White Fury

A blinding white fury, terrible in its beauty.
A blanket of innocence laid over a sinful world. Absorbing its darkness. Drinking in its evil.
Melting into the nothingness, the ashes of the dust of which we are composed.
A rotting, stinking, ephemeral flesh that sags into bones too long for this world.
To crumble beneath our fingertips and very breath that we exhale in moments of passion and fits of ecstasy.
The searing snow that falls in tandem with our morals.
Etched into the hot banks of forgetfulness and writhing into the streams of folly.
Discarded like so much used up youth disdained for the moment it brings.
A crisp quiet descending at last beyond a flesh torn asunder from its long fall into remorse.
Healing at the edge of the flurry.
Feathering away our fears.
A hushed gasp covers the sound of a slowing pulse.

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