Hurt so Good

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

Deimos had never really bothered avoiding his predilections towards violence and vehemence. Weaponry was in his blood, stirred long before by incantations searing and scathing with detrimental qualities, and soldier emblems only came next – so the ease in which he stoked rapture and reverie in the art of warfare was neither surprising or mystifying. Born to decimate and ruin, creation interludes had only sparked a series of cycles in his Machiavellian mind, and once capable of orchestrating many of them, the possibilities amassed in those seething webs and intricate lines were seemingly endless. For now, it was partly amusement and primordial dreams of terror, but he could rest in its irreverence, in the way it cut through swarms of makeshift infidels and enemies. They gathered the rocks, the pre-determined course of demise, and the juvenile, mischievous contortions to him lingered below the surface, thriving, yearning, to see the wasteland punctured and pierced again. The stones were placed, the weight balanced, the arm thrown, and then he stepped back, extending a hand, a wherewithal motion for Jigano to have his turn. “Go ahead.” For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate