For D.
His moment of victory, followed by a
tossing into the
deep gray twilight.
And then it happens.
A moment of savagery, which
beckoned
urged
drove One
in that impulsive moment to hurt
tear in rage
& fury, to kick and thrash,
hurt and incapacitate him.
Tiny eyes watch in confusion,
as the victory in Daddy Dear's eyes
flicker for a moment,
shattering
into the deep gray twilight.
Vacant, cold, strange is the moment
before the storm:
whipping into his flesh
pain, hurt, and
somewhat regret.
Of the things he did,
could have done,
should have done,
would never again do.
He is Daddy Dear no more.
Ripped apart and robbed of
his soul.
He is laying very
still on the grass.
Still, as he stood on that warm
summer's day, watching
her make her way through the crowd.
He is laying very still,
where he stood victorious just
moments, just
seconds ago.
If only things didn't have to turn out
the way it did. Why did things have to turn out
the way they did?
He was perfect
in her eyes.
But his eyes are but hollow shells now.
We lost them to that dark gray twilight.
(?)
__________________________________________
Manna is a hell of a drug.
And I need a little more I think,
because enough is never
quite enough...
What's enough?