When she touched me life, she stole my soul.
I wished the lovelorn feeling never abandoned me, even if it burns with wild flame. My soul, tucked among her black-feathered wings, pierced by her flaming arrow – that would be a nightmare-fueled delight. My spirit, tossed into greatest depths of the demonic realms, would be safer though, than held between thorned threads she woven around my heart.
She was like a lavender wind, created by a dark goddess. She never told me who she was, until my river-bending will didn’t find out – and that became a curse that latched to my soul, drinking black-tinted blood stright from my veins.
I am lost in the mountains of forbidden feelings, as I am blasphemy itself, searching to ever-bind myself with a demon of the twilight. My gods will burn my forlorn name, so it joined my ill-starred desire in the stygian lakes of the underworld. Her shadow will haunt me and will be my fall.
I am lovesick for Mina. She owns my all.
The wolf was lonely since he remembered. Long, so long, that his brothers seemed a swift glance, that passed through the corner of his eyes and disappeared in the mist. His kind sailed into a frozen embrace of winter and he won’t hear their howls anymore, won’t feel their fur on his skin, nor he will sense their hearts, beating as one with his. His own heart battered like autumn flower and sank in the thick water of hopeless regret.
His god gave him a choice, which they never had. Frostbitten, dark lands, where they hunt alone, even if together – he had a choice to not choose them. Touched by a dark paw of a great wolf, enveloped with his grace and scorn, both given at the same time, he knew that he will regret it. That he will weep and tear his flesh to wounds, until he remains a shadow of himself, destroyed by “what-if”.
The spell drilled a hole in his soul. Maybe, if he found someone, to whom he could tell his secret, trapped behind his mute maw, he could free his brethren and give them meadows and woods, once again. But the curse made all fear him. No one ever approaches him, as they see him as a beast, with unquenched thirst for warm blood and raw meat.
Many times he tried. Many times he failed. But there is still a small flame beaming inside his old bones. A tiny kindling which can become a fire storm, if given a chance.
If anyone will give you a heart, they will be free.
Counting days won’t return their freedom. If someone will love me, despite my wild eyes and sharp teeth…
… the pack will return.
To let me rest in peace.
I slept so long… centuries, eons; myriads of stars looked down on me, and another myriads looked up. Cradled in the bedding made of suns… and fire.
My dreams were filled with debris of scorched buildings, burning forests, world set in blue and white flames. My blood boiled in my veins, yet my sleep was eternal, just like gods who bound me. There were no shackles, no bars to hold me. I was dead for the world of humans, as long as I slept. And faith was dwindling, pouring cold water on my inner inferno, day by day, year by year…
But there are always fools. Fools who think they can gain more power, more strength… who want to lit their own flame… and perish within it.
I waited for a fool, who would set me free, quench the thirst of my dreams, unleash blazing storm above the sky, to burn down the darkness.
I am a god, I could wait long. The faith placed in glory, in that one man, could set up even the poorest kindling. He wanted to use me as a pawn to domination. Yet he didn’t know who wrote the rules. The gods created a very specific script.
And I am one of them.
Sometimes… it hurts. Hurts like a burning coal on the open wound.
How my dreams always drift in the same way, towards the same entity… The mere thought that I could dream about her, hurts… But she always appears, shrouded in fluttering gowns, glistening, marvelous…
And ruthless. I sense that mark on her… that… scar, which harms my senses and my soul.
When she comes in red, she is like a breath of summer, like a night dance among the woods, like a gossamer of memories.
And she leads me through the mists, towards trees, towards the blooming flowers, which if touched with one finger, most delicately, would disappear in flurry of petals, carried by the wind.
Sometimes she comes to me, dressed in blue. And then clouds fall down from the sky and the rich azure stings with sun rays like it was torn from the hands of gods.
And then we travel behind the rainbow, towards the sun and beyond, towards the fallen stars and endless vastness, among colors touched by forbidden magic…
I want her to come to me once more… dressed in green. Her voice like a dew in a cold morning, droplets of rain slowly patting on the windowpane, the patter of tears on the glass.
I would want to go with her to the lands that have never seen the human being, and the thick emeralds lay upon the feet, laughing pearly.
But sometimes… sometimes she comes dressed in black. And then…
… I am afraid to open my eyes, to not see how my dreams are dispelled mercilessly in the last ray of the dying star…
The buildings blink, sharply-lit faces illuminated with striking warm lights. The darkness, full of smoke; dirty streets, gaping holes of the empty houses, the huge bureaus, made of steel and stone, tired silhouettes of the late workers, the blue gleam in huge rooms – tiny enclaves of peace in the hungry night.
This is my city.
I woke up here, long ago, to be a shadow that devours the blood that beats in its veins.
I breathe with the traffic, laughing in the hazy midnight glory.
Everything changed when the S T O R M came. Only me and her, standing against the downpour. Uproaring, it rages above our heads.
The city still inhales the waste, oblivious against the world’s flounce. I touch her arm when she appears, and we drift into nothingness, together.
We want to believe that this is not the end. That we are not the end…
… b e o n e w i t h m e…
While the night melts around us.