This dark art is made of lines and letters.
“From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw”
― Edgar Allan Poe
I lose my footing and fall to the ground. These damn stones. My lungs burn. I can hardly breathe. I must go on. Must not look back. On no account must I look back.
When it shows itself so plainly, why would you confront the face of horror?
I know it. No doubt. The monster is behind me. Very near. Its moudly stench searches out my nostrils, fills my lungs with foul air. Disgust rises in me, takes possession of my whole body. I must escape. Escape from out myself. Escape my body. To cease fighting the unavoidable.
A simple thing it would be to stand still. The smallest moment, no more than the time it takes to close an eye, and all would be forgotten. Essentially…
Ursprünglichen Post anzeigen 390 weitere Wörter