A Spineless Beast
A Spineless Beast
But you dribble your tasteless tongue with pity. Covering your lips in dark plaster, a substance you created. Drawing upon whomever will listen, whomever will coddle you with showers of pity. Filth ridden are you, disgust is what you paint. But you care not, you are an addiction in yourself, in your own false righteous pleas.
Cawing like a crow upon a thin branch. Scouring for trash, for any sustenance that be ill to your gut. So that you may roll in complaints and become a creature of suffering. Aching in the sight of others, echoing in your oh so terrible existence. Appealing to those who pour with empathy, who's pores live for the seeping of helping others, though those they help may be treacherous in action.
Your cold soul withers with a heavy mist. Bringing a hollow feel to those you touch. Capturing them in a jar, but pocking no holes. Waiting for them to suffer along side your dreary eyes. And as their air becomes thin, they beg with crooked breaths for your aid. To release them from what you have given them.
But they too know nothing beyond this glass jar you have placed them in. Thus your fruitless army swells in gloom. Rotting every path your toes kiss. Leaving lands of beauty, lands of plentiful berries, barren to darkness. To disorder, to infectious plagues of gnarled thoughts. Twisting, winding, chocking the roots of vigor.
Drinking it for yourself, but you are not of mental sound, you accuse the graceful horizons of all those whom speak as if they too are forsaken. Upon ingestion, you are rejected, spewing from your rotted mouth the once stunning wonders of life. Only to leave it broken, shattered. Waning to the smoke of accusation.
You are spineless in your attempts to heal, to lie, to create a wealth of desolated design. Leave once from my eyes, be not still in my presence, become like the rain beneath the sun, and vanish.
Thank you for reading, I hope this pulled at your soul as it did mine upon writing.
What is your interpretation of this story?
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