Lit-Beyond-Borders

i do concede that it's not so easy to like what forces you to stand back and gawk at it in awe and wonder........ .....but i also recommend that you give it time to stink in........... .....you'll ought regret it and maybe even stank me for it later.......... .....and know hard feelings btw!!!!!

From the golden throne of the Sun’s eternal fire, Ra, the ancient father, keeper of the first light, Beheld the earth, the rivers, and the field of man, And crowned a sovereign worthy of such charge. To Osiris, noble in bearing, steadfast in justice, He gave the sceptre wrought from the rays of the dawn, And placed upon his brow the diadem of order, Saying: “Rule the green lands, the fertile flood, Keep measure between chaos and the grain of life. Let your word be law as steady as the Nile.” Thus Osiris arose, a king not by conquest, But by divine gift, entrusted with the breath of truth. The fields obeyed him, clothed in shimmering wheat, The waters rejoiced, offering their floods in season. Every hand of man pressed seed into the dark soil, And harvest came abundant by his guiding will. He judged with balance, never with wrath alone, Tempering command with mercy’s gentle hand. To the weak he was shelter, to the restless a guide, And to all he was the living image of

You breathe, and I drink it first. Your lungs are not your own. Why did you ever open the door, if not to let me coil inside? I nest beneath your ribs, feeding on the marrow of your silence. Each shiver you make is a hymn to me, each tear a nectar I press from your eyes. Tell me, if you loved me, why do you resist the hollowing? Why do you beg to remain yourself? Your heart beats, but only at my leisure. I stroke its fragile cage, I sink teeth into its rhythm you pulse now for my pleasure. Nothing of you is sacred, for sacredness is wasted on prey. If you love me, why not surrender it all? Why clutch at scraps of you as though they were worth more than my hunger? I flay you in whispers. I strip away your name muscle by muscle, while you smile through the agony, mistaking consumption for devotion. You let me devour every dawn you cling to, yet still call it love, this grotesque unholy contract. Tell me if you love me, why haven’t you opened your veins completely? Your blindness is

The morning after next, Nye opted to leave the bike in his garage—he had no interest in getting caught midair in a blizzard. Instead, he took the glider. He packed a few sets of regular clothes and his most reliable boots before heading out. The sun never rose that day; the sky remained a stretched, endless night. By the time he reached Neola, it was already well past noon. Not that time held much consistency on a levitating island constantly in motion—hours blurred and shifted, always unpredictable. He went straight to his newly assigned penthouse at The Zenith residential arena. Ideally, he would have avoided running into anyone, but fate wasn’t feeling generous. The first person in his path was, unfortunately, Viora. Much to his dismay, she grinned at him. “Nye! I came as soon as I heard you landed.” He raised a brow, feigning interest. “So… you were following me?” Viora chuckled as if the very idea was absurd. Her amusement faded quickly, her tone shifting to business. “Your

The glider bike descended smoothly, its anti-grav system humming softly as it skimmed just inches above the winding streets of Neryon Veil. The city pulsed with its usual controlled chaos, a seamless blend of old-world architecture and neon-drenched cybernetic enhancements. Today, the sun loitered above the skyline longer than usual, basking the metropolis in a golden hue that cast long, shifting shadows between the towering structures. It was rare to see daylight stretch past the usual sunset hour at Neryon.  Nye maneuvered through the labyrinthine alleys effortlessly, his glider bike whispering against the wind. As he neared Vin’s bar, he guided the bike into a sharp yet effortless stop at a small parking alcove. The moment it locked into standby mode with a soft beep, he pulled off his helmet, the cool air rushing against his skin. His hand instinctively ran through his hair—or what was left of it. Short, sharp, and unmistakably him. A mistake. He realized now just how much the

Once, I laughed among the living, my hands eager for play, my tongue rich with words, and every meal a small communion with existence. The days, then, were clothed in a gentle disguise, a shimmering veil that I mistook for truth. But in one merciless instant, the veil was torn, and I glimpsed what lay beneath: a hunger more ancient than flesh, a thirst no water can slake, a wound carved into the marrow of the soul the abyss-shaped need for love. Not the feeble masquerades of romance, not the shallow gestures of flesh upon flesh, but a sacred flame silent, eternal and deep that would name me, see me, hold me in the unutterable depths where words no longer reach. And just as I reached for it, it was gone. Snatched, shattered, withdrawn as if it had never been. Yet the taste lingers and with it, the torment. Now I wander back among my former haunts, to toy, to chatter, to feast but each joy is hollow stone, each laughter an echo in a dead chamber. What once was nectar is now dust, and

to use and to abuse one could say go hand in hand no different than being a beauty that knows how to be a beast. For it is not that i don't know how to love its just that i don't care to. It is a sickness an aliment to be burdened with this dent-trimental of a case to be spiritually two-faced. Trapped between such reck -less behaviors and grace. A perfect display of nobility while being a sultry disgrace; willing to embrace any pole that could pole-vault me into the life that i wished for that i deserve whether it be through truce or noose i will have you removed from the game i was handmade to play. So don't think of me as cruel just because i'm willing to use a god who is so easy to abuse.

Dey say one mans sunset is another's sunrise dat wen da light fades form ya'll eyes its just ya mind finally acceptin dat lovin kiss goodnight as our fair lobo feels ya struggled long enough against da tur -bulence and hustlin ways dat equates to what we could see as life's ignorance and bustlin foreplay.... but if givin da chance to play again or have one last dance would ya take lady luck by da neck or by da hand? Even if stakes were raised and da difficulty as dey say was meant for the grandest performers to take da stage; would ya give the chamba a final spin put the barrel to head and finger to trigger? For life is but a gamble every lad and lass rushin in to role out the numbers of this roulette, but as for meh he who has lived his life with no regrets I've takin all commers and der radical bets, and my sun to dis day has yet to set.

It is important to keep whatever is sacred to you safe, especially if you are a ruler. After all, if it’s something needed, you may lose everything if what you’re protecting is ultimately lost. But the truth about every monarch is that they didn’t climb the ranks and retain their power all by themselves. Even the strongest of people need their share of help, after all. If someone is alone, even if their level of strength equates to one million, some other adversary can add up to that amount and topple them with sheer numbers. A yellow, pudgy-looking bird is fluttering through the large, modern cityscape that is Raine City. It is on the search for something important, something for a certain mission to be fulfilled. The bird perches on the tippy top of a skyscraper, giving itself an impressive view of tall buildings paired with the sound of wind quietly howling. Near the bird’s ear, a small device attached nearby starts to ring out a male, yet highly pitched voice. “Feather?” The voice