~*~Sweet Nothing~*~

Restlessness, the bastard
son tried to prove his worth.
A thousand times
the repeated mantra of "I
exist," lead to nothing
but shadows in the brink
of existence. Crying
out against the feat of
a hundred newer worlds, he
died a little more against
the backdrop painted red.
"So," she murmured, calresses soft
against the shattered spine, "So."
And it was, it was.
Deep inside the hollow
the threat loomed hard
as night, pressing down
his cries to fid the
lies. Cursed, the fabled
fallen son rose up to
bleed again, crucified he
died, he died, and drowned
again, again. So tell the
tales, sweet sorrows mourn
in ethereal mist. Come
crashing in through the
walls so solidly shaken,
and pushed a little harder,
the world just might exist.