ONE SHOT `` SOULS BLEEDING [can read, but do not post]

  • The day dances with sunlight, a small mass of land seated in the ocean, watching with a smile. Two wanderers walk the stone bridge that connects this facade of paradise to the real world. Do they enter, hoping to feel the same smile?

  • CHEONSA


    His face is pulled, stretching as invisible fingers hook the corners of his mouth. Greeting each passerby with a mask, dishonesty not meant, but a desire to move on from them tells him he must hide until he's further away. A dog finding his own room to play away from familiar faces. He supposes it is better than fleeing them entirely, that's what he chides to the sense in his head of flowers. A space for the lupurca of fur, a world of wheat, to enter and be left to his thoughts.


    His home, it sings with yowling, maiming, anger, and sadness. And today, no, after several days, it was too much. Allowed to build up and unable to cope in the canyon, he had taken to scampering off. Was he a traitor? There's a rose, thorns, every intention of turning back and to brave that world all again. Eomma, appa, friends are there too in that realm, despite the gruesome grandeur they share, they're all sharing it together.


    The blue eyes, gazes of sky become swollen. The wolf like creature has paused in front a pool, to stare in a mirror. A necklace or a collar? The colored leather embellished with flowers and metal begins to feel heavy. So does the organ that thumps in the cradle of his chest. Fault lines quiver with stalactites hidden behind them, dripping rain, and two rivers along crests of blonde hills. "Eomma... ... what am I to you?" The pretty picture is experiencing imperfections, but the sound that asks the person absent does not falter.

    The post was edited 1 time, last by Cheonsa ().

  • BOTAN


    If not for how gracefully warm the fox fowl moves, a ghost he would be called by those he slides past. Always he managed a curt grin, a glance of acknowledgement. However; this sun shining afternoon, he is just as void of expression and as void as what is inside him. Lost.


    The fox fowl, white everywhere like an endless snow, glows slightly in the light but beneath it all is dark and hollow. Is this all because, his place? So uncertain. The trauma with his mad sister, the ups and downs of The Dynasty, and his own cowardly paws unable to remain committed for long to what he claimed as his new home. The medicine man is beside himself, sighs wistfully climbing from the male's maw. Is this his karma? For having tried to better his sister, when it was not. To be better himself, when he is not? Is he being too sad right now? How can he fix it? Can it be fixed?


    The feathers, colorless leaves that taper and lay flat against one another, coming down his rear, a lacy night gown. They tickled the cobblestone and then the silver sands as he lifts foot after foot forward. The muscles in his face, dropped. A princely kindness melts to somber looking down on the floors of the island. The emptiness, lost and lost of everything. He was not even necessarily needed, his home. Was it home? Where did his feet slowly push him where he just felt like lying. And remaining there, just lying, and waiting...


    Is this him, wanting to quit existing? Was he so pathetic? A melody of wind spills over from the frown, a cascade of water against glaciers of skin and snow. A wonder, wandering, shadow in his soul holding. Is he being hugged or is he being haunted? How strange it is to feel like he may be drowning, when he has never swam in his life. Unreal, how things were together and apart. How adult he could feel, and childish he was. Vulnerable.

  • Does fate string them together to where they meet? Two struggling souls of the world. Fighting and fading. Are their hearts too sensitive for the harsh reality of Agrelos? World of dark and light and life in between. Belonging. Purpose. Answers. Where are these for the king of flowers and the angel of Exiles?


    Moss blanketed and fissures decorating the half broken figure, a stone statue humbly stands at three feet in an encircled pavilion. The gold run away and the drifting phantom meet, weary. They see they're in no mood to speak, and they quietly accept the trembling presence of the other. Both lie on the pavilion, their own end, space, to wash through their woes. They can be better after this. they can move on, after this. Whatever this is. It will go away.


    Streams continue, thin but replenished and constant. They wet the forests of hair and the fields of rock. The breathing bodies keep to themselves effortlessly. The breathing bodies ache. The minds tire and working so hard to search for solutions to their own problems, expire from overthinking. Slipped to the expanses of thoughtlessness. A drug, sleep, pursues and bleeds them under. A setting they didn't want to change, it prompts... peace? This is peace. This is sleep. This ... is death.

  • BOTAN CHEONSA


    Two souls, one body. The angel's skin is shed and he's been encased in white, sharing with it's inhabitant. They will walk the same foot steps til for however long. It's a shock, they don't understand, but they know they are two entities sharing tongues in one head.

  • CHEONSA GOLD & GRAVITY

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    The post was edited 22 times, last by Cheonsa ().

  • CHEONSA GOLD & GRAVITY

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