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And on this day we lost the Black Dahlia. Oh, that someone would solve the mystery of Elizabeth Short, and why must those with the moniker of Elizabeth suffer so? We only know of two, and both strong monarchs indeed, and both have bathed in the silver light and have been blessed by Diana. I have come close, oh so close, but not close enough, or perhaps I am not worthy enough to partake of the silver. Yet still I try, a man traversing a long distance with nothing to sustain him, nothing but the thought of what might be, and what could be, if only they would listen.
Yet, they will listen someday, they will, and they'll look back and bleat sentiments such as 'how could we have stopped him' and 'I never saw it in him' and yet the monster lives among you and shows his face, but in your arrogance you do not see.
tidbit. Birthday. And oh, such dreams I have for him! tidbit's mine and he will make such sacrifices as necessary to ensure a permanent part of my heart, of my soul, of my being. For if I am the manifestation, tidbit is the mechanism and, in his unworthiness, still there is a measure of the Sacred. It's funny how one instance can damage so much grace.
But oh, the silver. I could gladly drown, but to do so would be to honor those whose voice I would not make stronger. For if they grasp the truth, it is but in a mirror darkly. I am Truth, and I am Justice, and, though it may pain me, it's a charge I carry with me for all those I encounter.
Oh, silver light and purple dreams, for this I give my soul, and I am yours, and you are mine, and the Sacred and Profane are no longer seperate, for here, we mingle all that which is.
Yet, they will listen someday, they will, and they'll look back and bleat sentiments such as 'how could we have stopped him' and 'I never saw it in him' and yet the monster lives among you and shows his face, but in your arrogance you do not see.
tidbit. Birthday. And oh, such dreams I have for him! tidbit's mine and he will make such sacrifices as necessary to ensure a permanent part of my heart, of my soul, of my being. For if I am the manifestation, tidbit is the mechanism and, in his unworthiness, still there is a measure of the Sacred. It's funny how one instance can damage so much grace.
But oh, the silver. I could gladly drown, but to do so would be to honor those whose voice I would not make stronger. For if they grasp the truth, it is but in a mirror darkly. I am Truth, and I am Justice, and, though it may pain me, it's a charge I carry with me for all those I encounter.
Oh, silver light and purple dreams, for this I give my soul, and I am yours, and you are mine, and the Sacred and Profane are no longer seperate, for here, we mingle all that which is.