The silent night of the being

A far hazy sight of a deaf form, a thing which knows not where it’s headed, nor where it had just arrived. It tatters undecidedly like it’s the only thing it knows. Behaving like it’s half conceived, just partially created, one part real – and you can taste it; and the other part restrained in some kind of peculiar interior, distorted into perversion beyond a point of incomprehensibility into a realm of some alternative plain of existence. With senses which belong to another domain, it lives in impossibility in a region which can’t be perceived, nor recognized at all. A creature that wishes to hear with its eyes, with its ears to see, to feel with its thoughts, and to desire only with its mouth, and the heart – it had went completely numb into nothingness and deafness. With a thought of a stealthy sorcerer with unhidden unrest on its face, and in the soul angered down to wrinkles. Arrogantly behaving in this conquered world where only silent flames of false humility and deep mediocrity are lit; an eternal Salieri of the soul. An image molded in majority, echoes in its view as a master of commonalities and shallowness which serves as its base and place of origin.

An unseen darkness in the silent night of the being…