Mon, 04/28/2014 - 13:41 -- Azshara



Covetous, uncouth fabricant.
You are the epitome of my own failure.
But, it will take more than water to wash away your scars.
We danced with witches
And made blood pacts,
And we created out own gateways. 
Each one opening to a separate hell,
But we didn't even care.
Enlightenment required suffering. 
The first time we went down, you got lost,
And I had to call and call,
Until my flesh faded away and my bones breached the surface.
Arising from the sanguine depths,
Porcelain arches forming some sort of temple,
Where I could properly channel my devotion. 
I didn't find you. 
You swore you would come back,
But I guess I tied the chains too tight,
And the rocks dragged you down to the bottom of the ocean,
I wonder if you found peace in those silver depths?
I haven't heard from you since.
There wasn't room in me for the tribunal.
A sound body requires a single soul,
And a clairvoyant mind.
The two of you fought day and night,
Vying for total control over the other,
She came to me in the pale moonlight with an offer.
"Help me get rid of the other, and I will make you a god."
I couldn't refuse; such an offer is worth more than silver.
I swore off mortal needs that day.
I don't need to eat.
I don't need to breathe.
I don't need to believe.
The scale is mightier than any god you could hope to preach to me,
Drugged off your convalescence. 
Devour my heart and soul.
Until nothing is left but bone. 
You promised me the world,
But I wanted the moon. 
Beat. Beat. Beat.
The infernal organ is all that is left of my mortality.
Liqueur of the undead, sustenance and desire.
House of the Manic, House of the Demented.
My mind is a reflection of both;
I am Madness, I am Insanity, I am Crazy, crazy, crazy...
Lock me inside a glass box, so,
When I drown under an ocean of my own tears,
The world will see that I was the skinniest in the end. 


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