DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Conversations with the Forsaken had manifested all those primordial wakes of wandering amidst the Grounds – to see what else had altered and changed, or simply remained. More than once he passed great scars in the earth, made either by lightning or fire, ashes long since collected and taken away in the wind. Then he kept walking, down by the routes where there’d been glades and rivers, where they’d dug underground to escape streaks of the elements, where they’d torn apart layers of soil to try and survive, to find ways to harvest and distribute. In all of it he stored the silence into his lungs, lifting his chin to take the frigid breeze, to miss the sting of Halo’s, and to wonder where they’d all falter and flicker next.
Footfalls and patterns took him to the Bone Bridges eventually, but where they’d once been one towering above fog and mist, shrouds of stories of kappas and monsters below, more of the bleached proportions lingered. Branching, cording off to other sections of islands, though he half-expected some to be dead ends, dropping off in their fragility, until someone washed ashore.
And certainly not a familiar face amongst them – the crimson darts of the jacket he’d created, and then the entity he’d always know. “Kiada,” he rumbled from a few yards away, hands buried in his pockets, narrowing his eyes only slightly to study the surroundings again. Watching her jog was somewhat amusing, and could probably taunt him out of his melancholy, so he half-tilted his head, intending to slide a tease between his teeth because he didn’t want to murmur much else. “What are you doing?”
Footfalls and patterns took him to the Bone Bridges eventually, but where they’d once been one towering above fog and mist, shrouds of stories of kappas and monsters below, more of the bleached proportions lingered. Branching, cording off to other sections of islands, though he half-expected some to be dead ends, dropping off in their fragility, until someone washed ashore.
And certainly not a familiar face amongst them – the crimson darts of the jacket he’d created, and then the entity he’d always know. “Kiada,” he rumbled from a few yards away, hands buried in his pockets, narrowing his eyes only slightly to study the surroundings again. Watching her jog was somewhat amusing, and could probably taunt him out of his melancholy, so he half-tilted his head, intending to slide a tease between his teeth because he didn’t want to murmur much else. “What are you doing?”
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
