Somehow, even if Ares is the kind of creature that could reduce cities colored with the prettiest rays of sunshine to grey dust, he manages to breath; almost silently, like he is ashamed or hiding from anyone or anything who also has a beating heart.
When you are who children scream of fear during the night while having a nightmare, what men whisper to their enemies hoping they will dig their own graves and what lovers hope they never have to face, it's hard to admit doing silly things like filling your lungs with air, things everyone does. He knows he's not like everyone.
In the back of his mind, unconsciously, he wonders if one of these days when he exhales the air that his father controls he will, within air itself, let go of everything he is — or what he'd like to be. He's a god, a god who uses spears as toothpicks and blood as body lotion, a god who kills to get rid of boredoom, A GOD WHO LOCKS UP EVERY EMOTION THAT DOES NOT ENVOLVE THE CATASTROPHIC BEAUTY OF WAR.
He wants books to tell every story about what real monsters have done to him, how every word he had ever said still burns his tongue and chokes his throat stronger than any warrior ever will. Instead, all he has is word after word telling tales of the times he had been spit on and called a coward, the times a heroe's fist had outrun his power.
He wonders if the mortals and immortals and who ever is in between he had fought with would have thought the same of the mighty Ares if they knew he was just like them. It's a mistery how a creature who's perceived as the demon who brought war in his shoulders the moment he came out of his mother's womb, like every fiber of his body was stolen from another warrior the moment he took their life, still has every living (or a dead, as a matter of fact) soul thinking that it is unpleasant when he loses his mind — because he is a monster, the one who must be brought down.
Is it too painful to know he is not the impersonation of evil
but just one of the unlucky ones?
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✓ UNLUCKY // mythology // ares
PoetryIn the back of his mind, unconsciously, he wonders if one of these days when he exhales the air that his father controls he will, within air itself, let go of everything he is - or what he'd like to be. (C) ITMEANSWAR // art on the cover: "Giuditta...