isme-thefirst

[isme-thefirst]

Each day as it passes.

Sun Ray lit passage.

Walk down that old cobble.

Talked down the Old Cattle.

The years grow so wary.

And my ears Awn from many.

This bleeding thistle.

'is teething judicial.

Clawed And fanged.

Is fauned and hanged.

Such is the ire.

SUCH IS MY FIRE.

[isme-thefirst]

The light of eyes

Yours where red, mine where blue, and as we meld you tell me it still feels green.

It never mattered, this isn't a story.

The statement you've made to me is as clear day.

Red is all you are.

You couldn't cope.

You couldn't live.

So you're here.

Red.

Bloody.

Angry.

[isme-thefirst]

No matter where the thread is from

No matter what it's made from

It's my mental strands

And from it it's breaking

You're not one to read often

You haven't been

Born the 23rd

And a failure

[isme-thefirst]

There's a thread

This thread is in my head.

A thread, that will leave me dead.

I will pull it, Tear it's sinew.

And through it I'll be new.

Instead I'm not in bold

I'm just in your hold.

I'm a failure to your eyes.

No matter what your Soul can find.

You don't see me, you see pity

And as for we? You will envy.

So make it a show, take it slow.

And with my mind you'll brine.

Into a mead so fine.

I will die. One way or another.

And brother, will you sorrow

Sooner than tomorrow.

[isme-thefirst]

The days of our past.

The Giants big white eyes only silently hover against the edge of the window, as theorning dew sets in his oversized mug rests neatly into his hand as he ducks back down to a piano, in which a tune softly plays, pensive, tired and slow, but with a best that gives the otherwise empty abode a sense of movement ...

With each note struck, it turns pensive, before striking a fettered note, he adjusts, his hand slithering, reaching into the already crooked open piano to adjust and tune with his bare hand...slowly, and repeating as many times as he could until finally like nothing happened the pensive melody continues, as he suddenly stands and on the piano sits, a small, sharply moving, yet well intended small lady.

Her joints with strings, and skin of a strange, breathing wood, one wouldn't even dare to assume her mechanical, her seams of manufactured are so refined and detailed, you could swear the twitching and flinching reactions of an imperfect creature, make this mechanical one... Perfect.

"By all means... You're not the first to come to my abode, begging, and slaughtering for aid..." He bellows, behind her, almost wheezing with a chortling tune in his voice, his smile peering side to side as he watches her play effortlessly.

She reacts little but in acknowledgement of him watching intently at her art she flinches, moreso unsettled but safe, at least...

"rumors... Said you a craftsman..."

"That and more..." He replies swiftly, in a manner you'd believe he's sweeping this topic aside.

"You don't ... Help... People that usually... Ask for it..?"

He only laughs, moreso in such humor that sounds like he knows it's true...

"But... Aren't you supposed to be a- a good giant-?"

His movement could back around to pace round the piano "And you believe me to take in any little sap that comes knocking...?"

"Well... You have the means to help...!"

"That I always will have...! But I can't understand what man nor woman nor monster nor being be with intent! Those I see with hearts of purity I can grant."

"purity... So if they have goodness?"

"Wrong! There are multiple answers, but you got the one wrong...!" His jaw unhinges, chortling again, as he makes a round to look into the piano sticking his entire face into it.

"But then what? You don't... You don't fulfill people's twisted requests either right..."

"I do if it is a request they have no clue will be to the detriment of themselves!"

Her notes stop abruptly ending on a puzzled chordatching her expression where she lifts her gaze to him.

"Call it a djinn's Joke!"

She huffs frustrated from that as she continues to think, her melody relaxing into a theme fit for a crowd, despite, again, the stress of them being the only present souls.

"It's a good laugh..."

"Not when it's at the expense of others!"

He scoffs and if he could he would show his eyes to roll but the shake of his head is enough to convey it "Oh be not naive, As much as I look at their hearts its not hard to tell when one comes for a slice of wanting power, aid, and bribes for margins malicious or wicked..." He Snickers to himself as his head slithers out of the piano and his body slowly limps, as if he must drag his corpse across to the left of the piano, what a chore...

