DEIMOS
surviving is never beautiful
its blood on your hands and face
its blood on your hands and face
Another shrug undulated through brawny shoulders and an otherwise rigid, unyielding expanse, tall and towering, monolithic and enduring. She could plan all she wanted; he often did, given to calculating machinations and a Machiavellian mind, but rarely did it encompass or unfold the way he’d craved. An unpredictable world, nothing to underestimate. Then he continued maneuvering onward, long, meticulous, scrupulous strides, silence taking hold, the earthen elements partaking in his request with a surge of reliance, content to motion along their newly-carved pathways.
She could huff all she wanted; he didn’t really care.
A hollowed, muffled rumble left his chest at her statement – uncertain if it was meant as an insult. She was a stranger, unknown and foreign and unfamiliar. He rarely obliged those he cherished. “I say what is necessary.” And nothing more. Talking got one into trouble. Talking led to vulnerability. Talking led to mistakes. Talking led to letting down one’s guard. Talking led to more and more errors, holes in the armor. The monolith had done enough of the latter for the rest of his lifetime.
The question of tutelage, of teaching, of instructing, as he’d done so many times before, granted and gave him the slightest of pauses; before he continued onward much the same as before. “Maybe.” A minute smirk appeared. It could’ve been the angling of a tease, but he made it purposefully difficult to discern. “How long have you had yours?”
She could huff all she wanted; he didn’t really care.
A hollowed, muffled rumble left his chest at her statement – uncertain if it was meant as an insult. She was a stranger, unknown and foreign and unfamiliar. He rarely obliged those he cherished. “I say what is necessary.” And nothing more. Talking got one into trouble. Talking led to vulnerability. Talking led to mistakes. Talking led to letting down one’s guard. Talking led to more and more errors, holes in the armor. The monolith had done enough of the latter for the rest of his lifetime.
The question of tutelage, of teaching, of instructing, as he’d done so many times before, granted and gave him the slightest of pauses; before he continued onward much the same as before. “Maybe.” A minute smirk appeared. It could’ve been the angling of a tease, but he made it purposefully difficult to discern. “How long have you had yours?”
it's fear and feeling numb at the same time
stories of a life you should've never been forced to fight
stories of a life you should've never been forced to fight
