"You, my dear, have the soul of a writer."
I cringed before glancing at him with a scowl. "You mean the soul of a poet?"
"No. God, no. You're the furthest thing from a poet. Whereas a poem has the capability of designing a truth endowed with ribbo...
Ups! Ten obraz nie jest zgodny z naszymi wytycznymi. Aby kontynuować, spróbuj go usunąć lub użyć innego.
𝕀𝕄𝔼𝕋𝔾𝕆𝔻𝔸ℕ𝔻𝕊ℍ𝔼'𝕊ℙ𝕀𝕊𝕊𝔼𝔻
She came to me in a dream, standing in Time Square with her arm raised far beyond her head, fingers arching into malevolent talons as though to scar the heavens. A totem pole hosting dozens of monolith screens behind her, all displaying different angles of her divine face. The buildings that curled out from where she stood were lit with whimsical colors that shimmered off her pale figure, their own screens focused on various parts of her body—her rising bosom; blue veins spreading haphazardly beneath the thin skin of her hands; the way her ankles crossed as her thin legs dangled in the air.
They were surrounding her. Millions of men and woman, all stripped naked and ripping at each other's flesh, tearing out chunks of hair and absolutely ravishing their glistening bodies under the devastating shine of a blood moon. She stood beyond them like a god overlooking their alter, silently absorbing the disciples' worship and inhaling the smoke of their lives that they obediently delivered to her. They weren't human anymore, I couldn't give them that title. Nobody here was human. The screams of a wounded animal, the howls of a victorious predator. And her. She was the most detached from this realm, her white skin simmering at the pores with glittering stardust, trembling into hectic vibrations as her arms curled into themselves in what would've broken bone if she was of this world. Of this galaxy. Of this fucking universe.
She lifted her chin and exhaled a long trail of smoke towards the moon above. It moved in the sky, pulsing gently as though breathing--sentient and alive, looking at me just as I was looking at it. She moved her bare waist to the disorganized rhythm of the chaotic orgy below, her heavy chest glowing as the blood running through her veins lit onyx, corrupting her skin into a sickly gray that somehow still seemed just as beautiful as before, if not more so. The moon sighed; the midnight sky suddenly overwhelmed with violent crimson, the earth drenched in blood.
Skin melted into skin. A dangerous vortex opened within the mob before they all morphed together. Rising to the moon, rising around her. There were no longer any mortals; a grotesque monster of flesh in its infancy was bred from the insanity that claimed them, looking towards the Mother as she worshipped the Father. Horrible moans filled the air from hundreds of different mouths, the cries of a million souls as they begin to feel the merciless burn of Hades. Hell surfaced inside the newly born creature, and she bowed her head as she extended her arms to the sides of her, forming a cross in the air. All of the screens turned onto her face. The entire city lit with scorching divinity as she expanded her influence and overtook New York. America. The world. The horrible beast began to extend, pooling flesh bubbling and grasping over the cracked streets as though hungry for every inch of existence laid out for it to devour. All of it for her.
