I hate this.
Like the emptying of a soul, devoid of all of the desperate cliches and crashing waves that had overwhelmed and encompassed. A hot, scalding wash of molten hatred and lava created from the depths of boiling anger (i hate you!) and there has never been an end to this cascade. Tumbling, trailing down mountains and fearing the ocean at the bottom, the uncharted depths of lunacy and pirated technology that ruins the facade. A pox on the devils that live here, covering the wounds and aching wind and so many things that can no longer falter beneath my gaze. Soft kisses like death; burning tears through my heart and ravishes me like the most profound starlit eyes watching; always watching, and never leaning back, diverting attention to neverending winters. All I am. All I will be. The sun has turned black, an empty shell of what might have been, the world turned cold and bitter beneath a decaying climax of stars. Have I been a star in this world? And, nay, not the waxy hollywood proteges that are no longer residing within their own spectral hearts; a sliver of light and hope to the masses, or to one; though I know what it is that you say to me. I am alone here; or am I alone? The fellow company that reigns here in this land of winter is unable to reach the top of this hill, a climb that few can make and yet none survive, a flood; crimson tides and a bath of bloodstained tears.
I hate this.