Author Topic: The Tale Of Nohan  (Read 1128 times)

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March 29, 2014, 07:06:10 PM
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"The Tale Of Nohan"

To speak of Nohan, he was a strange one.
In actions he took, he would almost appear deranged to some.

He indulged in pleasures of the chemical blind.
To get lost in a frenzy to expel what the drugs reacted to in his mind.

Sadly, he's still very much living up to his acquainted ways.
Though he's tried hard to control the way he self-destructs when he seems of his own mind himself to phase.

Searching forever, for the lost fragments cast into rejection in the void of detention and resisting of retention.
Until he forgets, in blisful ignorance aloofly raising into that desire's ascension.


Casting his wings into the abyss doubled tomb.
He recollects shreds of the imagery sent to it's completion's doom.
No longer did it seem like an embarassing trifle.
He felt it was impressive, and viewed it in a more abstract, art-examining way, yet had no pieces to recover from any place to rifle.

Henceforth he flew into the tomb-designated abyss and cast his wings around all he could find.
To create something new with the bits and pieces that slowly but surely made it's way and now rested as his conscious they lined.


Poisoned by one who took advantage.
Fearing death and torment and feeling exhaustion and the strain that read like yet could not be called permanent damage.
Flee, in this distraught state.
Cling to hopes of saviourdom at the hands, to be classed, of someone, safe.
Seriously. What am I doing?
This will not work out,
I must escape.
Hidden in a compartment that's not intended for life.
Another eye to save me from the murder of those constantly stalking on the trail I must forth pry.
I return to the scene of the atrocity.
My mind is burned with the fading of time.
I hear only vindiction.
It's only a matter of when, not if,
I must ready myself for the battle's prime.
I talk to the one who revealed himself to be more than nothing in my scope.
He seems to be plagued by his own demons, or playing me for a dope.
I refuse his plea to rush to him armed,
To save him from his own fears,
How real they ever were I will probably never be alarmed.

Though perhaps now I am sensing what I could not at the time.
This blackening of reality, the pain that weighs on the find,
putting stress on the mind until pop, it can attempt die.

Regardless, I leave. The stress of the imminent test is too much, yet it follows me out,
and still this persection I feel I receive.

I find somewhere I consider safe, at least for a short period.

Until I fear I will be vulgarly violated violently in methods that will sheer my resistance
in destruction. And dream a nightmare in waking thoughts that this is the ultimate place I am trapped
as a slave to take upon what torture their sick will allots.

Yet to my surprise I find release in saying I am leaving and not being denied exit. I now decide to channel my rage into
the one I feel had gone and done the most atrocious committance in original sin, with a drink of complimentary brandy or something
else fueling my will to crash my wrath down on his skin.  I think it was bourbon, no matter, I'm stewing in my rage at the violation I feel begaged.

It is time to find justice. Ahhh! No. I have severely injured myself, and now begins my long road out...


There seems to be unsurity, all around me. Yet, in contemplating this originally. I remembered the realization of something sacred. Perhaps there is a long way to go before everything makes sense. It all seems to be coming to one answer.

*Fades away into an emotion that disperses in the air*


There is a kingdom no longer.