Done been slayed
Posted by NyalicMar 9
All my plants are dead now, leaving a crimson shadow of ther once briliance.
My wilted, once beautiful, roses as dry as dust.
What is happening here…
Why wont the sun shine like it used to?
No clear light to feed them, no water to quinch thier dying thurst.
Everyone is gone.
In This Place visitors are the demonic ghosts of my dearest friends and the darkness thats never left unfelt.
Starving of an appetite i can never fill, Here, my thurst can never be satisfied.
Forever is Here, in This Place is Hell.
2 comments
Comment by Charles on March 9, 2010 at 11:11 AM
This one sounds very dark… like all the lights have been turned out and you’re left with your analysis of that which you cannot perceive well.
It sounds like the place you are describing must be left behind or at least somewhat seperated from you – you from it – in order to move on. Would you say that is true?
Also, I have moved this from “General” category to “Writing”. Thanks for writing, Nyalic!
Comment by Nyalic on March 9, 2010 at 4:02 PM
This Place has been left behind me for the most part, if I can say it like that. Comes and goes from time to time but will I think it will always be a part of me. Reminding me to keep climbing higher out of the darkness, or you’ll end up in Here again.
It is that (dark) and much more. Like everything about you is turned off. Your abilities to do the most simple tasks seems impossible. We have all probobly felt a degree of this kind of helplessness before. I think of this and wonder how the hell I ever crawled out of that muck, in This Place where you feel there cant possibly be anyone else in Here i was never alone.