Raising the dead

The box isn't shiny for the luminescent glow which brings the screen to life. No, it shines instead for the dead of the night and for the mourning of the day that went before it. The day has died. Time took it upon itself to wrap its coil around the world and choke it, as a whole, just as yet each minute of its entirety conspired to bring misery before the earth. The combination, so drastic and effective, saw it give back its partner in space and above and below the saddest look of reflection and the deepest sigh of eternity stolen.

Oh for the evil that men do, I wonder. I stare out the window at you and wonder if you know that the window you pass now is my own. I suppose you don't, for you've never met me. It is the unconscious evil that men commit that brings me before you in this helm of dark and despair and depraved things that forms the living room at night. The cat sits so quietly, she is content and her purr soothes the air with its majestic whim. Oh, what time God must have spent in her creation. Time; my enemy. Time; His plaything. What is time, to God? To the man that makes none outside His whim. Why must He be bound by seven days, unless its evil is greater than He? Time or He? He or it? Time or him...

Such unconscious dark desire, behind those eyes that lull in belief of truth and beauty. But you have no idea, and I have come to learn all of what you will do. You, the stranger by the window, who passes out of my sight. I know now that there is no way you will ever fall before my sight again and I hold so rigidly the contempt for your soul, for I know what evil it possesses. It is not God within each of us, not He, not he; Time is the only thing within us. Potential. All synonyms, I reach, and discover the word on the tip of my mind's tongue. For the knowledge that you will undoubtedly beak her heart, or maybe his (I do not know you, boy by the window), I return only one word. The word, not Time, not God, but equal in its wrath: inevitability.


Currently listening to:
Raise the Dead by Phantom Planet

Currently reading:
The Waves by Virginia Woolf