06-25-2017, 08:48 PM
you can have my isolation,
you can have the hate that it brings.
you can have the hate that it brings.
Uncertainty.
That is the primary emotion surfacing from the darkest depths of his mind, his sharpened sight settled upon his son long before he had even reached the border of the island – he can sense the heat from his body; his vision changing to a heat signature and Levi is scalding. Burning from the inside, not unlike himself, and yet, seemingly at ease with it – far more than he, himself, had been or ever would be.
The fire, for him, was not a gift bestowed to him at birth – it had been a curse, given to him in return for a journey in another dimension; another world. Where he had bled, scratched, clawed his way through. Where he had tasted blood for the first time (would it be the last?). Where he had watched the corpses of his loved ones lie, bloated and rotting from the inside out – a vision of horror, that kept him awake long after the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon.
His son knew nothing of power, nothing of what it took – he wielded his fire with ease, but recklessly. Such did not go unnoticed by his father, who knew that there was a darkness within his son, one that he would never be able to reach – a darkness that no light would be able to penetrate. He could do little else but let him wander away from the isle from which had been born and raised, precarious and curious, wondering what might become of him. What he might make of himself.
He did not need to use his son as a pawn – he was stronger than him; more powerful than he.
At the very core of it, he is his own blood, his own progeny. He did not often say so, but he loved him, and would, unconditionally – but he did not need to use him for anything at all.
He simply longed for him to be - to make something of himself; to be content with himself.
Something he has never been.
The salty seawater trickles off of Levi’s two-toned skin in rivulets – Offspring can see each individual bead with the intensity of his newfound sight, and he is coming ever closer to him. Quietly, with his searing crimson eyes settled upon him, he moves towards him – parting the swaying grain with the girth of his body, singing the vegetation with the scalding heat of his body.
”My son,” he says simply, reaching out to touch his cheek, to draw him closer to him, but he does not yet make contact. ”you’ve come home.”
That is the primary emotion surfacing from the darkest depths of his mind, his sharpened sight settled upon his son long before he had even reached the border of the island – he can sense the heat from his body; his vision changing to a heat signature and Levi is scalding. Burning from the inside, not unlike himself, and yet, seemingly at ease with it – far more than he, himself, had been or ever would be.
The fire, for him, was not a gift bestowed to him at birth – it had been a curse, given to him in return for a journey in another dimension; another world. Where he had bled, scratched, clawed his way through. Where he had tasted blood for the first time (would it be the last?). Where he had watched the corpses of his loved ones lie, bloated and rotting from the inside out – a vision of horror, that kept him awake long after the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon.
His son knew nothing of power, nothing of what it took – he wielded his fire with ease, but recklessly. Such did not go unnoticed by his father, who knew that there was a darkness within his son, one that he would never be able to reach – a darkness that no light would be able to penetrate. He could do little else but let him wander away from the isle from which had been born and raised, precarious and curious, wondering what might become of him. What he might make of himself.
He did not need to use his son as a pawn – he was stronger than him; more powerful than he.
At the very core of it, he is his own blood, his own progeny. He did not often say so, but he loved him, and would, unconditionally – but he did not need to use him for anything at all.
He simply longed for him to be - to make something of himself; to be content with himself.
Something he has never been.
The salty seawater trickles off of Levi’s two-toned skin in rivulets – Offspring can see each individual bead with the intensity of his newfound sight, and he is coming ever closer to him. Quietly, with his searing crimson eyes settled upon him, he moves towards him – parting the swaying grain with the girth of his body, singing the vegetation with the scalding heat of his body.
”My son,” he says simply, reaching out to touch his cheek, to draw him closer to him, but he does not yet make contact. ”you’ve come home.”
you can have my absence of faith,
you can have my everything.
you can have my everything.
OFFSPRING