With a tattered and damaged soul the only available area to harm and feel pain would be the body but even that will go numb in time. Foolish to feel that pain is the only validation of existence.
How does one describe the half dead, the half living? Not really dead, not really alive. Corpses pretending to be living bodies. How does one define those that are here but aren’t? How can one explain how one is completely not here yet traces of the them always remain as if they were? Where is the middle, who is in the middle of these two halves? Is that where the abyss really is? Where does the soul and mind go?
I am used to these sights. What type of death lead to the blood stains on the rafters, gaze at how slowly that fluid dripped so that it dried in place! Oh! This room it weeps, it weeps for the fallen, how fortunate they are! These fallen do not get to see the sun again, unlike those of us who are mocked with every silver lining when that wretched orb of infernal light breaks into the heavens. Reminding us, burning our minds with glad knowledge that we start that day anew, alive, whole, open and raw for the ravaging. What a mangled web is woven here and that we can never attain what we need to sustain us.
Ah, that’ s right, take your place under the sun. Let that shadow grow!
Shadow Script - Aoenru - Aomi’s Snowflake
Navigation on Squidoo : Aomi’s Lense.