he wants to die in a lake in geneva
the world is falling apart and all you are looking at is your own reflection. I was waiting to hear your cries as they tore you limb from limb but I don't think you even noticed; the animals caged in barbed wire pens are listening intently.
before that, they ran a blade across your wrist and you bled blue, lapping up the attention with your glowing smile and deadened eyes. the emaciated around you crawled like maggots over one another trying to lap up the liquid as it hit the ground, and you hardly even noticed.
sometimes it gets lonely here, but for the most part I draw the blinds and venture outside only once the moon has risen in the night. you and your kind are afraid of the dark but I am not, for it is filled with my allies - the wolves and the cats and the owls. nothing harms us but your excesses make us sick.
you sit upon your golden throne, tarnished though it sometimes appears, and conduct the masses with careless gestures of your septre. one to die. one to live. one to torture. one to sing. there is little rhyme or reason to your whims and in every single city there is another like you. you commanded that every single mirror be broken save yours lest they gazed upon something more perfect that you and realised the truth. your court swarms with the gaudy and youthful products of your loins, and when they displease you they simply disappear.
the secret, of course, was that you were not beautiful at all. when I woke with tangled hair and pale skin and blearly eyes every morning I knew I was infinitely more radiant, more perfect, more beautiful that you, and every action I took was fortified by that knowledge. those of us out here know the truth, even if we cannot always see it, and it gives us pleasure to look upon our bruises and scars and imperfect forms because we know that you are a shadow of pathetic weakness.
we cannot tear you down, of course. we are not that many in number; we haven't the strength, even against your flimsy multi-coloured baubles. they are always stronger than they look. so we live, here in the distance, pretending you don't exist and welcoming those who seek refuge with us. your empire will never fall, and your throne will never melt, but perhaps one day you will be faced with a challenge that chiselled jaws and fluttering lashes cannot conquer, and all at once you will disappear.
before that, they ran a blade across your wrist and you bled blue, lapping up the attention with your glowing smile and deadened eyes. the emaciated around you crawled like maggots over one another trying to lap up the liquid as it hit the ground, and you hardly even noticed.
sometimes it gets lonely here, but for the most part I draw the blinds and venture outside only once the moon has risen in the night. you and your kind are afraid of the dark but I am not, for it is filled with my allies - the wolves and the cats and the owls. nothing harms us but your excesses make us sick.
you sit upon your golden throne, tarnished though it sometimes appears, and conduct the masses with careless gestures of your septre. one to die. one to live. one to torture. one to sing. there is little rhyme or reason to your whims and in every single city there is another like you. you commanded that every single mirror be broken save yours lest they gazed upon something more perfect that you and realised the truth. your court swarms with the gaudy and youthful products of your loins, and when they displease you they simply disappear.
the secret, of course, was that you were not beautiful at all. when I woke with tangled hair and pale skin and blearly eyes every morning I knew I was infinitely more radiant, more perfect, more beautiful that you, and every action I took was fortified by that knowledge. those of us out here know the truth, even if we cannot always see it, and it gives us pleasure to look upon our bruises and scars and imperfect forms because we know that you are a shadow of pathetic weakness.
we cannot tear you down, of course. we are not that many in number; we haven't the strength, even against your flimsy multi-coloured baubles. they are always stronger than they look. so we live, here in the distance, pretending you don't exist and welcoming those who seek refuge with us. your empire will never fall, and your throne will never melt, but perhaps one day you will be faced with a challenge that chiselled jaws and fluttering lashes cannot conquer, and all at once you will disappear.