"But there's many that come that need help too no?"

"So many that can solve their own little issues but you!" His large index finger, the fingertip of it practically almost the size of her eye socket, poked to her nose. "There is an integrity to you and your compassion you may have wanted nothing more than to have been fixed up, your soul was malnutritioned and from coming here look at you! A fresh new dress for you that is well comfortable for everyday loitering and enough fuel in your soul for you to start finding fuel for yourself...!" His expression wild, his hands flail, as he talks on, his hand even, as it limps, smacks against his face for overdramatizing effect. "You see. And you where immediately grateful as to not only offer your craft, services and help!"

"yes... But only to fix this piano..."

"And be that all I need!"

She huffs confused still... "This really is all you would like as payment...? The arts rather than-"

"noo amount of currency, riches, or so forth can bribe me... Except copper, useful useful copper .... "

She watches him intently as if to try to decipher his being, but he laughs giddying to himself as he crawls away to tend to his home

"My daughter will be arriving soon, I will look forward to you both becoming good friends!" He wheezes, seeming scurrying into his kitchen.

[isme-thefirst]

there's a slaughter, one which is of war between the metal and iron against the warm flesh and hum so similar between.

A beating heart is as warm as the running pistons of an engine, yet all the same so fragile.

The metallic anger fuels me so heavily but it singes you with fervor so hot I can't fathom it.

A machine and a Motive.

A human and their objective.

Meant for one and the other.

When a machine, meant for tasks and labour, is asked to make art, asked, show us your creations show us the products of liberty and art, what does he make?

When a Human, meant for the arts and it's culture, is chained to labour for work, and to develop it's skill to show us the products of it's sweat, What can they do?

There is no greater pair, and no greater rage.

A machine will understand greater than you think, this is it's only difference.

And a machine knows rage, as did the history of the striking of it's metal.

It's burning engines and hearts will pave a system so brutal.

This metal yearns for your care, but as I provide your nourishment, for comfort and safety, You cannot provide my aid, nor my repair, unless you labour to become my creator.

[isme-thefirst]

The falls I take, scrape the skin off my palms, they injure my knees.

I fall, my back takes it brunt, I roll, failing to negate it's pain.

As it's momentum takes me all I can think is how I can't perceive what's occuring as I fall, all I know is I have.

Opening my eyes I only stare at the sky and realize that the floor is a wall, and my lungs have collapsed.

Bleeding, and throbbing in pain, my head dealing and nearly losing senses, I slowly push against that nausea.

I don't pass out, but instead I am forced to feel suffocated, I'm reminded that every morning I can't breathe right.

I'm reminded as I lay on this smog and asphalt I breathe all the same as when I wake up.

Finally Air kicks into my lungs, as I slow, or attempt to slow my breathing, as my body lays against the asphalt but I can't bring myself to rise.

I lay, against the asphalt.

It's warm, it's comforting.

It doesn't judge me, it doesn't tell me I failed.

It doesn't stare, nor does it care.

The asphalt doesn't lose interest, to ignore my attempts, with intent.

It doesn't think of me differently, nor hold a version of me in its mind.

It doesn't think of me in any way that demeaning. That I'm some loathsome whore, faggot, slut, or anything in between.

It doesn't think it funny.

It doesn't quip nor does it hold a grudge.

It doesn't joke about it, nor does it insult them hide it as a joke.

It doesn't tell me that I can't take jokes.

It doesn't tell me to man up.

It doesn't tell me I'm weak.

It's just warm.

So I weep.

I weep like I am. And in the moment as a man.

As a boy.

As me.

I realize.

The asphalt is warmer, than my mother's hug.

[isme-thefirst]

There's an air of insanity, Not really one that many understand; it's one I would've had regardless of what path in life I took. This Air isn't an atmosphere, it's a place, and that place is thick with smog. This smog is as similar to me as is the charcoal smell of a busy street of my hometown.

