The Rise of Darkaidia

From the smallest of shores to the largest of lands, I come.

When you see your shadow growing thinner in the mirror,

you surely must know you do not see yourself.

You see a reflection of your old being.

When you once held your beauty in a tea cup

and drank salt pearls for lunch.

When the world once called you its illustrious demon,

revering you with blood chocolates

and empty promises that your reign would some day return.

I am your dream.

You have molded me into a dark confection

and dusted me in all your secret memories,

memories you wish I could forget.

But I live in your throat.

I breathe your sorrows. I feed on your hunger.

I am nothing less than you yourself.

I come to you against your deepest wishes.

Out of the billowing mountains, out of the wind-torn trees, I appear.

I cross blood-stained rivers to meet you.

I over step shattered silhouettes,

seeking refuge in your mind.

Do not ask what I am.

Ask how I am. What I want.

You must see the self you want to create,

the self that deviates from every normal cell in your body.

I am the cell you slept in. I nurtured that sick mind of yours until

the first of its buds blossomed into a web of

spiders and rodents.

Disease crawled from my thoughts as I broke through that shell of yours –

the shell you call your brain.

I am you. I am your creation.

You built me while you dreamt

of dying roses in a cylindrical oven.

The ebony flames pierced into your soul

as you waited for me in the abyss.

Alas, I did not come.

And you cried for years.

Those blood tears filled the Marmara Sea

with dead hopes.

I bathed in that sorrow. Every dense drop punctured my pores

in ecstasy.

And yet, you do not hear my call.

I am your antithesis. I am what you fear most.

Every red morning you awake to my scent.

I live in you. There is no escape from my terror.

One day I shall conquer you.

You will fall to me.

From your shriveled ashes, I shall rise.

Reborn in a spoiled milk bath,

I shall cast your life into an urn.

You will be buried with a bone in your eye.

And I will see no blood seeping onto me.

But I will dance in your grave.

I cast myself out of this world.

I make a new life for you.

Every failure you have ever had has been my triumph.

When you fell out of hell, you tumbled not in heaven.

But in the Styx.

The stench of rotten flesh bubbling in dusk did not quench my thirst.

I thirst for more. Not knowledge, not dew, not you.

An indefinable thirst you cannot provide for me.

There will be a night when you find sleep bothersome.

When sleep lingers on your ceiling. And not in the trenches of your heart.

That is the night you will meet me.

I will not be as expected. I sometimes am.

That night will be your last night.

I will come to you and kill your sleep.

You will not see me. I am invisible at night.

Your closed eyelids will melt to my fingers

when I touch you.

You will see the early birth of defense.

How you respond will only infuriate yourself.

So remain still. Like you are dead.

I will break your window. Steal your sheet.

They will find you strangled in that sheet.

But they will not smell me.

I have no smell.

I make the Great Danes howl until their ears explode.

I bring the waves onto your world.

Yes. I am back.

The bounty of Arcadia could not contain me.

The white sheep became black lions.

The lyres burst at the shrill taste of my voice.

The frescos mystified. The soft pink hues turned violent red.

The blues molded into a fierce hurricane.

Only pieces of you flew into my life.

I am an outcast. I am reborn.

I am Darkaidia. And I am back.

Did you not know I had a name?

Have you questioned me before

when I was closed in your whispers?

I will not return to that secluded life.

I am free. So I shall tour the century,

coasting through the rigid underworld

like a debunked goddess.

I have no interest in your technology.

In your perfected visions of tomorrow.

I only care about the serpents I have unleashed upon you.

Their eyes flicker emerald as they seek you out.

If I do not find you, I assure you they will.

That is their function.

But not mine.

I seek the return of my dark world.

The world that hates me.

I will turn your rivers black in an instant.

I will wild your tame mutts.

Their sharpened cuspids will rip those pretty veins

right out of your lungs

before a scream can even break from your lips

Thickets shall rise behind me as I walk on your earth.

Black skies will forever rain purple hail.

So prepare. But not too much.

I am, after all, not a mortal.

Like the rest of you poor stupid beasts.

When you have the good fortune of lying awake

trapped in your coffins,

I shall trample your remains in my stilettos.

And your power to stop me will rest,

trapped around your wrists.

Slit like shards of broken glass.

Hail Darkaidia. Love Darkaidia. Fear Darkaidia.

Hail my triumph. Love me. Fear me.

-Fotini (Tia) Polihros

Death of Darkaidia, Jan 21, 2016
Installment 2: Death of Darkaidia
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