Lord Byron


I am the godly one. Each night I consume liquid fire that rages inside my brain, echoing: the godly one, the godly one. Diurnal boundaries, who and what I am, all the hoops I jump through, dissolve, dissolve… When, finally, I sleep, I dream of the eagle with eyes of liquid fire who comes to consume me. Next day I stumble against objects, air, a gnawing at my centre. Chastened, I drink water, quench the last of the fire. As night settles, I begin to feel level, whole, and ask: What have I proved? The answer comes back: That I am a god, unkillable. My veins drink godliness again; the eagle begins its vigil.

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