Circling until they fall, land on him, slam into the center of him, finally, finally, like the lead weight of chain finally set into place. The proclamation, as close to the right hand of God as he's ever going to get, of what this is and what is to come.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2010-10-07 04:59 pm (UTC)The words go.
Too close.
Too far.
Circling until they fall, land on him, slam into the center of him, finally, finally, like the lead weight of chain finally set into place. The proclamation, as close to the right hand of God as he's ever going to get, of what this is and what is to come.
He can't sleep. He can't cry.
There is no vice he can hide in.
And they won't be enough.
It will only be him.
And the blackeness.