Swirling madness overtakes me,
wraps around with thick tendrils,
grasping tightly and sucking me down
into the spiral,
whirling my heart and head into a spin
so tight I can't see
can't tell which direction
is which,
can't breathe as the air whips past
too fast for me to catch,
I am the Shatterer
caught within my own battlefield
terrors, frightened by prospects
long supressed, held fast against the darkness
of the night, hoping they would just go away,
I destroy myself, I must, or I will cease,
I kill myself, I must, or I will cease,
I re-invent myself, I must, for I will cease,
I remake myself, I must, for I will cease,
soon, the end creeps ever on my back,
whispers harshly, rasping it's fetid breath
against my skin
who are you? No-one
what are you? nothing
what good are you? none
why do you exist? you don't
why don't you try? you're a waste
It barrages me, constant in it's monotony
eating away my flesh,
never abating, I get no rest,
it pressures unrelenting,
it pounds away, hounds my day,
whispers like the wind
pulverizes my brain
until I give up, until I give in
until I sleep, until I want to sleep forever,
until I wake and face the whirlwind
again, walking through the bloodied clearing,
the warzone, bodies stacked, fallen haphazardly,
limbs cracked, broken, exposed shafts of bone
protruding to the sky, blood falls with the rain,
moans pervade the air like fingernails on slate,
bodies skewered on implements of death,
spears, pikes, swords, axes,
the ground runs thick with blood, a red sticky paste
mixed in with the mud, I slip, fall, the bloody mud
soaks me to the bone, drenched, dragged down,
wallowed in the mire, mired in the wallow,
helpless because I won't help myself,
the sword. I must find the sword!
the king. I must find my king!
Are you my king? Have you seen the sword?
Help me find them! I must find them...
Then I stumble, fall into a deep puddle
sink to the bottom, the mud seeping into my eyes,
mouth, nose, clogging off my breath, choking life
from me, until I hit bottom, motion arrested,
though the weight of the mud still presses down
wanting to shove me through the earth...
then I notice something.
though my eyes clench tight against the muck,
I see a light, a brightening of the darkness
and I reach out through the viscous fluid
touching upon a searing hot pain,
I wrap both hands tightly around as they burn
the flesh of my fingers melting away
as I touch the sword
it flashes through my eyes,
while dragging it to the surface
my heart leaves, expelled as my lungs fill with air
I collapse at the edge of the lake,
the sword burning brightly...
There is no king. The king is dead.
Avalon weeps.