Ruined King

　　I don`t grieve.

　　I don`t weep—

　　I`m not afraid of you,

　　The mass of darkness is shattered.

　　Having defeated the army of death

　　The darkness has a king, wickedly

　　smart, crown ringed with black holes—

　　look too close or too long and

　　enter the precipice before you have time

　　to think about jumping.

　　Like a blackness sweeping, older

　　than something as trivial

　　as the Milky Way or Orion`s

　　taut belt. As real as the cosmos.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

　　As undiscovered as its stars.

　　The king`s pull is undeniable

　　and thirsty, separating my blood

　　from my bones, even though my

　　body lingers on the threshold

　　of the weary Earth.

　　Humans, the just or fierce or crooked,

　　should not dwell here. A grinning void,

　　without body but full of form

　　and vicious, vindictive intent,

　　like a bloody, battered scepter.

　　Snake with heads like thorns

　　and bites that level cities. A dark

　　like this could eclipse eternity,

　　and the hunger could devour

　　the billions alive and already passed.

　　Maybe it already has. The king

　　is turning to face me, and I shudder

　　before I see a limb or feature.

　　Tidal waves shouldn`t have intelligence.

　　Dead kings should have a resting place.

　　The absence of sound falls, shudders like bass.

　　It will scorn me soon, something I cannot

　　face. Let me kick towards the door,

　　rip it off ancient hinges squealing like birth

　　and burst into the burning, blazing light.

　　Light pulls harder than death, leaves skid marks.