The smoke has yet to lift.
Giving the horizon a eerie feel.
The whistle of death has long since passed.
Even the thunder that lashed out so hungrily.
Has been subdued with the souls scoured.
Numerous holes are sporadically placed among the rubble.
Some are filled.
Like the contents of a blender set to mince.
I peer into the stagnant pool that collected in the smoldering depths.
Not even the earth seemed to want them.
The urge to dive in overtakes my senses.
And the remnant cries are getting stronger.
With every breathe does my mind crystalize.
Frozen in the moments that distort this rigid oasis of despair.
The need to return beckons.
Yet integration is nearly complete.
These arms have become strangers.
Just like the rest of this surrogate being.
The storm is coming.
But I remain.
Watching.
As the familiar figure takes its leave.
Grinning with every step.

What is this.
Eyes strain to see anything in the soulless room.
Yet there are no walls to feel.
No comforting scrape of shoes as each leg is dragged to the next position.
So many questions float about.
Just out of hands reach.
It's raining now
Attempting to make this mangled carcuss anew.
Yet pieces fall away with each new storm.
Even a drizzle seems to steal what it can.
And although it reassembled with a little time.
Is it apparent that there was so much more some time ago.
Rendering all opposition useless.
Why must one fight if memory can serve no enemy.
So many..
Questions.
There can be nothing more precious.
Than the answer sought for so long.
Through a wasteland filled with the meaningless.
To come to a pitful hill.
And stare at the answer.
But for one so nearsighted.
The wasteland has just begun.

The hesitant hand speaks through the white abyss beyond its dark eye.
Worlds are created here.
Excuses.
And words of love alike.
Men and women have died clutching and wrestling with this enigma.
The need to be understood.
What need is there when what is counveyed.
Was never captured at all.
Forcing more and more blackened guts onto a surface for criticism.
Only to claim the meat bellow grade and tossed away.
It's the output that heals.
That begins its torture like tools to ****** about the mind.
Plastering over more wallpaper with graffiti.
Trample over the art created to assume the role of the next tramplee.
Be humble yet there are no holds bared once the summit is in sight.
This cataclysm has taken enough of me.
And this righteous path.
Can only play granny for so much longer.
Before I too will grow fangs.
And tear this pointless paper to shreds.

It's strange to ponder about just what brought this revelation about.
They key now swings silently around my neck.
Lulling the air about into a mirage of sorts.
Yet as I frantically rub my eyes for clarity.
The image stayed vibrant and resilent.
Although it seemed to have aged in the time since I first looked upon it.
Claw like marks gouged the frame.
It seems to have been reforged.
With blood and steel.
Giving it a cold and bitter demeanor.
Yet as I place my hand on the weathered scars.
Am I filled with a roaring zeal.
I bellow a battle cry that reverberates through time itself.
This typhoon of emotion surrounds my senses.
Dizzy from the constant swirling and repetitive motions.
I pray for a salvation that still seems so far off.
But giving up now would bare no fruit.
So I greet it with a smile and a reinvigorated rage.
And await the moment that the calm calls for such renown.

Oh what a corroding flavor this is.
A concoction of disregard and lethal words.
The wake of such leaves the mind baron.
The seeds have been sewn.
And with the coming harvest does each pew wreak destruction.
One of many in fact.
Sprouting new yet familiar cringes.
The root is that of hell fire.
And the forge is aflame once more.
A conundrum of gleeful dissonance.
The sear is almost as unbearable as the creation of its last creature.
The howls echo throughout the night.
Branding malicious means deep within the void it had become.
The scent of blood is in the air.
As the lust grows
So does its wretched grin.

Throw it all in.
The ambitious thrive on such weakness.
Dwell not on expectation.
The dim could never haunt such a pristine wreckage.
Wallow not in the temptation vowed to conquer all there will be.
For the distance reaped its own faux reward.
Caustic beats of reckless breathe.
Flare the cavity within.
Down in the darkness.
Sound falling a hair shy of the ear wished for.
And now.
Lingering just above the wretched pool.
Can you see the scatches on the cage.
Crevices upon canyons.
Of profound pain and longing.
Why does the floor seem so inviting.
As the icicles coil through each open vein.
Does skin turn to steel.
The perfect sculpture.
Wound and ready to lie.

Smile.
For all the times we reminisce of the hill.
Laugh.
In the moments that we swear we are going to hell for an ill timed joke.
Cherish.
Every second my eyes find their way to yours.
Hate.
All the miscommunication that lead us so far astray for so long.
Disregard.
Each sarcastic comment that seems to cut so deep.
Cradle.
What you never thought you would have.
Rise.
And take my hand.
Stand.
For what you thought you didn't want.
Fight.
All that may come to drag you down
Feel.
As I tell you I love you.
Trust.
That every single kiss is true.
Hope.
For all that is left to explore with each other.

And I will surely do the same.