Re: Worn journal, frayed on every edge...

[Sylvea]

blood splatters the page


I avoid staying in Silvermoon for these exact reasons. Wipe the sleep from my eyes after I remove the arrows from my gut, "good morning, everyone".  But I wasn't the only Grim sleeping, was I?  No wonder so many go missing for so long.

Maybe I should slip into the shadows as well, take a nice long nap...

[Sylvea]

Foolish to go looking for him; lost him once, what made me think I could find him again?

I barely even recognized him in Zangermarsh... He was silent, cold, so much more different than the man I had known.  He didn't quite remember my name or face. All he saw was some silly girl, gawking and faulting with her blades.  Later on, he told me I reminded him of his wife he had killed under Arthas' orders. I'm sure he slaughtered many wives and husbands and children.. but I wasn't dead, was I?  Just a newer me like a newer him.

I never bothered to tell him, either. Bit my tongue and smiled. Glimpses of him were returning, slowly.  The Lorgalis I had known; yes, long-winded and proud as the sunshine, but gentle even with his harsh defenses.  How he bowed to our officers, though, was something he learned in death. Admittedly, I was happy to have him back no matter how tampered with.  But he rushed head first into battle.. just like last time.. and here I am searching for him again.. as I'm sure I'll do every time.

What happens if I don't find him? Will the smiles be more bitter with each gut I pierce? Will I be able to accept loss this time?

Will I be able to find myself...

[Sylvea]

I know you think that I'm someone you can trust
but I'm scared I'll get scared…
My bright is too slight to hold back all my dark.

[Sylvea]

Despite your pseudo-bohemian appearance that vaguely set your doctrine of beliefs, you are a vacuous soldier. You adhere to a set of standards and tastes that appear to be determined by an unseen panel.
Bullshit.
You're diving face forward into an antiquated past, it's disgusting! It's offensive.
You spend your time sitting in circles with your friends, participating to each other, forever competing for that one moment of self aggrandizing glory in which you hog the intellectual spotlight, holding dominion over the entire shallow...pointless...conversation. Oh we're not worthy. Slave to the competitive...capitalist...dogma.

Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself? Well let me tell you this, I am shamelessly self involved.  I spend hours in front of the mirror to make my hair elegantly disheveled.

I'm proud of my life and the things that I have done, proud of myself and the loner I've become.


You're urgently unfulfilled; when I'm dead I'll rest.

[Sylvea]

Reassure yourself;
they are more than just thoughts
"Almost.. tangible.
Was that a smile or a twitch?"
One more nameless face
to blame
for the loss you can't control.

Kill till the blood helps you forget.

[Sylvea]

There's more than a hint of you
wafting through my senses.
I tense,
tasting that familiar sensation
of fear and anger
mixed in with nostal---sick
(remember reflexes?).
Or you don't remember a single thing,
maybe.

I am still not safe from
your touch or your ice eyes.
Oh, there's always something
pushing memory to the surface
(backing me up against a wall),
making you more than just
a childhood friend.

You were more or less an animal,
turning others rabid with a bite.
A nibble on the earlobe,
a rip and tear of the throat,
a rough thrust to show love.

I was nothing but an oil spill,
slipping through grips tightened
around wrists to pull me away;
I was slick and stuck on your skin.
You’d smear me till I sunk in.
But we were already fused for fate:

Our first kiss [my first cut lip];
Our first caught breath [my first death];
Our first heartache [my first decay].

You were the experienced,
I was the experiment.
You trained me well to break.



And yet I still search.. Wanting more.

[Sylvea]

To move on, something must be lost. 

Loss pushes progression.  What motivates it becomes the deciding factor for where it all leads to.  Some get lost in the hate, tangled up in revenge and venom. Some sink into despair, no longer desperate to fight for the surface.  Others straddle the line, pushing through, headstrong; they are our warriors, champions even.  I keep a steady grip at the edge, teeth gritted and bared, knees scraped.

I am not the strongest or the fastest.  I cannot heal wounds with a simple incantation nor can I cause devastation in the same fashion. I do not tame beasts to tear throats out. My light is too dim to be a weapon.  I can wield a blade, though.  I can take a life away just as simply as anyone else.

I bear the mark of the Grim. I am no longer 'associated', I am known.  No mercy is expected from either side.  This pride doesn't reside in being Sin'dorei, never has.  It comes from and serves the Mandate. 

Any blood to stain this tabard will not be mine.



Louder and louder
it will build and fade
and soon your love
will turn to hate.
She said, "Here I am."

[ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4heCewWA ... re=related ]

[Sylvea]

I feel sick with shame. Losing myself.. All these years, I never really had needed anything. Wanted. Longed. Loss.

Now it's more than memory. My senses dull, instincts break, nerves fail. I'm fraying.

And disgusted.

I need to face my decisions; tear the tabard or just the skin?

Let them kill me quickly or run till I'm dead.


Peace through Annihilation:
Conflict through Thought.


I want out.

[Greebo]

((

she got what she wanted

Fare Well

))