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a smile in her eyes and a sunflower in her hair.* (retro_chica) wrote in emolyricss,
@ 2008-03-30 10:07:00
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    A Tiding for Easter. (possession of a different sort)
    Humpty Dumpty Sat On A Wall.

    [Setting] A pitch black room. To which, if you were blind or not would make no differnce. You wouldn't be able to tell what it really is.
    Watch your step,
    these plots are open, and as we know, they're six feet deep,
    not the most comforting of falls, into the earthen pit of merciless fate.

    Welcome to the cemetery.

    You shouldn't travel this late at night, besides, if you have to walk with your hands out to feel where you're going, that's not a good sign, seeing as you have no idea to what you're really holding.
    Is it a tree?
    A tombstone?
    A life?

    Humpty Dumpty Had A Great Fall.

    The precursor to all pathetic fallicies is rain. In this case, it is set to the tune of Sonata in G Major by Franz Joseph Haydn, a rather delightful piece, unless you're not prepared, or are possessed by the Devil himself.

    Death loomed the cast iron fences in its cascading cloak long before it actually arrived.
    I sensed it before it curled its hand in my general direction,
    sweeping its fog into my breath
    whispering seductive sweet nothings into my ear.

    No raven was needed.
    Death and I had a fight to settle
    a bone to pick
    a deal to make.

    The minute the violin played every part of me wanted to leap inside the cloak and smile in disgust at all those who cherished their lives and thought that caring for others actually mattered.

    And then I realized, in this invisibly dark world, I saw the fog.
    Light was coming from somewhere.

    Death lost sight of years of tempting all in the blink of acknowledgement.
    All in the capability of mine own sight.

    Oh how stricken Death was, raising the inner fires from hell, its main joy to bring down Earth's only believer.
    She was no angel, yes indeed, she was human.
    And body and mind seperated for that one instant whereupon Death made sure that my decision was irreversible.
    I could have leapt with minions and mongrels of the underworld, laughed at excessive pain, and wreak havoc on those whom I chose.

    I could have, in Death's cloak, through Death's foggy perspective live.

    "You temptress, you smoldering temptress! You befound me a glance of eternal glory! A mere glance! Dare you to smite powers of the extreme and test the waters for which you were never meant to survive? I cast upon you the true gift of life! The best gift the Devil himself could present upon the world to create you an immortal reminder of your decision! Learn now what it is to feel life crumble before your very hands, let all your wishes, health, love, and prosperity subside till you are exactly what I see you as! What you should be! WHAT YOU ARE!"

    Death's voice sang in shrill incandesence, as if the lyrics of a georgian chant were being woven into the most mighty curse that even Jesus through crucifixion could not feel. This was not hate, this was revenge. This was hell in its most horrific and powerful moments.

    Be still, everlasting love I hummed in my head. For if Death feels one movement, a miniscule vibration, then I truly have lost. I did what I had to, Death had given me no choice.

    I held my breath.

    Through the depths of a coat which could bare no face, no gender, no single attribute towards the living soul other than the shriek that most resembled voice, I felt a smile.

    For we both knew that only two things could happen. A stumble in which I did not fully recognize being in my haughty temperance and desperation. Had I continued to hold my breath there would come a moment where I would build inside me such a need to inhale the oxygen which most likely was already poisioned that I would have to comply, or defeat the urge proving I was better, and die. And with Death so triumphantly posed infront of me, ready to devour me as if I was the most savoury meal the world had to offer, I couldn't do so. I wouldn't. Defeat would not surmise my lifelong actions.

    I took a breath, and for the tiniest of moments (for time either passed as if the grain would never transfer into the other half of the glass, or as if time was comprised of the fastest movement, incapable of actually seeing, but only to realize that it jolted like lightning in quick bolts) I felt a shock. Death didn't know how to react, it was as if this had never happened before.

    And I beamed all the light within me in sheer relief. And Death was sure not to slip twice between the Earthly cracks by which it transgressed from this world, and its own. It had found my true weakness, and acted upon the curse by which was first fueled by revenge and now utter hatred. The darkest form ever concieved. But how slow the process was to occur, was to its own liking.

    It could have easily entangled itself around my neck until I could beg for mercy, but it knew, it understood like before. A life's worth of disruption does not amount to an easier success. And pride does not live in short achievements. It would be a slow, catastrophic Death that even Death the creator and terminiation of all Death, including themself had never endured.

    And Death would make sure it was properly enjoyed to its full extent.

    And All The King's Horses,
    And All The King's Men,
    Couldn't Put Humpty Together Again.

    Resurrect me if you dare we both said as if they were the only words that could escape our mouths.

    This was the End.
    For me, For Death.
    For all mankind that gave way for anything that mattered.

    * * *

    Now I see what all this was for.
    Eight years of,
    of mini trauma really.
    I learned the physicality of a volcano, and what it really was.
    The inception was a blemish on the earth which sought comfort,
    and by doing so was ignored.
    It grew a wrinkled exterior that grew inside a much larger problem than what was ever to be considered.
    And spews of puss, saliva, blood and pungent vile excretions hiccuped me along the way to the top.
    Those eight years, was my rising, for my debut.
    My entering of the explosion for which all plots climax to.
    This ain't a picture show.
    And we not that smart.
    -hic- -hic- Durr.
    Dis vale cane oh
    is upside down!
    -hic- -hic-

    Welcome, to the the End.

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