Tarotsmith Blog

I’ll name her Kirell, pt3

It would be a mercy if indeed I was mad; for then I would be free to be the warrior dove wrecking vengeance to my heart’s content. I think I am mad but not enough to step over the edge and leave lucidity behind. It is a chain around my neck, holding me back with the caress of a killer whore.

This night I am watching the world in silent rage; for I am bound against my will and I resent having my freedom stolen from me by a petty thief. I resent being held hostage by one who claims to love me enough to lock me up; who loves me enough to bind me with barbed wires eating into my skin, drawing blood.

My wings once bright with glittering gold now shorn off in a bloody mess, cast around me like tattered flag. I am like the moth sheared by the heat of its lovers embrace only to realise too late, the lover hides a flaming sword. I am the proverbial phoenix in a gilded cage so I can burn myself away.

The Prophet of Destruction; I will name her Kirell for Killer and I will bid her avenge me with the wrath of a mad prophet on LSD. I will bid her wreck destruction so no one will forget my wrath when it is unleashed; I will bid her bring down the Tower of Babel brick by brick till it lay in ruins.

To assuage my anger, I wish to watch a city brought to its knees with rivers of blood carrying carrion and cadavers to put out the flames.
The beast was here all along…