Um >>

"What to do now but sit and mark, the pleasures and pains of the soul. With an ink that fades in time from existence like it does from memory, meaning nothing to anybody and anything to nobody.

What to do now but close the eyes of a nocturne, open the mind of a ballad, close the mouth of a bolero, open the arms of an ode and torrent the heart of a serenade. For no music could describe a concerto such as life, and no life could compose a sweet a music as that with experience.

What to see here but Medusa? So elegant and graceful, yet dark and forbidden. A harpie bent on our demise, but with such a way of doing it that we might even see the glory of our own destruction. What to see but auburn hair cascading down a ballerina's back, skin that the veterans of the seas have trouble navigating for it's beauty and scarlet lips that drag those very sailors to their end. What to stare into but the eyes of the serpent herself and feel truly lost, and truly not care - for in those eyes you are safe. Safe from everything. Safe from yourself. And what to hate but those closest to you trying to pull you away, to shore, to your ship of chastity and purity where you may find sanctum and salvation away from the seductress of the snakes. Those who would do good to you even in your worst nightmares - the comrades of your dreams, and surely you should dream of nothing but your comrades after being pulled from an evil so tempting.

What words to say now but "Fuck", "You" and "Cunt". Because although words are weaponry, they can still be blunt - and pierce the heart. And though we may not mean it our mouths seek individuality in times of fury, and Medusa's rage turns our heart black, if even for a second. And we seek to wreak vengeance and wrath upon those vengeful to us, or those not vengeful - for it matters not to the serpentine mind. And with the might of Loki and the blackhart of Hades and the will of Medusa herself, we go to war with our words. Our men-at-arms seeking to destroy.

What to feel now but rage and bloodlust. What to be ruled over but pride and jealousy and loathing. And the church organ of our heart roars a Toccata to the world, though the church of our heart turns slyly into a Cathedral of condemnation. What to hate now but hate itself, yet secretly want to carry on, and soon the will of the serpent seductress twist our minds.


What to seek now but the eyes of Medusa, to let emotions consume you and to let your emotions go. And struggle with brute minotauric force to seek her once more, for our fate has already been sealed. And to run back and leave our sanctity behind. To run and keep running, with a lack of precision but never precisely lacking. And not to look back, to give up the last hope and not to look back at redemption, but to take one hard long look into the yellow eyes of such a beautiful creature and feel different this time. Not to feel safe, not to feel blissful, but to feel cold and empty and hard, and then...

...

...what to do now, but stand still, ever motionless? What to do now but remain a stoic, cold figure cast in rock? What to do now but be with Medusa forever, as a stone pawn in a palace of evil where no hope of redemption ever lies.

What to do now... nothing.