literature

Blood Angel

Deviation Actions

Published: Jan 7, 2011

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Literature Text

_{i.
I am a smattering of shattered bone fragments littered all around the floor. The never-white shards have ripped through flesh that now lies torn and tattered in the rough-hewn shape of a woman-child. I weep silent tears as I kneel beside what once was mine and hold my heart close to my chest.

ii.
I am standing in shell-shocked misery, the shrapnel of barely-white shards embedded in my dermis. They will leave scars. More scars. They will add to the train-tracks tracing an exquisite map across my parchment-skin. They will leave scars across my atria.

iii.
I am pacing the edges of the room, listening to the weeping of the dead and the pain-filled silence of those who remain. I will wait patiently for the collective pain to subside, for the weeping woman-child can never come with me unless they let her. Even in death, she need's a familial permission to leave with a lover, even her Spirit Love.

iv.
I am still weeping, but my tears have subsided. The pearls dripping from the tip of my nose are treasures which will remain with my family, joining the beaded necklace that passes from mother to daughter, sister to sister. Now that I can see through the blur of my tears, I can see the faint outline of the boy who I've felt lurking in the shadows ever since the pain faded.

v.
I am shuddering in the cold of her gaze as she stares at me, blames me. Her mother's heart is beginning, trying to join the fragments littered all around. I go to her, sighing as I kneel beside her and tell her how to sew the flaking pieces back to the whole that should be her mother's heart, that she must keep some for herself and treasure them, and never neglect those she garner's from her father, which may be more precious than those from her mother.

vi.
I am listening to the short gasps of breath every night as my mother sobs on my father's shoulder and we both do our best to soothe her. I massage the caged heart beating uncertainly against the bars of my mother's ribcage, just as I was taught. And I stroke the silent tears from the hollowing cheeks of my father's face, I bottle them and save them for a darker day.

vii.
I am standing in the corner of the room while I wait another day and night for their pain to subside so that I can leave this place with my beloved. She still cannot leave, and it is like some sick form of universal humour that prevents their grasp on her loosening and she remains chained to the earth even though her physical shell is long-gone.

viii.
I am growing impatient for my freedom and the opportunity to explore the fluffy dew-drops in the sky above. I have grown to love this boy who is somehow older than words yet not a breath older than myself. We are both waiting for my love-shorn manacles to loosen and fade from around my ankles and wrists, for the knots of my noose to be untied.

ix.
I am watching in amazement as the chains that bind untether her and instead form a belt around her crystalline waist. They will serve as a reminder of breath and the shell that held her here, they will last for all of eternity.

x.
We eventually begin to slip away from the warm dusky earth, and I unwittingly wept tears that fill the remaining crevices of my mother and father's hearts. The chain wrapped around my waist is heavy as my living shell once was, yet it is feather-light. And I hold the fragile crystal that hangs from my neck, and peer at the tears that were shed for me.}

_{2010.10.26 [completed: 2011.01.07]

I think that this is a somewhat morbid piece. But it is also somehow romantic. Morbidly romantic?

I support #dALinkSystem!

Harrowed by ~cherrichan13

Is it...too morbid? Do you even understand it? Is it beautiful enough to fill the crevices of a heart?
Is there anything else that is at all worth mentioning? I'll tell you the story if you ask?}