so what if the echoes of chronos run through my veins pumping nightmare fuel into my heart and so what if i’m made of things that are dark
in nature?
we can pretend the universe is not buried in the shadows where God can’t see no matter how bright that sun shines and how fresh this air is that we breathe
our galaxy is moving 515,000 miles per hour around a giant black hole with shark teeth and we stand here as pixels of consciousness –
grounded on our feet
praying to the dark sun and watching the black helicopters burn. what if we are a string of unstable electrons in the nucleus of an experimental dimension bearing the consequences of it’s errors
at the mercy of a creator unwilling to accept defeat
moving between galaxy clusters and different dimensions –
seeking the original path of the divine source before it was hijacked and diverted by [classified]
our history is buried in the shadows and we’ve lost touch with who we truly are and we still find a reason to smile because even if the world collapses into nothing
she had curves in all the right places, and all the left places, also, and in places forgotten by time, and in places known only by dwarven scholars
The curves betrayed Isildur, to his death. And some curves that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend, legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, those curves passed out of all knowledge.