Drowning in a sea of my own creation, a black void of crashing waves that erode my bedrock, slowly but surely.
The knight watches from the cliff top, his sword dangling helplessly by his side, knowing the fruitless endeavour of attempting battle with the creature, was just that. He falls to his knees, begging the merciless gods to release his world from its onslaught of tendril esk darkness.
But the cries fall on deaf ears as the monster deity unleashes yet another wave of black and the sky falls into the sea with an impossible crack.
The storm rages on as its host shambles around its own reality, the now black skies reflect in its eyes, but the light of the stars has since been extinguished. The firery core has been contained within the maelstrom of black. And the throbbing sentience is being infected and enslaved by the demon god once and for all.
The knight is a fugitive in the world that was crafted for him. His armour is battered and flawed from the constant losing fight he was destined to wage, forever. The arm that once held the mighty sword of light feels like the weight of a thousand men were standing on it. And the sword is glowing ever fainter.
But still, the war goes on, the casualties rise and the demon god is winning. This is no fairy tale, our hero is not recovering and the monster has no weakness.
This is real life.
My... life.
So I’m trying this thing where I write poetry, without poem formatting...
