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His Graven Image

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with a crash in the wind, his limbs detach from the cold stone, falling hard to the damp ground in which the statue towers above. fists dig into soft, grassy dirt. hot tears become a prickling contrast in combat against his dry eyes struck painfully open in a cold breeze.

 

another glance at the graven image above is all he needs for the flow of heavy emotion and sleep to finally set ransom. maybe for a second, george had been able to convince himself the stone figure of another being was him. maybe it slipped into a dream.

 

while he couldnt tell if this obsession really did ensue more damage, he could definitely feel it regardless.

 

he missed dream. but all he ever seemed to end up with was DreamXD: the granter of wishes. all wishes but the one to bring back what he thought he and dream had. it had always stayed a complicated relationship; no matter how deep one’s love dug into the other, there was never enough balance to stay grounded in it.

 

of course dream didnt care enough. he never really did. but george never saw past the cognitive manipulation, he saw the image of a friend he fell in love with. a friend. not an abuser, or the psychopath dream had become.

 

with his heart set ablaze at the new canon death on his short-lived life, other intentions grow deep; writhing and set to life by the anger at this maddening cycle.

 

why does he wake up so much. why does he always wake up.

 

always too much sleep. eye bags heavier than the limbs he can’t seem to lift from his bed. its getting to him. spiraling through portals of haze to lucid befuddlement. he’s just trapped. and theres never enough time to find a way out. because before he knows it, hes awake again.