The Voice of the Raven

The shrill tones of the Raven’s cry reverberate through my being, shaking the soul within me with both terror and delight. His piercing eyes engorge my heart with chaos as he laughs at the tears I weep. I am enveloped by fear as each cackle from his gleaming breast assails my ears like the shrieks of babes in a lake of fire. I am desperate to be freed from the shackles I wear… the shackles of the Raven. They bind me to him- I his slave, and he my unforgiving master.

He keeps me enclosed in the blackest parts of his soul, haunting me through the echoes of his every cavern. He calls to me with sinister baritones and harsh crows, and I eagerly come. My heart frantically attempts to rip itself from my crawling skin and flee the Raven, yet my flesh claws at the earth, dragging me to his side.

My head pounds as my lungs suffocate in the steady rising of blood spewing from my mangled heart. My stomach churns with bile as the Raven’s vociferous cry produces my name. Down I fall, again, again, again, into the lifeless shroud of his clutches. Like daggers, his talons puncture my flesh, exploding my skin into shredded corpuscles and tattered sinew.

The agony of his touch awakens me. His grotesque voice manufactures the lullaby of death to all that hear, yet I am enlivened by its melody. For I, the masochist, have been enslaved to the sadistic. The chains I wear are no more the Raven’s then my own, for without the Raven I would feel nothing. And to feel nothing is more like death, then death itself.