Towers of Inferno

tremors. soldiers. blackness.

it was early when i woke him. it seemed cruel, but necessary. we needed more than could be found in the dark. and he'd already slept for so many years. it's the disadvantage of youth. wanting to know everything. including the bad. it's a paradox of the flesh. that it cannot feel until it's been touched.

he was heavy with so many variants that the constant fell away. he wasn't one to search for it.

in tremors. and quakes of skin. whelping soldiers. guided by hungry rifles. and miles of blackness. killed as best they could. the harmless monsters we blamed for everything.

he was empty with the reasons he'd kept. and there wasn't anything left in the world that could solve that dissonance. i was just as helpless as he was. only on the other side of the glass.

deafened by a war bigger than both of us. blinded by a mirror reflecting too strong. faces we hadn't worn in years.

tastes. trials. muscles. nerve ends. priests far too tempted. consumed by an inferno of their own sermons. a tower of guilty want. always leaning closer. gentle satans submit their sins. to the power of loneliness. grateful for the freedom surrender offers.