(no subject)
There is a storm in constant motion. Angry, wrathful and violent, swirling constantly around me. Winds howling as a wolf with no pack, ripping to pieces and distroying all in their path. Lightning dances up from the ground to meet the sky in ever burning anticipation, promising shock and sudden pain. Thunder roars, howls, moans - an inhuman scream of anger and displeasure.
In the middle I sit silently, watching the world shatter about me.
Waiting.
Your face is in the wind there, burning, swirling, shredding what you can.
Yet here I sit, not untouched, yet not torn apart in the face of your rage.
From a distance I can feel your pain.
My blood runs and now I can vaguely feel mine.
Still, here I sit. Quiet, numb and icy cold.
Waiting and watching. Not for something to happen, rather for nothing.
I am waiting for, watching for nothing.
I dream of times past, and I wish for the present. But I wait for a still and silent future.
In the middle I sit silently, watching the world shatter about me.
Waiting.
Your face is in the wind there, burning, swirling, shredding what you can.
Yet here I sit, not untouched, yet not torn apart in the face of your rage.
From a distance I can feel your pain.
My blood runs and now I can vaguely feel mine.
Still, here I sit. Quiet, numb and icy cold.
Waiting and watching. Not for something to happen, rather for nothing.
I am waiting for, watching for nothing.
I dream of times past, and I wish for the present. But I wait for a still and silent future.