Mon, 04/28/2014 - 13:36 -- Azshara



I'm tired, my eyes slowly shutting even now, 
As I pencil in these final words,
My final testament of who I was...
And what I have become. 
My skin, nothing but alabaster paper,
Is now stretched and tight, hugging each skeletal facet.
What once was so full of life,
Is nothing more than a brittle memory. 
Each day, more draining than the first, 
But, off that spiraling precipice,
I dreamed to take the leap and soar. 
Silly child, the world devours such innocence,
And wings of bone are no good, 
They can only hold me as high as my desire,
Ever fading, satiate my mind,
But starve my physicality. 
Holding on to every word of Fame,
Clutching its incoherences despite the razored edges,
"The only way to become more, is by becoming less." 
I repeat this over and over... Irrevocable.
There are many things I know in my heart, 
In the crimson depths, in the beating madness.
A fork raised to the lips;  poison shall enter my body. 
A wafer has eight calories.
These are the tenets. Eunuchs,
Cold edicts; I can feel the ice upon my flesh.
I prayed the glacial chill would freeze me to the bone...
Nothing but bones.
It's always been bone. Isn't that what you are?
You are nothing; you have always been nothing. 
A skeleton from birth, the jangling of ossein.
I simply wish to return to nothing...
Strip away my flesh,
Leave me brittle,
A crystalline figurine, a glass idol. 
The wind moans through my hollow self.
I am the Skeleton Goddess. 


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