Work Text:
Every night you dream of reworked pasts,
The pretty corpse you hallucinate spoke at last.
God himself now knows your name,
You saw his humanity,
It’ll never be the same.
When you died, did you reincarnate as less?
You hope so,
your special normalcy is all you have left.
A blade handed twice that you hold so tight,
Your hate for it is a comfort colored red.
You don’t know why, but you keep it at night.
You don’t know,
but it muffles 200 screams in your head
YELLOW-ISH GOLD,WHY IS IT YELLOW-ISH GOLD,
SCREECHING FLASH-BANGS OF HUE IN YOUR MIND.
The sword stabbed your brain in the form of a migraine.
The pain does not subside.
but it makes you feel slightly more alive.
Your reflection holds the soul of four yellow eyes.
Your reflection holds a present that you can’t even describe