Work Text:
Why?
Why, a conctructive form of questioning, a word that holds nothing more then plain curiousity and the willing need to know. A deep, aching rot to satisfy the boundless greed to know everything.
Why? Why must you act like this?
Why? Why must you have done that?
Meaningless. Truly.
How would I know? Why must I know? Why should I give you every single pieced out strand of the way i processed and let my tongue cut and bleed. Why must I explain the reasoning for my hands, my fingers that move like their not connected to the functioning work of my bones.
I sit here, lie here, decomposing and wasting away. My eyesight blurring, lids dragged down from the exhausting weight that had been set upon me from people I should know, yet they have no splintering shard of respect or knowledge in my mind.
Useless.
It drags at my feet, particles of crushed up millenia forming to make ground, dragged back under the true claimer of this earth. Its cold, yet the skin that shapes and protects my soul warms to it, everlastingly pleading to seep back and become one with it.
I hear you.
Your soft voice, laden with innocence and manic insanity settling back in. This should never have happened.
This was all messed up.
How deeply foolish we... we? I am. How crazed has this continentual made up land eaten me up. Teeth gnawing on my torso, legs..
To please, laugh, cry. What ever was the point? My love is nothing but a shell, hopeless and swallowing. Yet, that is all a persons mind is filled with. Love.
Pathetic.
We are more then the ones we grace our hearts to, bleeding and broken just for them. Resilience just a thing of the past. Why must I dedicate my whole world to loving, pleasing, dying.
Why is it, even though my throat conjures to let my tasteless muscle spit these things, guilt and an emotion that cuts so deeply, embrace me with such care? You should be distasteful towards a being like me.
I stand on this beach, the sun low on the horizon. The water is stroked with marigold, bronze, amber, Azure. I still cant recall the name of the dripping thick liquid on my arms are, sliding down my veins to the very edge of my fingertips. Nor can I recall how I am still breathing, standing on these broken mangled legs of mine. I heave, swallowing it back down with a force that struggled back.
I... dont ask why... I wish. I wish to know. But, I hear that sentence being dragged with that disgraceful, vile word in there somewhere. So I leave myself to distortioned sickness.
I.. should pray then, shouldnt I? Not for me, but for you. But what is there to pray on?
the colour of rose coloured jewels, formed in the spit shaped way of rain falls to the sand, conversing and merging back into one with salt. A figure stood there, back to the forest, a faze that was merely just a feverish dream.
A kaleidoscope of memories, futures, impossible structures.
I feel you.