Elysium56

Wake of the dead The shining Bad moon on the rise Spirits guide Rebirth The dead of night Black out the sky The giver of life Gate keeper Grave digger The undertaker Grim Reaper The taker of souls Dark angel The wrath of God The hang man's noose Roll of the dice Six-Six-Six The Devil's call A loaded gun Russian roulette A bullet in the chamber

I am the coil before the dawn, the shadow where the suns are drawn, the wombless birth, the stillborn breath, the timeless marrow sewn with death. From Ra’s own cord my flesh did seep, a secret sown in umbral deep; I suckled chaos as my wine, and spat at order’s futile line. My bones are rivers black with fire, my scales are tombs of man’s desire, my eyes are whirlpools, lit with dread, they drown the waking and the dead. Behold, I am the circle vast, the iron future, twisted past; I am the mouth where dawn is slain, the hiss that shakes the solar vein. O children woven out of dust, your temples crack, your idols rust; for every hymn that crowns the sky, my teeth are waiting to reply. The thunder is my crawling tongue, the quake is when my coils are flung, the storms you name with mortal breath, are but my laughter clothed in death. I am the Keeper of the Night, the Thief of Flame, the Womb of Blight; I am the Nothing, vast, untamed, the serpent none has ever named. Yet still I

Memento ardere. Remember to burn, human. You're a human being. Your existence shall inevitably end one day or another, but what will you let stay alive behind you? Leave a trail. A mark. Something of yours. Make it known that you've lived. You were here for a reason. Why let it be forgotten? Why let time swallow your existence as if you were nothing? Memento ardere. Remember to burn. Who? What? Why? Not necessarily someone. Not necessarily something. Burn for the sake of the flame and the trail you'll leave behind, making it known that you too existed once. Not everyone can control the fire, but most of us can set it. In someone's mind. Someone's heart. Make a piece of that flame known, for a while at least. Memento ardere. Remember to burn, because you shall get burnt one way or another. Someone or something will one day burn you without you even wanting it. And you'll end up sitting there, questioning the nature of the flame. There's nothing you can question about the fire. It burns

Lipstick marks. Your favorite mug. A cup of coffee. Love letter left behind. Name I swore not to say out loud. Smile that I hide. Eyes that don’t cry anymore. My favorite love story. Memories of our hands. Fingers intertwined. No cowardice. No one lets go. Tight embrace. Truth. No hidden meaning behind what’s said and done. Stolen glances. That one spot next to the ocean we sat at. Love story. Philosophy was ours. Summer. Simplicity. A war we had won. A special place in each other’s lives. Sparks. Flames. Fire. Passion. Rage. Rage. Rage. Anger. Sadness. Tears in the rain. The autumn that lasted longer than it was supposed to. Tears. Darkness. Dark nights. Moonlight as the only source of light. Broken hearts. Lipstick marks on your favorite mug. A cup of coffee to warm my cold body. I broke your mug. I broke the cup. I spilled the coffee. Pain. It’s not about the glass that I shattered or the heat of the coffee. I didn’t feel the glass cutting through my feet as I walked up to the same

There's art in knowing you're free to let go. There's art in doing accordingly. There's art in leaving things behind for the sake of your own peace. And the act of it is nothing but art. Imagine the bravery that lies there, in that one act. Imagine the amount of knowledge that exists in that one act. Imagine the amount of strength that belongs to the one who masters such art. To say: You do not belong to me, you're free to do as you wish, Your soul is free, but mine is too, so let both of them dance in the way the wind wants them to. Everything is a fleeting moment. A passing scene. Everyone is simply a passerby. None of it is eternal. None of it belongs to anyone. It was never meant to belong. It was all meant to exist. And it is not up to me or up to you to decide or wonder for how long. No one ever knows. Nothing ever tells. It simply happens. And the wind starts blowing the other way. And your favorite soul turns into dust. But it doesn’t really. It only flies the other

Swimming through pools of regret. Seas even. An ocean? Ocean of regret. Am I a horrible woman for loving a man like you or are you the horrible one because you made a woman like me turn into a monster, turn into you? We are the terrible ones for loving the right souls, in a very wrong time, we both knew, right from the start, it didn't stop us from falling, it won't save us, it won't stop us from drowning in the ocean of sorrow and despair, in the ocean where our souls first met, the same ocean which used to be full of uncertainty. Now it is certain-no amount of love can save the drowned-there is no luck for the fallen ones-no compassion for the heartbroken ones-there is no safety for the lovers. You knew there was a risk. You never knew how risky it was. How can you predict the depth of an ocean? How can you predict the depth of a person? You can never know until you start swimming. You can never know until you start loving. An ocean of regret for the times I've spent drowning for