Sweet Poison

A story, waiting to be told, for so many days, a story of separation, a war of emotions strung together by a set of lifeless words. But hasn’t this story been told innumerable time by a bleeding peddler? A body twitching, straining, devoid of emotions, parched throats, always wanting to cry out, to turn the heavy balances of this cruel destiny to the other side.

As the night dabs the stars and the moon bleak!
A slithery serpent rises in me, helpless, gagged and sick!

One night he was dreaming, but suddenly something went wrong, he woke up, there was no sun in the sun, it was morning, but there was no light. He was shattered. So many dreams whisked away in the blink of an eye. He screamed, an ear splitting scream, so cold that it can awaken the dead. A chill ran down his spine, sending drops of cold-clotted blood run down. He was suddenly alone, he was suddenly scared, he was sacred like a baby, as never before, he missed his childhood, and he missed those imaginations of his boyhood. He suddenly felt everything drawn away from him, gravitated away from his reach, he cried out in desperation. He closed his eyes and prayed, he felt so alone and lonely. The walls that he had created to shield him from the world, are narrowing in, are crushing him.

Once the sun, a red blot in the east looked so beautiful!
Conversations were brewing dreams, and wings of fire so soulful!

The sunshine is moving away from him. Slowly, every step he takes forward, it takes two steps ahead. He tries to cling on those sweet little things but, his destiny is cruel, and time is ruthless. Those skies he still blue, but what if there’s only blood flowing through the creeks and the cracks of the true blue skies. Every day, he waits, for the sunshine to move ahead, to leave him, alone, cold, shuddering in this creepy world. Slow poison! Yes it is, slow poison. Every moment, he kept losing a piece of that sunshine, which he knows will never come back to him, it’s a piece of his own flesh and blood that he keeps tearing off, and he knows he can’t live, without them.

The night seems to steel his dreams away!
A darkness so rare, withered, unholy, bizarre!

The darkness seemed to be creeping, slithering, and binding him. Crawling up his cold feet, his sweaty hands. He felt as if he was stark naked, stripped off his clothes, his skin ripped off, and finally his ego. The dark seemed to be towering over his head. He couldn’t look into The Dark’s eyes for a moment even. He saw murder in them, death, devastation, and wrath. Its bloody, the rivers have dried, the water is red instead; the blood river is flowing down the canvas, somebody stabbed the perfect picture he was drawing, ripped it into half. “Leave me, leave me” he cried. He slumped down to his feet, pleading crying, praying, wishing, worshipping. He felt the ground beneath him shake, strange whispers, silent, heart ripping cries pierced him inside out, despair all around.

He suddenly felt as if darkness has breathing.

Yes, he was breathing, he was sure of it; he could feel his heaving heart.

He felt he was breathing too, The dark Lord was breathing from inside him.

Inside him.

The dark is him. He is the dark.

Is he dead? No?

“He will be”, The Dark Lord assured.