The thorn of flowers
Slip, slip carelessly into that darkness.
No beauty can exist in impurity so they say. But I believe that the world has its beauty. Why? Not because it’s pure...but because through blood and trauma we are wrought. We are all just fallen angels with severed wings, wings severed by our greed, lust, and hatred.
When I look into the soft-blue eyes of Aster, I see the pureness of the world...love, untainted and perfect...eyes that can only see me, no matter the mass of impurity I become. She is beautiful, as beautiful as the wide sky above and the daunting ocean below.
I stare at her bareness and she opens herself to me.
But, she is still a fallen angel, impure and hopeless even in the slightest sense. Her obsession with me is her downfall. Death befalls all of us, indifferent to our insignificant roles in this play-house.
Now, you will see the beauty of war, my dear, you will see the blood that spills forth from my eyes as I castrate the filth from the bowels of existence! YOU WILL SEE IT ALL, AND IN THAT PURE FLAME, WE WILL BURN TOGETHER UNTIL WE ARE ALL NOTHING.
FOR THE WORLD.Become the world. I whispered as I released my essence into her.