You will never be free of me.. I can taste the glistening temptation of your fear.
..There is something terribly frightening about a Man who can see the depths of your treachery. A Man who, for all purposes, (tense or merely meager) can read the crossing boundaries of your lies as if they were written beneath His own hands. It is blameless, nameless, and so beguiling that madness rears it’s beautifully cryptic head.. shimmering for the holy to believe in..
It is stark as crimson lain to tease the porcelain features with deception. A ravenous hunger, to feast upon the offerings of innocently sinful regret. He is nothing, if not everything, and for the remnants of memory He is not (in fact) a “He”. He is a mystery unraveled in the chaos of a seething creation. A reverie, taken so sweetly. Plucked, so delightfully in grasp, that none could tempt it to become flesh. He, for all it is worth, is worthless in the sense of such fictitious deeming. Damnable, and all but a reality built up to sustain a fantasy of hopeless daring. There shall never come to pass, such a distasteful design to trace moisture beneath. Yet.. the dream prevails somehow.