for all the good it does.

April 18, 2012

all growing is dying, too.


this makes me so damn tired. towers and dragons and bitterness. don’t save me, I’m walking out of here and into the desert and maybe I’ll find my own footsteps coming back again, endlessly circling, my own self the vulture above the bones that never, never rot.

it’s a good light armour. it’s easily carried and keeps you defended. and really, I’m sick of crumpling into cupboards, choosing sleep, lying endlessly fallow. I think we’re going to walk about a bit with the sword and cut great big whopping holes in the air (I know, I know this isn’t the answer, but what other choice is there? sitting there and waiting? you offer no resolutions, you offer no other avenues, Lord God of defeats and the long, slow road back down into the dark).

but go ahead. give me something else to pick through. white lines and red maws and the desert. I’ve got my sword on.

Teach me another way to die.


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