Right under your eyes
The cinders burn quitely behind all walls behind all human eyes always heard at the back of your ears it’s like you could even touch it the torn papers that are you memories act as the cinder for this little flame all things known become far away out of reach. It is as though you stand at the tops of all mountains and submerged under the deepest seas at the same time in the universe. When is time. You forgot. Where is life. you are dazed. The crackling of the fire is quitely getting louder your asleep but the fire is eternally there is this hell the real one not of the horned devils that do evil but the one where true eternity lies. In eternity everything is mushed into one you fear that you need to be separate you need to be you not anything else. You need it you have to have a face a body a life and a death without any of those what lies in this black sea. You look at your face but it starts to lack its shape it’s colour it’s name what name what age it’s all melting together now oh toh this horrible flame undesirable hell why do this why exist why let the world be imperfect. The white dotted black sea turned into grey ash by the colourless flame true god by the name of dementia.
Consumed but not whole, possessed but still in my own mind, controlled but not like a puppet, the song is the one behind it all the song that is compelling to compose and to create brethren for itself the song that causes clouds to melt into mountains. the song with the ability to turn the sun into the sky. The world shrinks because of the music flames turn into sparks oceans into mere droplets everything feels and becomes so reachable. Let us drown let us drown in this magic that leads to a rot. This dark art which is magic makes a rot that differs a rot that teaches a rot that withers the unimaginable. Not even may the gods escape this consumption this eating process that leads them to be alive but not themselves anymore. This melodic evil spread by a tree with infinite branches, as the branches dangle over every tall mountain and deep sea from them the dark song drips like honey into the core. The core where a king lies the creator of the music the music box in hand finally it reached the box. he box in hand finally it reaches it’s own cycle creation and now rest as the song slowly flows in to the box closing itself shut and leading all the impossibilities here to stay. Icy it’s cold the king is all alone with the crystal frost that appeared from his loneliness and the lack of life in his eyes, his skin moldy turning rubbery and thick his teeth dangled, the king refused to let the song go and that would be the cause of change, change that would lead to suffering, suffering that would to lead to rage and rage that lead to breaking open the box and playing the same ungodly melody, as the king plays it the world is thrown into a state unimaginable he has fun in his new world while the music box was never even in his hand. He grasps it tight the air around, the box nowhere to be seen but only in his mind let that magical tune play for he is the consumed king.
Լևոն Վարդանյան 