patior

TITLE: patior

AUTHOR: Camila

ARTIST: Ara Djati

TRIGGER WARNINGS: HEAVY DESCRIPTIONS OF DEPRESSION, ANXIETY, AND MENTIONS OF SUICIDE

This wondrous curse of immortality is my passion.

The fact that I must know all stories, and all stories must know me, violently sets my soul ablaze with rage.

All that remains of you are dusty memories

Of hope, of light, of brutality, and of murder

For I do not know how you died, how you had nothing, and everything drowned

before your eyes, how your ceaseless screams were silenced; nor do I know your true suffering.

I suppose this passion of my flame is a form of eternal suffering.

We never understood why our passions are our passions

Nor why your memories were simply ours to drown.

Sometimes the dying light of our souls turned and raged.

We would find solace in the art of cruelty and murder

Or perhaps pity ourselves for the next few centuries; those memories

Would be locked away, never to be experienced until more memories

revealed on our thoughts, a kind-hearted sort of damnation and suffering.

The lives of our creators extinguished through our creation, and their murder.

We were the culprits, and our punishment is the passion.

I always wondered if the fury of my soul came from my creator, if I inherited that rage.

Maybe your soul, your life, your magick, was always mine to hold and cherish, while I was the one sorrowfully drowned.

We would always question why your kind had to drown.

So we could fly on the wings of your memories.

After all, was it not our destiny as the beings of desire itself to be furious? To rage?

To have the bewitching gaze of your mortality gaze down upon us as we suffered?

It is my place to have all legends within me, and to be in legends myself; it is the essence of my passion

Not only to tell tales of heroes, but also to experience stories of murder.

I am not sure if you were killed, or if you were murdered.

Those memories are too deep in the sea that is my mind, else I go mad drowning..

I must say, storytelling and story-living are a saintly passion.

For the rest of us, violence is our creed, murder our doctrine, and the sea our drowning.

You see, those memories and our passions are our suffering.

No, I will not allow that, even if it means my deathly rage.

To be furious is to be joyous, and to be happy is to be raging.

I will take solace in my own murder

By my own hands if need be, even if it means everlasting suffering

The fading embers of our minds are already drowned

In the vast, boundless, arcane library that is our memories.

My thoughts drift as I ponder my lifeblood, my passion.

I refuse to die to rage, nor I will succumb to tearful drowning

I will murder those thoughts, those urges, until all that remains are the memories.

Suffering is passion.