DEIMOS
the fire can't touch me
for I have burned too many times
for I have burned too many times
Had she of mentioned the Amalia-constructed expectations, because he’d never, never extended those upon her shoulders, he could’ve tried to take them away. Instead, there was a listless sort of haze surrounding them, hands not taken, his attempts at support otherwise ignored. He ceased his crouch into a sitting position, there on the floor before her, no monolith, no tower, just human and bone-tired, etchings and carvings cracking. His eyes fell to the carpet as she spoke, of pretending to be content, and maybe he understood. Of pretenses, of attempting to stay above the surface when everything else was drowning, suffocating, asphyxiating. He could feel himself choking now, words crawling through his throat. “When was the last time you were truly happy?”
His palms fell to his thighs, staying there, fingers clenching over the fabric of his pants. The beast was at a complete, utter loss. Gone were the days where they weren’t so burdened, so beaten, so bruised – cultivating mischief in fields, rescuing one another from brink after brink after brink. His voice felt hollow, just like the rest of him, as if sculpted along annals of nothingness. “We either change or become like the rest.” Perished, lifeless, or some twisted cataclysm, misshapen things (if her and Remi’s fight had truly landed those magnificent blows). Then, manifestations of the helpless, of the unknown, coiled against his chest, out of his depths and boundaries, sinking into the ether with the rest. “I am here for you, but I do not know what to do.”
His palms fell to his thighs, staying there, fingers clenching over the fabric of his pants. The beast was at a complete, utter loss. Gone were the days where they weren’t so burdened, so beaten, so bruised – cultivating mischief in fields, rescuing one another from brink after brink after brink. His voice felt hollow, just like the rest of him, as if sculpted along annals of nothingness. “We either change or become like the rest.” Perished, lifeless, or some twisted cataclysm, misshapen things (if her and Remi’s fight had truly landed those magnificent blows). Then, manifestations of the helpless, of the unknown, coiled against his chest, out of his depths and boundaries, sinking into the ether with the rest. “I am here for you, but I do not know what to do.”
the sea can't harm me
for I have been drowning all my life
for I have been drowning all my life
