ladyoflorien | (no subject)

And the only friend I've ever had finally leaves me poor and naked. My fingers are cold and it's lonely realizing that the words abandon me, and my soul no longer has any way of crying out. I'm trapped inside a bottle that wont break, and no matter how I try it's empty and windy and blank within. I can't think, I can't speak, and now I can't even do the only thing I know how to do. It aches, it aches, and still I can't move. Trapped within these walls, within myself, and everything I possess suddenly flees without the slightest regard. My gifts spent, my heart bled, my lips chapped, my skin blue, it's all suddenly ending and what power I thought there was is mere fiction and imagination when finally I search. And I don't know which way to turn or the burn I suddenly feel, so unlike anything before, like a terrible mighty devouring spirit, eyes iced but fire spewing from within, and it's like staring at a nightmare coil, but you can't turn away. Like eating ice until you vomit. Like laying down and feeling no power to rise. Paralysis, cold and dank and all-encompassing. Wounds crawling down your skin like a disease, spreading black and turbid and leaving in their wake hideous thoughts and wicked visions, like a daemon gift, a black curse. And still they wont move, though suddenly I'm aware I'm screaming; soundless, vicious, voiceless, borne by winged tears. Still they ache, and as I look upon them visions fill my eyes of a sudden flooding blue hue and a frost encumbering, but suddenly a snap and a crack and they break free and fall away and shatter across the floor. It's a nightmare, my nightmare, and it's all real before me, showing me there will be no waking. And not for the first time, I dread my own mind, and the mere sight of my bed, and the thousand tiny creeping itching biting things that kill whatever's left of my spirit. And I die. again. but without the blessed freedom it should entail. And my mind ever wakeful knows I'll never wake up.