The October Diaries XXX | Final Measure

October 30 - 31,

Thus it would never be a good thing

These ideologies of purity

So we would burn like sulphur

To clean our skin with delicacies

So we would drown and suffocate equally

Without indulgence in dark eccentricities

Mirrors never birthed self-fixation

Our flesh, however hallowed, always craved sensation

Vampires, old crones, shapeshifters and sprites

The old-tome forsaken whose tales are forgotten

These are our brethren, never neglected

A family lineage, characters of our flesh

Shrouded in terror, lest they perish

We cannot enchant merely with truth

Some innateness which adores fiction

An immortal appreciation born to envision

Hope in bleakness, love in stoicism

Desires darkness for its conception

Not twofold but in multiplicity

Do our spirits shift and seek

Thoughts like bodies, possessing

Craving every life's excitement

Which word whispered sparked a shiver?

What touch caressed beyond senses?

Which brush of lips invigorated

And so tortured without end?

In much this way we create

Possibility from fantasy's extremes

So does fiction instill visions

Tangible as apparitions briefly breathing

Through present and memory alike

Our angels and demons made thusly

Two sides of one coin's tossing

Shimmering in continuity

Thus it would never be a good thing

To keep the lights on fully