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~~Wallace Witasick~~ · (02-08-2013)

Please remember...

I come in peace.

Scars hold together the world of my dreams. In my dreams, I'm often revered as a token of savior by those who would wish me into their free falling existence. In my dreams, I'm one who is not quite understood but only partially feared. I'm the anomaly ~ I am the agenda that would horrify those beside me had they opened their eyes in time to see.

Please remember that I, I.... I come in peace.

I'm here,

for you.

=======================================================

The past,

Tis a beauty thing....

I did not stutter. The past is a beauty thing. No, not beautiful; pay attention when I'm speaking of your future.

I come from a place you've yet to embody. All of you, but most notably, ONE.

I dwell in a terrain you've yet to feel or embrace, but rest assured a place from which you'd race. Feel that heat beat?

HEAT BEAT ~ No heart, none what so ever. Only HEAT? You're correct in that assessment my comrade of the solar day.

Taste my heat, swallow my hate, know my blade and disclose to me your every waking secret.

As,

You,

Sleep.

Now dream hard, and dream deep. Don't cheat ~ don't drop your feet, to that ground, far beneath your meat.

You're meat.

You--->are--->meat

And would you muster the courage to dream? Could you tear asunder a scream from which one solitary term of reason may beam?

I thought you think not ~ I think you ought not dare to try for you may cry a thousand sighs before you.............

DIE

Not by the hand of a Nazi. Not by the hand of a decapitation happy, Mad Son. A circle's interloping venom makes way only for one ~ purity personified by pestilence; a fraction of a greater God. A greater good by any other definition than that which hath been depicted.

But by the hand of God herself :~: a God you mere mortals know not exists and would tremble in your wish that fear were the effect coursing through your very veins. A wish I cannot grant you release from, even in ultimate demise.

Stare at me and know your will is deep within my heart. Glaze over your eyes with the lid of God and know she has sent you

an angel

There is but one who knows none, and his name?

HIS NAME?

He who bears the false title of MacAlister ~ a tribute or mockery unbeknownst to some but clarity's Son to me ~ behold Mac Alasdair.

Counterfeit Mac Alasdair, or may they call you by another callow assertion; son of Alasdair? Ahh but that would to most be absent of sense and overflowed by simple confusion, yes?

Yes.

For the Son of Alasdair need not know a thing about my travels to his future's past,

as I would pledge my very existence ~ past, present and future ~ on his lack of sentience to the threat of my blatant murder of but one family name.

'~MacDonnell~'

For my aim has yet to fall upon the predicted path or even the hoped truth others may seek to understand, but you yourself are the ultimate deceiver of your own mind's eye with the belief that MacDonnell can be your deathly savior.

Lost? Aren't we all,

but me, of course, I AM ALL

I am past

I am present

I am future

and I am ********

If only your putrid and partially constructed 'time' could allow for that 4th understanding to exist, you may know my only weakness lies within. Instead, you're left gasping for air, grasping in despair, clasping your fair minded ritualistic humanified beliefs to which none of our reality can bend to.

Limited soul, I beg of you, reach out your hand and conquer this limitation you unknowingly seek. To speak ill of the one who hath no name? To speak of negative illumine bestowed unto a name you've killed yourself with the instant you allowed yourself to believe its existence?

Ah, Son of Alasdair, if it were only as simple as you being the only vessel to be possessed by this curse. I stand on the same side of this fallacious battle as another soul who is as properly GUIDED as your own past beliefs. The Madison Clan ~ if real ~ would sure enough plunge their own defiled heads into that very contraption that a being of my time and elegance can only see through for all of its faults and fractures.

I am the lead in a trio of damnation sent to your Earth from a place so far beyond anything abominable that you'd crash to your knees in prayer for anything resembling any Hell that a human could paint for you. My right hand and left hand may be all varieties of inferiority compiled into what you'd commonly refer to as dead and useless, but at least they know their purpose, by my side as I stand above and depict a perfect picture of a world cleansed of you. At least Nathaniel and Johnathan know their place at the end of

's tongue as I plunge deep into your hopes a glimmering star of sanctity.

Oh Son of Alasdair, I am your every savior.

On this plane and the next,

In this vain may I bedeck your plank as my slaves praise King Karver for all of his every last inch of any unworth his worldless embodiment would tear.

I will call you but one time by Griffin MacAlister and that time has now passed us by, never to be revisited. Now, we rest upon the success of an equivalent to my birthing in a time of Ulster's undoing as one thousand slices of my blade restructure your counterfeit ways. The MacDonnells' dismemberment would have no effect on a false prophet who has stolen his title from the minds of the meek simpletons but may you rest assured my restructuring of your own ******** will be the key in forcing upon you a fate worse than any death by decapitation.

Oh, Son of Death, may I bestow upon you, what any common Samaritan would recognize as hope? Your birth never happened in my realm, and now, I'm taking all of you to it.

Watch me suffer as I, your angel, beckon hope and wish for life above all else while a blade like no form of metal your world has seen, pierces your path's past and future. Watch me cringe as I hold back the regurgitation that is your very world, as your present is deconstructed for the will of a God who would instill my appetite with a virgin's meshed flesh.

Quite simply,

I am your angel,

I'm here for you,

If you'll have me,

But know,

Know I come from a place that's beyond your understanding.

Know that I come for a piece of what you mortals would call destiny, and know I'm only a fourth of the affected cause.

May what you know of as an apocalypse be your guiding stone, and may blessed be, your demise by my slave hands ~ Madison and Idenhaus.

Don't you wish? Don't you dream? Don't you cling to the desire?

Weren't you hoping you could have chosen your own destiny?

.DENIED.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Accept me, Angel, as I am your every fiber of star and being. Deny me the slain pulp.
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