Confessions that go Bump in the Night
Feb. 26th, 2011 03:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonVamping the Pyre:
The truth is you see a monster while all I see are ghosts to stupid to know that they are already dead. Lives flickering quicker than you can count seasons. The bloom and wither of empires reduced to the passing of shadows across a window. You think my kind have escaped the grave but the terrible truth that is the cost of immortality, is the realization that that is all the world ever truly offered. A fragile garden of heartbreaking beauty growing feral through a long abandoned cemetery.
Once you know this everything else becomes reduced to poetry and hunger.
Wearing the Wolf:
The French have this term: L’espirit de d’escalier: The spirit of the stairs, the realization of the exact perfect words to say when it is absolutely too late to say them. That’s what my life seemed like. The perfect comeback to an insult years after it had passed. But then the Moon found its way into my blood and through the wound of an animal’s bite I was born anew into this world with a furious howl. Now I am something more than you can ever understand. The growl outside the campfire’s glow, the steps behind you on an empty road, the baptism of the hunt when Death reminds you that you are still alive.
Nobody's Monster but Hers:
They said it was the wrong brain. A criminal’s instead of a genius. As if it couldn’t have been both! But while I will confess that I indeed hung on the crossroads as a murderer, I must also tell you that the death I was condemned for was in fact committed by my true love's hands. I didn’t say a word at the trial of course, even when she accused me of the crime she herself had perpetrated. My hanging came quickly and fell on a fine day, with the town throwing me a parade to escort me to the gallows' kiss. My love was there as well, marching ahead of the procession while the band played gloriously the last song I would ever hear with my own ears. Her eyes the last thing I saw... until I was awoken from death’s slumber with a roar of lightning delivering me into a patchwork golem of other men’s flesh. And still I won't say a word to betray her... giving the world instead the monster she needed me to be.
The truth is you see a monster while all I see are ghosts to stupid to know that they are already dead. Lives flickering quicker than you can count seasons. The bloom and wither of empires reduced to the passing of shadows across a window. You think my kind have escaped the grave but the terrible truth that is the cost of immortality, is the realization that that is all the world ever truly offered. A fragile garden of heartbreaking beauty growing feral through a long abandoned cemetery.
Once you know this everything else becomes reduced to poetry and hunger.
Wearing the Wolf:
The French have this term: L’espirit de d’escalier: The spirit of the stairs, the realization of the exact perfect words to say when it is absolutely too late to say them. That’s what my life seemed like. The perfect comeback to an insult years after it had passed. But then the Moon found its way into my blood and through the wound of an animal’s bite I was born anew into this world with a furious howl. Now I am something more than you can ever understand. The growl outside the campfire’s glow, the steps behind you on an empty road, the baptism of the hunt when Death reminds you that you are still alive.
Nobody's Monster but Hers:
They said it was the wrong brain. A criminal’s instead of a genius. As if it couldn’t have been both! But while I will confess that I indeed hung on the crossroads as a murderer, I must also tell you that the death I was condemned for was in fact committed by my true love's hands. I didn’t say a word at the trial of course, even when she accused me of the crime she herself had perpetrated. My hanging came quickly and fell on a fine day, with the town throwing me a parade to escort me to the gallows' kiss. My love was there as well, marching ahead of the procession while the band played gloriously the last song I would ever hear with my own ears. Her eyes the last thing I saw... until I was awoken from death’s slumber with a roar of lightning delivering me into a patchwork golem of other men’s flesh. And still I won't say a word to betray her... giving the world instead the monster she needed me to be.