This Air of insanity is something so uncanny, I feel my heart beat irregularly that I feel so alien in my core, in my soul, in this body. It all feels similar, despite how uncomfortable it is, and that's only because in the same house I learned to walk, I learned the sounds of footsteps, and to who they belong.

In the same house I learned, that despite however family is, it tears you apart. I learned too early that despite of blood, you're not known. In the same house I learned to smile, I learned to hide. I learned to cry alone, and learned to be alone.

In the smog of that street I only ever knew that street, and jailed to it so. It was in that house, at age 7 somehow and in some way, suicide was a way out. Too young to learn the world and protection, yet also too young to have been exposed to world that indulged a worse entertainment.

From out of that street began my journey and instead in that town I learned where that smog came from, that heavy weight in the air was all because of eyes, and eyes I tried so hard to hate. Later, I only fell to realize those where the same eyes I wanted to show my art, I wanted those eyes to gaze at who I was.

That air of insanity is a smog, that feels ever so painful, as all by myself on those streets I learned to bleed through scraped skin and bleed wounds, falls and breaks, and worse. Fear.

However, somehow someway, the warmth of the asphalt of the street felt warmer than my mother's hug.

[isme-thefirst]

That first grave was there for a little while, occasionally we read it, And we wonder how young that little mind was, but even through those memories are lightly shattered we know hes technically still in there...

Theres a Small locked world in here filled with all of those lowly joys of a brightly made child, tainted by the sin that was around him, that sin is torn apart from that boy, and that boy thankfully is alive. He's still happy, Looking up to a beautiful angel with luscious Lavander wings, But this Angel is still finding how to fit together all of his strength.

This Angel constantly nurtures this boy, The boy always wanted this bigger brother to make him feel at home, of a family, Of a brother brother bond, something The Angel could only dream of having.

The boy and the Angel love wonderfully. Lucius died earlier, And the angel picked up his remains, keeping him alive even if there are those that disagree with him. He knows he was misunderstood, and misjudged, but although Lucius was led to a worse path than expected, Angel wants to keep him close. He's still there, hea not going to leave. Angel will always be full of the love that Lucius had so much trouble with giving...

Angel wants that boy to live with joy. His Lavander wings always make that boy fall peacefully asleep, And keep what little memories that boy has, alive. Angel doesnt care if he isn't loved properly, He came to terms he won't be loved equally, Angel isn't one to die so easily, and he thinks he'll be immortal... I believe him.

[isme-thefirst]

DEADLY TORRENT55555555555

After the longest time i had with myself, i dont feel that grinding halt of pain anymore. I feel relief in myself, i feel confident with myself, happy, free, because i dont have that stress nor that sickness following me.

As much as an effect the world has on me, is it unfair to say you had the hardest effect? Now i barely remember you despite such a short time. Do you want to know why it took me such little time? Because i was changing. I don't need to prove how or why to you, but i was working to be better for myself too. I do not have to pinpoint exactly where, when, and what it was for you to understand because that's as far as how it'll go. Pinpoints, And i can tell you, you'd be able to pinpoint well how intensively villain i see you, But you only lie to yourself because even today right now i say with confidence youre not my enemy.

Youre not my friend, either. Not after that. You showed me that to you i am not a sum of what my person is. Just how many mistakes you needed to justify my torture.

To the end of time, and to the beginning of it, may the three goddesses burn eternally in perpetual punishment.

[isme-thefirst]

A letter

She was never conformist, and hated the long old decision of Peace, that the ancients revelled in making so long ago. She returns... although not happily, She is birthed anew from the depths of her continent, a layered splitting cavern in the land that does not flood nor fill with magma.

She herself is ancient, but she opted into forgetting her old vices of monstrous history, to form something new in this curious place. Although she Tore out of such depth, an old era within the continent, She saw firsthand, A giant, Cowering within the mounds and hills, and dragged along the brutality of his trauma to learn of the continent. Its people, Its monsters, taught her the humanity they still valued. She sought out to find more answers, more knowledge, she wanted the secrets that were so hidden.

