(no subject)
There is a god under a mountain.
There is a woman who is asleep.
* * *
The way is all shards. The rock is dark and jagged, still as violent and sharp as the moment it was vomited from a churning, red-hot earth. The pathways twist like veins, like underground rivers. All is silent and all is still.
* * *
There is a woman who is waiting.
There is a god who walks.
* * *
The rock remembers heat. It remembers the pain and the thrill of being consumed. It wants both. It wants to survive.
Bloodlike ichor daubs the ground. It is a place of hunger, and teeth.
* * *
There is a center under the mountain.
There is a cavern where the woman waits.
There is a god who walks, shining.
There is a way, igneous and sharp.
There is a woman who is asleep.
* * *
The way is all shards. The rock is dark and jagged, still as violent and sharp as the moment it was vomited from a churning, red-hot earth. The pathways twist like veins, like underground rivers. All is silent and all is still.
* * *
There is a woman who is waiting.
There is a god who walks.
* * *
The rock remembers heat. It remembers the pain and the thrill of being consumed. It wants both. It wants to survive.
Bloodlike ichor daubs the ground. It is a place of hunger, and teeth.
* * *
There is a center under the mountain.
There is a cavern where the woman waits.
There is a god who walks, shining.
There is a way, igneous and sharp.