Pyre

Pyre Balancing on the razors edge; In- all that gutters-in that cold ballet - Of "before I bled." My elixir of mangled string-theory, Of hybrid sins and veiled shadowquery. No. I need to stop this. I need stealth and a golden beacon. Something to be on my side and lift a confident smile, out of dormancy, or Necromancy. To put my former things on a pyred shelf and revisit normalcy. Is the killswitch-is the key. Walk away as the explosion is slow motion, purge of Purgatory npotions pour in it's conscience of consciousness like molasses down a crevace glistening in the thick richness of purity. "Titans sinking in the self's prideful enfirm, conform confirmity of corrosions apathetic obscurity, into an epic sinking scene of Phoenix return, from the Krakened deep." I will surge from the waters and take my first clumsy breaths, a new born out of the darkness, no longer in that undead paralysis, but a crowning Stephanos of a Victor surviving the drowning of the lost in a sea, of the great false sleep.