@wargoer said : ❝ anger fades. anger burns hot, then burns out. what’s left is a dull ache. ❞
𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 , 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘 && arduous grief faced intemerate truth : cold && relentless , a privileged gasp above catacombs && intestate . he halts mid - step , gorgonized in an icy sweat . yet nothing dwells past the walls of cothurn trees ; not a soul unbelonging of a prey , trembling like ground foxes in their covers . burrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it . he forces a breath , pushing aside the tarpaulin of paranoia && sifting woods to toss to the fire . ❝ then you understand my haste . ❞ chestnut eyes whisk with flame / 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔱 sheathed furtively in elytra , in his pulse / heart swelled by the faces of his brethren .
mother church tells us if our dead kin are sainted we may pray to them . she does not say if they’ll speak back , in dreams or out .
small kaleidoscopes of color burst in small fans where the last rays of daylight hit the snow , elongate then blink out of existence again . a place similar to this , another selva of dialogue trekked — he had left without a word then , without introspect . a man babbling in monosyllabic tongues behind him . the implication that he’d do so again hangs between them , drawn hieratic at the end of a rotten stick into the snow . ❝ i’ll shoulder what it is if the time comes , but my resolution is final . ❞
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