based on an imagery i got.
to be honest, i don't know what it means yet.
suffering from alexithymia...

the witching hour

the pitch black, serenading the vapour.
he walks through bright-eyed, blindfolded.
the bold engulf.

the bright white hung on his back.
the burden which was atlas,
now his to bear.
bleak rewards of limbo. yet he trudges on.

silhouetted talons creak for his very being.
piercing howls under the moon.
the beaming pale dampened by the frosty mist.
suspended high in the nethers.

writhed in agony,
the withered lay at his feet.
their voiceless screams.
he battled the same demon.
the fallen had found no way back.

faceless black, it stared in dark intent.
in the beam of the sickly cratered rock.
stasis overwhelms the fiend.
it cries out.

the air, a thick swell of despair
embodiment of nothingness.
Lucifer himself churns.

in the distance,
the eerie midnight bell resonates.
something creeps in.
 

what if this show becomes reality?

feels so wrong and
yet so fucking right.