THE ANNEALED HALLS OF DEATH

[destroyedsuggestion]

For peace is there in absolution.

For a SWORD is a sword, is a sword.

What is life when it has ended for you? What is a sword without it’s sheath?

[destroyedsuggestion]

decayingsuggestion​:

choosing to die is hardly a choice, it is surrender—

it is letting the enemy win.

you are better to them dead.

they did not even have the guts to finish you off themselves so why give them the satisfaction?

For peace. For balance.

For peace.

for peace.

[destroyedsuggestion]

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

It’s okay to lay down your blade, weary one.

For your end has come.

It came long ago.

[destroyedsuggestion]

He wants you to feel the air on your skin. He wants, he wants, but the dead cannot fly. 

He wants you to be as you are, but what you are is fleeting,

[destroyedsuggestion]

From the dead the flowers grow. The life passes, and life continues. Your destruction is forgotten, you are forgotten.

His name is forgotten.

That’s fine.

[destroyedsuggestion]

What is rotten cannot be whole ever again.

[destroyedsuggestion]

The roots have grown amidst my bones, taken my heart into its crags. It twists its gnarled fingers with every apology you whisper against my temple.

[destroyedsuggestion]

Flowers cannot grow from rotten soil. --but the weeds shall try.

[destroyedsuggestion]

The depths are quiet, but your ruin lingers. I know your voice, your face, I know you are a lie-- And I am your puppet no longer.

[destroyedsuggestion]

The smell of ash, and fire, and smoldering ruin are all I know. The world smells like your bed, like your hair. Hot like your lips on my ear. Your words are poison, and I crave them still.

[destroyedsuggestion]

Brother, oh my brother, Blood of my blood, your left scars upon my shoulders where your hands had been.

[destroyedsuggestion]

To the dirt you were planted, forgotten, desiccated, and from it you rise with blighted eyes. The world is changed, and the same.

It rots.