Of Ink and Death

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Night brought dreams and with these fever dreams came endless possibilities painted in the muted colors of silence and melancholy. While the world was draped in the heavy cloak of darkness, he wasn’t dreaming. He was creating, his hands fervently moving on a parchment, his head filled with cosmos and his soul losing a piece of his essence with the black ink that he spilled on the pages.

At this moment, when he lost his grip on the reality, he found himself in his head full of dreams which weren’t pure to say the least. His sins were the reflection of his true self, his moral corruption was his one true rebellion and his courage to embrace them were his singular strength. With sunken eyes he appraised his work, his ink stained hands trembling as he gripped his pen while the shadows fought the light for domination of his dejected mind.

The wind made the house creak and groan, as if it was protesting his isolation while the horrors inside his head seeped into the dirty old pages transmuting to take tangible form. The horror took a oily, morbid presence deriving its energy source from the dark chasm of his despair. The more his mind pervaded into the realm of his own making, the more his eyes lost the sense of his present.

His hands knocked over the glass of brandy on his table, the deafening shatter echoing throughout the house. He stared at those numerous shards glinting dangerously under the moonlight. His eyes transfixed while the last vestiges of his sanity warred with the living horror of his creation.

Impertinent clouds hid the moon, leaving him to the mercy of his horror
and as they parted, the moonlight sparkled off his ruby red blood
mingling with the
black of his ink
creating grotesque art on the pages
for which he devoted his whole life to.

He finished his final work on a dying breath, his mind quitting the struggle to make sense of the cosmos unforeseen and in place called nowhere he lost it all.

While the horror of his mind, pealed with laughter as night gave it a frigid welcome absorbing its oily presence in itself to form one morbid entity. 

 

 

 

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31 thoughts on “Of Ink and Death

    1. Hiii.. I am really sorry for the inconvenience that you might have faced while contacting me. My contact link is broken or something and I am not able to receive any emails via that. I would love to know your observations though. Thank you 💙

      Liked by 1 person

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