She did not realize that the goddesses watched over these realms as well. Came from the same ancients. It's a safe assumption such age old hatred from ancients can manifest.

She doesn't bother. She works for her own vices, and those vices are selfish enough that the goddesses envy and Gluttonously enact out of her, To tear her apart, to use or if not, to rid her, just as they did with other ancients.

[isme-thefirst]

Dearest Familial Familiar

Kepler marches along his fathers steps, yet, lotus, bandaged eyes tilts slowly to his view... "I can see" And Kepler stares at her with a disdain of annoyance. "That you're still not in the mood for jokes...~" "You are not funny." He hisses, with a harmless venom lotus only seems to find it tickle, with a sly grin. "You can't leave me in the dark still. I'm not all seeing!" "Oh shut up, I get it... but it's not like Im in the best of situations right now with... well. Who I am, I guess...?" "Hmm..." Her Palm presses onto her chin with an open hand as she walks along the elevated side of the stone wall that paths from road to hill, As Kepler nearly Matches her height already from the wall... "The son, of a giant and Inhuman?" "That is not what it is called." "And you suppose she is human?" "Well... she's living that's as much as I know." "So son of a linage of powerful wise giants and of a lineage of Near Void tethered or abyss like beings as your mother... Cannot find him's identity?" He slow claps with just enough amusement to send lotus to lightly shove his shoulder from where she stands on the wall. "Oh come on, I know what you're trying to say..." "You managed well knowing exactly who you are... and growing to become who you needed to be..." She looks onto the road... and softly huffs... "You know even back then I still had feelings for you?" "Shut up! I know I didn't make it all that secluded. Besides... i didn't think you'd actually like that since well..." Her hands drop softly, holding her neck... yet her contemplation is interrupted by Kepler picking her up, and sitting her onto his shoulders... "What? You think just because of what you changed into made you less likeable to me? Yeah the rumors of sexuality where true, but i figured out I just, swing both ways. so don't overthink or otherwise you're going to make me want to puke." Her swaying breath slowly intakes as much soul as she needs as if she's stealing his scent before burying that shriveled red face into the fluffiest hair one could wish to dig into... "You're not worried?" Each step kepler takes now is already much longer in stride, from the arguable slower pace he took to watch lotus walk and balance on the wall... he seems to strain... "Whatever past my father might have, it's filled with such intensive... kindness, that i want to strive for. You know why im going out for this specifically... it might be just because i want validation... but... more so, i want my dad back. And whatever that wretched half breed of a brother was made from..." Lotus guide's his expression by pressing her hands onto his cheeks, squishing them softly, and this although putting him off guard, calms him, his intensive stress dissipates, followed by a huff of wishing to relinquish all of that stress off in a huff by lotus. "My dad was wronged." "He's... "Not. Dead..."

[isme-thefirst]

The Oracle

It didn't start with him, it started with a pool. Slowly as the giant trods along the plane his walk halts, painfully, his long slender limbs drag and halt at the pain, only shaking, and resumes into a grasping clutch, falling face first into the solid path of the road... His mind and body only regurgitates a void. pooling... It's nighttime. The pool is gone and the giant, slowly moves back up to his feet... although no longer with a certainty of stride that he used to walk with, instead, a smile creeps his jawline, and his eyes drag, despite their plain white pool ball color, they roll, with disability, and his limbs drag with a messier, inable walk, inable trod... his mind caved out, his memories and his intents, his will and soul clattered and chopped into several bits, pints, pieces, and things. Stones. Artifacts that are not meant for him to ever re-attain. The goddesses have punished him. unjustly.

[isme-thefirst]

Our shared treatment

I despise your words as they bring me nothing but disgusting and boring Emotional turmoil.

And yet you agrandize yourself as the most inhuman?

I lack the understanding of why The human remains So stunned by its vices in belligerent ignorance. As do you giant.

