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*Slides blade edge across the whetstone with particular attention to detail...*

See, here's the thing- I'm not some insecure little bitch that'll suffer a crises of confidence because of one less than subtle, and yet at the same time, insufferably amateurish psychoanalysis of my mental state.

*Looks up from the sharpening.*

This blade hasn't been necessary for a long, long time. However, it can be assured that I have not forgotten the particular set of skills which allow me to wield it with such efficacy.

Clinging like the fog, seeping into the cracks of the wall. Cloying, suffocating, it saps at the warmth. It feeds on it. It needs it. It follows, wants to usurp, to be in it all. Everywhere. There cannot be any thing, any one, that is sacred. All are desired, all are sought out like the deer who who don't know their fate.

Like a wall of mist, it tries to separate and blind- it wants to isolate. It craves, it absorbs- it thinks it is giving, but it can only take, take, take. Take it all. All it leaves is an empty husk. What life remains in that tattered body is bitter, decrepit and withered.

Silently, with innocence, with subtlety, with graceful tendrils that reach far across a wide vista, it seeks like a river creeping forth it's fingers into the bloody sea, crawling through the signals that bind us, reaching an invisible snare about the throat. Choking, fragrant, too fragrant, the sickly sweet scent attracts as many flies as it does bees.

COMMENTS

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Lamadia79
11:32 Nov 07 2024

Lovely

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