Eternity on Paper [COMPLETE]

Terrible Twos

Purgatory is the shadow cast. Hell is another.

A pair of doves, joined hands, and conjoined twins. None of it to do with him, for the language is as much a relic as the failure of Babel.

The bleeding won't stop. He can't feel the knives anymore, but healing hands rip the flesh with murderous disregard. A chainsaw in the hands of a maniac with a heart of solid gold.

Pain in a phony smile, disappointment in a deadly grimace. Imitation has exceeded flattery; the test tube has wrought a clone too beautiful for words and too ugly to bear. The infection is in the heart and in the brain—yet, torturously, neither will stop.

Pitch a tent on an island and the snakes will come. Wrap a vine around your throat in the concrete jungle, the crickets chirp. Let the ground swallow him whole and feed the earth.

Laugh at the open hand of the blind. Being half-dead is no good when they're half-ascended. Coffins are built for one, and neighbors aren't roommates.

There's no difference anymore, so turn out the lights. A death sentence is in four letters, a new weapon concealed in every envelope.

There is no conspiracy, it's simply fate. The sun sets for some with flushed cheeks, the moon shirks its duties for others. But why are the most tired unable to sleep?

End the cruelty. Say what you mean and disappear. One blanket can't cover everyone, so light a match and warm the world in the heat of unmatched flames. The fabric is flammable, and the planet is freezing.

The honest make the best liars, and he makes the most alluring victim.

Kiss under the ringing bell of the majestic church, the best is yet to come for you. It was over for him before it ever began. So cloak yourself in that shroud you look so good wearing and store your hands in your pockets. He isn't your responsibility—he never was. You don't care—you never did.

Unknown to the doctors, embalmers, and undertakers, there is no companion.

Dust to dust.