Via IllustrationemI walked through the door and entered an old, dusty library. It had a peculiar shape, that of an inverse cone. Looking up, it gave me the impression that I was trapped in a pit. In a fleeting thought, I wondered how one would climb out. The shelves were old and worn, almost as if they grew into their shape organically. Dust in the air, illuminated by the blinding sunlight coming from the windows above, twirls at my every movement, signifying that this place has been abandoned for ages. Perhaps it was never visited, or never meant to be visited. Scrolls and tomes were scattered all around the floor, and some lay open on a large wooden table in the middle, the surface of which resembled the trunk of a rather large tree. And yet it was man-made. Or at least made by intelligence, I excluded no thought since I began exploring this place.Via Illustrationem by Imp0s5ible
Curious, I glanced through one of the books that lay across the wooden surface. It was written in that peculiar tongue. I could not understand it, of cours
crash chordsHe named his guitar after me, you know. He told me he'd caress it like it was my own body. He made love to me that night, and for months after I could hear him making music-love to the me-guitar.crash chords by Sora-Seraph
Three years later, I found the guitar in his garage sale.
"It's just an instrument, kid," he told me, catching me around the waist and pressing the softest kiss against my neck.
Oh, baby - I knew you would sell my soul someday. But I helped; helped you to the door, at least. As I walked out of our shared life, I broke the guitar for you. And it only struck me later that there was a metaphor in there somewhere, but I was too broken to care.
Bio is temporarily unavailable until I write one that doesn't make me look like a self-absorbed autistic prick.|
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