CONFESSIONS OF THE LICH QUEEN:
As She Resides Forever In Her Tormented Grandeur:
I am overcome by the notion that the world is not my own. I am tempted by its beauty, and yet, I am none of it. I cannot find my place, that which belongs to me, that which I call my own. I am searching for the Truth; but its very nature is deceptive, elusive and uncanny. I look at the centre of my being, and perceive a hole, an emptiness, a need to fill my lack. This oddly knowing silence makes me wise and willful, both strong and sad.
Here we are given life, and it is everywhere garbed in dismal tatters. Here we are given decadence, and it is everywhere prone to fruitless spoil. Here we are given justice, and it is everywhere a broken ruin, reeking of frailty and decay. We are slaves to our own dark, infernal wills, as the demons of our hearts both continue and consume. I have sickened of it; yet, I will certainly be frustrated by my own monumental failure.
I am half unlife, my tomb conceals the inhuman desires within me, which rave and pine and die, beside the wasted fragments of my weak and insubstantial soul.
I am overcome by the notion that the world is not my own. I am tempted by its beauty, and yet, I am none of it. I cannot find my place, that which belongs to me, that which I call my own. I am searching for the Truth; but its very nature is deceptive, elusive and uncanny. I look at the centre of my being, and perceive a hole, an emptiness, a need to fill my lack. This oddly knowing silence makes me wise and willful, both strong and sad.
Here we are given life, and it is everywhere garbed in dismal tatters. Here we are given decadence, and it is everywhere prone to fruitless spoil. Here we are given justice, and it is everywhere a broken ruin, reeking of frailty and decay. We are slaves to our own dark, infernal wills, as the demons of our hearts both continue and consume. I have sickened of it; yet, I will certainly be frustrated by my own monumental failure.
I am half unlife, my tomb conceals the inhuman desires within me, which rave and pine and die, beside the wasted fragments of my weak and insubstantial soul.
posted by Valhenstrogg | Wednesday, April 26, 2006
1 Comments:
A sweet and pitiable entry, rife with such winning qualities as denial, delusion, dissatisfaction and distrust; written most affectionately because, I myself most firm-heartedly believe that the many lich queens of this dark, ageless and spiritual world unquestionably deserve, some form of, adequate misrepresentation.
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