingdoms mymortal foe, how little do i know as the ancient pores export a glow like signals from imagined experiences and the wrenching of an eon's passing, on glimpse as i am turning only to find myself, a sea of broken glass, i hate you with a passion of all fucking lives, eachshining surface a vision, ear sorrowed memory fragmented and screaming in the slipstream of the eternities n the dimensions from pretent to dillusional paranoia, and walks on the edges cut the fet of the body that the blood transforms the shards into darkness, i have survived this, ihate the beautiful dream because i can, and walks to me, breathing my dying light i suffocate, falling i shred myself adn I am forced into the nothing, the stone glows as did it before, blue veins of granite dark that contrast the magic bloodline within it, do not touch the fucking stones, the witch is not like me, not by wake nor wave of lovers and sunshine and sweetmisery in nameless city, she is dressed in the reverse as is the color of her skin from wht it was before, gargoyles and a close my eyes again i shouldn't have peeked i am piqued and steeped in violence, i am struck insomuch flight and spin to the ground and speared in the stomach and screaming my sounds, i heal my own wounds with the spells written on my bones, had it not gone thru me to the earth it might have torn me, i know that be why they tried to flying tear me away, i am clawed and torn with the wings of my eneemies in my face as had as much before, the evil priestess turns away, i am throne to the poisoning madness concrete of evil magic and stone and i healmyself to find a hollow rock that makes  atone without poisoning my elevated mind so hard to find itself in revelation and ideas not my own, just in time not to be hallucinating and torn into my bones, i hold one hostange while two cannot decide and the witch walks about me as if to hope all three had died, insidemy will i tearout organs at that this juncture i will not specific describe, i am still in the land of the unholy and to pass transfer the incredible mental pollution to the things i have removed, i give my imagination to mindrot, but it is not nearly enough , thus i share the heart of lava and to armor does it burn, asi am volleyed against with bright darkness and begin to burn i raise thw wings of the monsters, hiding from wind ofwrath, i cut herthroat as she reips yout my heart, i wake, my veins are black, i hunger for blood, the wraith dances to a song that isnt'here adn holding nyvz, i cannot move as well and muscles with rigor as i figure my senses, my bleeding is of black pitch jet oil, i am pushed into the mud and told to sleep as she licks the oil from my hand, i am a demand to survive, as she dances with knives and thrives, as i grow with the passing sun my bones begin to hurt, but where the black blood bleeding spills not more shecuts her skin to make a wound to match mine, where she carves I cure, fordays i walk with a demoness worse of wear and limping, a stagecoach passes and she killsthe passengers of their blood to make her younger, the more blood she drinks the more tatooes begin to draw themselves, gargoyles over glass, and her skin again smooth then takes the betterlife of me closely to slake her hunger, i am trapped between choice of deny or survive the dreamfield