Deep within the silent dark,
beyond the reach of even the bravest of men.
It waits in slumber,
twisting harshly in the dying light.
Gliding susurrantly across the blasted floor,
tendrils snap and writhe,
in the only way it truly can.
It’s twisting strands unfurl,
giant structures of shining, juddering flesh.
Coils of stinging barbs streak through the silent depths,
searching for their prey.
Striking without striking,
they capture their prey,
silent strands coiling around their flesh.
Searing toxins are pumped through glimmering, fleshy nacelles,
into the struggling victim.
Their life shall be seared from their bones,
their flesh shall be burnt of all that is,
leaving naught but a lifeless, barren
husk of flesh.
Such is the fate of all who face this glimmering thing.
And so it waits,
in the silent dark,
twisting, endless coils of juddering flesh and shimmering light.
The eternal guardian of things never meant to be.
A shining trespasser from worlds beyond our own.
It waits for us,
spreading it’s silent coils,
across the ocean deep,
For the day it shall wake from it’s everlasting sleep.
For the day it shall sing from it’s thousand gaping maws,
The Song that shall End Reality.
I wake up
survive the day
survive the day
and the day after and the day after that
stuck in an endless cycle
cramped between the walls of
consciousness and dreams
entering sleep with my teeth clenched
to fight the nightmares that I know will haunt me
waking up with invisible scars
only to relive the horror again
I’m drowning in my own sorrow
going deaf from the
voices inside my head