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[cold_dry_pieces]

I̭͑ ̬̦͛͒̋̍̊̄d̍̀r̀̎̇̍̋e̪̬̫̭̮̋̌̌͆ͬ͂̓ḁ̦̼ͤ̽̑ͧ̋̒̽m̱̲̗͍̱ͭ̓͊̐̚e̘̝͚͚ͮd̬͙͚̠͓̅ ̙̦o͖̻̅͌͆̂͛͑fͯ̅͆ ͓͓̤͕̠̣̒̓̇ͅä̜̣́̋͛ ̒̀ͨg̩̖̦̝̩̈̈̓ͬr̜̫̠̙̦̫͕̎̈ͭ̾̄̄ͣe͈̖̱ͩ͐ͅa̩̙̥̥̬̩̲ͮ̂͊̔̈́̍t̰͕͕̞͌ͣ ̘̽ͧ͌ͅb̜̲̠̣͉͎ŭ̦̯̘̘̓̏r̻̰͌ͅni͙͎̞̰̬̳̩n̙͉̝͆ͦg̙̰͙̠̜̲̻̍ͭ̉ͧ ̲̋ͥ̐ͦͧ̂ͅb̭͎͑ͣͥ̃̋̌u̦̜̹̬͂̈͛ͧl̖̼̞͇̰̞̘̄̇̍ͭl͇͈̓̔́ͯͥͮ̂ ̠̻̬̯̺ͯ͑̄̽b͍̥͔̝ͥͦͫ͊́ͅạ̐y̰͇̅̆̒̒ͬ̚i͔͖̤͇n̦̝̦͉̳͎̎ͨ͂͊̈͂͐g̓ͯ͗̐͋ͦͦ ̮̜ͦả̯͙͈̥̙ẗ͕͓̟͍̮͕ͥ̋ͪͅ ̅̑̆̾a ͖̗̺ͫ̊̏̇ḅ͉̙̞̩̯lo̻͕͓͗ͬͩ̅o̫̜̤̮̊̌d͙̙̬͙̼̫̞ͯ͊y ͎̤̳͕͓ͯ͊̀̐͋̎ͅm̓͂ͬ̿̈̃o̟̩͕̤̩ͤ̈́̿̃͛͋͛ͅo̹͎͓̿n͔͙͚̝̭̠̺̔͆ͯ́̓.͎̤͙͈͎̠͖ͬ͒ ̹̣͓̅ͯ̈́̋ ̎̊


̬͚ͭ
̺̲̫̝̺̘ͬ̓̆ͅ˙͇̦ǝ̙̳͕̗͙͋̾̚ɯ̰̮̱̲̲ͬ̄̇̾ͅ ͖̗̏ʍ̰͔̺̲ͮ̾̑̔͛ͮo̫͌ͩ̅ן̝̦̮̙̰̰̲̍́ͣ̋͗̚ǝ͍̰̖̺̭̼̿͐q͈̩̀͌̂̋͊̓ͦ ̔ƃ̹͕̝̟͔ȗ͈̬̬̳̱ͪ̇̉ͅı̅ͪ́ͤɥ̰̹̍ͨ͊ͣ͋̋ʇͪɐ͇̳̣̔̐͌ͪǝ̯̆̌ͮ̒́ͧɹ̭͌͑̐ͫ͛̔̚q̾̾̾ ̫̌̉̈́̏̈́̀ͣʇ͚̟̙̰̏̂ͯ̊̃̓̃ı̫̋ͨ ̜̩̺̫̱̞̟̂͊ͬ͗ɹ͖͙̣̠̬͚̌̆̋ɐ͍͙ͪͨ͛͂ǝ͓̻͚̣͋ɥ̖́̋̊̑ͩ ͖͇͈̮̭ͯ̐ͥ̃̄u̖̦ɐͣ̒ɔ̻͔ͩͬͯͭ ̥̹̰̥͚̬̆ͯ͌ͣͅı̱ͣ̽̏̏̉͆͌



I've been going uʍop so long I must be dn ʞɔɐq ƃuıʞןɐʍ by now. Does that mean the beast has broken loose, half animal and all artistry, roaming with a shameless bloody mouth and the glint that isn't horn, isn't hoof or wet eye but is all the sick and sibilant whispers promised by the silver sliver creeping through the cracks? Have I dreamed? When men dream do they loose the chains that bind their own hearts?

the minotaur r̤̠̤ͥ̏͊̐̆ͣͣͭů̪̗l̤̝͇̫̭̖̹̭̲ͥͤe̗͉̙͓̺̤̘͙̓́ͬ́ͤͧ͌̚s̼̳͎̣̪͍̺͒̿ͤ̇ͯ̍ the man who built its maze



there is no time without light but the count of breath. one, two, every hour i rap

on the           walls


and wait




and wait



to hear my own echo...





or am i knocking out the echo of a dead child rapping on the madhouse walls?




[ooc; all of that is visible in its hideously formatted glory, so feel free to perceive the struck text just this once. :3 replies will prooobably be much easier to read!

ETA: including a screencap if the text is not displaying correctly, sorry for inconvenience.]

Comments

[synanthrope]

I'll make you something.

Something strong.

Something sturdy.

[cold_dry_pieces]

something made, to make to unmake i make the unmade.

the artist animal
the animal artist

all the ways are always hallways
all ways hallways. always.

once i rose to the surface to breathe the bright air. i was not lifted up. i was not carried. i was not the one taken. ˙sǝɥɔuı uı pǝuʍoɹp i rise risen will rise will i rise. my will, i will I will.

but the stairs only go
                        d
                          o
                            w
                              n
                                .
                                  .
                                    .