01-08-2017, 10:41 AM
don’t let me go until the ashes of eden fall
Sad clown walks through the forest by night, her black eyes glowing green by the night. She was alone, as she usually is.. Nobody loves poor Epithet
And so she was moving moving moving onward into the divine of nothingness. A black hole; plagued by her past. The memories of a warm body. A healed heart. Will she ever be able to get above the feeling that she is drowning in her own disappointment? Her children have left her. Her problems have stayed, and her family is gone. And so, she does something she never does.
She cracks.
Sad clown cries out to the moon, rearing her body into the air and flailing about. And then—like the man she could not sense, she too runs from the past and the dismay of her own misery. There is nothing there in the dark.
So she will make something.
She runs—the branches slapping her in the face and gripping their claws into the sides of her pristine white coat. The memories flashing in front of her like stars as she pushes herself into hyperdrive, driving her sorrows into the pit of her stomach—and there they burn. What has she made of herself?
What will the world make of her?
She cries aloud, not knowing what else to do. The pain of her own insanity is deafening, and as she feels the darkness threatening to take her, the illusion is shattered by the voice of innocence.
P-please, don’t hurt me…
And then her reverie breaks. Epithet snaps to attention, a rustle in the bushes—and there is another creatures there. Taller—imposing.
And he looks to be in as much pain as she.
Epithet