i'm not meant for this worldi'm not built for stress or worki fall apart at the breezethe heat dissolves my seamsi melt with the rainand crumble under pressurei am the flower in the mortarground to dust to make dyesomething beautiful made useful in destructionmaybe i am uselessmaybe i am okay with that facti am made for the pleasurethe moment of ecstacypeak harmony in a dissonant lifeto be put on a pedestalto fall from graceburn to cinder in the holy light of famebecome an icon and an enemyhave my name mean holiest and wickedturn myself inwards so as to reverse my initial roleattack the spine so i may bend easierbuild a palace of pillows and laceturn to dust as my admirers watch in wonderbecome what i was meant to becomea person in two dimensionsnot enough to be taintedbut just enough to tantalizethat is the world i was built for
About the Creator
A O Beldam
A writer. A body entangled in life. A hag living in the local bog.
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Midnight
60 seconds… 59 seconds… Time was slipping through his fingers, though he clawed at the falling grains of sand, he could not stop the hourglass from flowing. Around him, the silence was deafening. He had taken over every screen in the command centre, putting the terrible seconds before the terrified eyes of his friends and comrades.
By Alexander McEvoy5 days ago in Fiction
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