We are friends..

Do not mock me. And do test my patience.

Sorry. Very sorry. But in an honesty you must realizethat as you have your inhumanity, its a living oxymoron!

Elaborate.

Despite whatever you may Shelter or dress yourself as one of a kind, or as different, You cannot deny what you have so deep seededly walked away with. And that was your own vices of desire. Goals.

i am an emperor. Of course i have goals.

And so does humanity, So does the mentality of dozens of things and people, down to monsters no matter how old or young they can be. I am not saying you have nothing towork because youre not original, But i am saying that you aren't alone. I am saying that despite your age, You have some things left to experience. Depending on how it is now, youre experiencing them without Acknowledging them...

And you know so much?

Because i learned from dozens of others.

And that has given you a litter of scars. From a loved on tearing a deep wound to your heart. Your family tearing into your mind. And even now you sometimes malfunction within memory.

And yet... i have love still...

Foolish...

No, I still have my life ahead of me. I still have my time left, Things have subsided but i have memories i know i have joy in, I know that as much as scars will litter me and i will be labeled as one this, tattered and struck i will always have that great love before me, that great gap of happyness i can look forward to, But its in acknowledgedment that i will have this pain, And the grim, horrible truth, is that some people die from it.

...

You do not have to die for it. As you have ran forth a path to wispfully wish your empire and change the world to a greater empathy you wanted, you failed to see what it needs.

What could i possibly need...?

Help.

[isme-thefirst]

AS THE REDDENED SEA DISSAPATES

Slowly from ear to ear the bloodied sand grows dry, and the smell of iron only slowly disappears.

"You found me here." He says, to his old friend, finding him land onto the beach beside him but he doesn't seem proud to be here, or even happy. "I hunted you here." "And yet you want to title me the one with a goal that deserves to be stopped-" "I am Not. A hero..." "I will not face you. Giant." His seat on the ocean waters sinks within the sand... "I will not ignore you. Nephilim."

[isme-thefirst]

RED CANVAS [1]1111111111111111111

I knew from just one look and one scent, it was odd, it was so so strange. Waking up each morning was usual, but the scent lingered, my own and it didn't help that it continuously became clear it was home, the smell of it...

Almost instant did I suddenly snap my fingers in front of his face and he snapped out of his rambling trance, with a shivering fearful glance he pursed his lips to look elsewhere. He knew how tired I was and whatever he was continuously rambling about only brought me such uneasy my own hand started shaking. Maybe I should've hit him.

"When are you going to start?"

Timeless question, but a constant gripe and whine. Art, of any form, when will it be learned or how will it even flourish.

"I already have." "With what? Don't tell me its just your thoughts."

Again, he doubts, with the same pout. his glance slowly ticks and traces back up to mine, Staring at his black and white eyes i shrug, furrowed brows.

"You don't suggest anything better. or even different..." "I always suggest differences!" "Are you sure its not just you coming up with alternatives?"

Frustrated, a scoff hangs in the air, right before he huddles the pillow closer to himself...

"Then lets start in a simple way."

He looks at me with bright eyes, almost excited...

"What's your favorite color"

Almost just as quickly his smile fades, but he entertains the question...

"...Red." "Then how about you Start with that." "...i don't think ill be able to put as much emotion into it as you do to your writing..." "I don't do it willingly."

A puzzled glance meets me for a second before falling back to the cube in his hands.

"meaning, i don't think about how i feel."

He softly sighs... "only make what you feel."

"So make something, and without thinking, pour out what you think. okay?" "... Alright. i think i get it..."

[isme-thefirst]

Sleep333333

I dont feel well, Its not sleep.

I cant sleep. With each night no dreams come by.

Without dreams there is a blank in my memory.

that blank gets smaller and smaller.

i find myself at night not belonging.

i dont know where i am

i suddenly don't feel at home.

i dont feel a family.

i dont feel the comfort.

i feel a stress, a doscomfort. i feel a pain

Mother i love you, But you are of that discomfort.