...here you are, like many other times before... Unconscious, laying on the pavement. No one cares, no one ever will. Alone... You really are nothing material. You are a shade. Where could you be now? Where could you have gone? Where did you hide? You lost all your human stability and, shifting into another plane, your mind left your body falling, like a defenseless, green bleeding tree of life in the battle against the woodcutter's executioner axe. You are free, but this freedom comes at the price of unconsciousness... You may never know what's behind your sickening faints, beside your physical instability and illness. You only know that someday you could hit your head against a rock or fall, like a leaf, on some nails, piercing your heart and eyes and never waking up again. Mad hope... Satisfying your obsession for death... Your blood will not wash the sins of this untempered society, as it is more sinful even than a mother brutally slaughtering her own child, then feeding on the remains. But the unconstrained flow of your internal fluid splattered on the floor would ignite the ancient pagan runes buried beneath this wicked soil, setting your soul on the last ride to the kingdom of ice.
As you lay, all you had in your mind has blacked out. The darkness is paralyzing even your soul's gestures, so you can't have even a decent nightmare. But as suddenly as it started, as suddenly it ends. You feel a cold hand touching your face, a voice calling you back to the light, a breath coming closer and closer to your face... Hating the thought of getting help, you fill your heart with poison once more, you fill your head with deadlier anger, and the hope of dying vanquishes again. Frowning, you open your eyes for the second time this day, having in mind only vengeance. You wish death to the one daring to disturb your slumber. You awake violently, ready to impale with your frostbitten words, but you quickly become shocked, stunned, as the first thing you see in the blur is a pair of the most soul-piercing, disturbingly beautiful eyes, mirroring the wave of anger that moves away from your look, making room only for wonder. Then you see her angelic lips moving with demonic passion, without hearing what she's trying to say. Their corners seem to sustain this reality. You are amazed... Not caring for the meaning of her words, you feel that this world could disappear if those lips would say a single one. You feel charmed and weak. You are caught beneath your own pessimism's weight. You can't believe your skin is touched by that unholy mistress' hands. She seems to care for you, but why? Where did she come from? How is this possible? You don't know, you don't even know if you would like to know, but you wish this dizzy, confusing moment would never end. You refuse to hear the outside, fearing that the sound would break this fragile feeling of warmth filling your heart. You don't want to hear names or the lies inside the words' relativity... This comforting silence seems perfect. So you pretend to be convalescent just to enjoy her calming embrace and her relentless try of talking to you... She seems to know that, but she is not disturbed by it. She seems to understand you. She seems to be like you. She seems to have patience, so you wait... frozen in time, looking through her soul, enjoying the cold grasp, enjoying the silence, enjoying her perfume as it's bathing your scars in a silky mend. If only she could feel the storm that is gathering inside your glassy appearance like you can feel the thunders in her heart. Grave silence... Old forgotten feelings. Ghostly, you wait for another wave... You ride the lightning in her, spellbound by her touch...
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