Beautiful dark joy has flooded the void where scripture tells me my soul should be. It comes in waves, a dark tide- deep and depthless, an endless sea; and I am breathless. So overcome with joy am I, that I have wept. I’ve lain lost and crawling, a nothing in time and space. And now, again, for the journey is ceaseless, I have found it.
I have found my story. The one that sings. The one that echoes my inner torment. The chalice of my agony. Like a phoenix, this is no new thing, but something reborn from the ashes of the old. This story has unfurled and uncoiled, it’s spread it’s black wings, it’s robe hemmed in blood, and whispered “I am what you always wanted me to be.”
And it is. Oh, it is.
To say I am filled with a passion and a glee so profoundly soaked in depravity and sweet, romanticism would be an understatement. To write, I must. I’ll try not to leave it so long this time… the writer’s pledge, indeed.
May you feast upon the flesh of your enemies!