vineri, 11 noiembrie 2011
duminică, 6 noiembrie 2011
Luxuria/ Lust
I sit here in my room, and I stare at nothing. I can feel the cold, for it is quite cold in here, and yet I have learned to ignore it...
I can only ever see your perfect porcelain skin, and deep red hair... Your eyes are closed, but I can remember they are an odd grey-green; I feel your breath on the back of my neck, your hands creeping towards my shoulders, and your husky voice whispering something half arousing and half ludicrous in my ear... And wait, I forgot, we even have a theme song: Bad things, like the ones I am thinking of doing to you when I see you...
Is it just me, or is it getting hotter in here? I see a musketeer like face, with a moustache, dark hair and eyes, and a slightly ironic smile; I thought you were dead, my... pretty little friend. Apparently devils can't die... Suddenly, a hand is on my neck, blocking my air supply, but I find that I don't mind it terribly, since his talented tongue is following on the few inches still visible of my neck, a pattern only he knows... I think I am going to faint, but I can't tell if it's because I haven't had a good breath in God knows how long, or because of Pretty's tongue and hands...
I open my eyes again, and find myself on the flour... When the Hell did I get down here? I didn't drink anything, I think. And then, I see Him, all smiles and impossibly green eyes. He whispers gently into my ear something which I don't understand, probably because I am too busy ripping his shirt open. What surprises me is his good natured laugh, and his hands lifting me up and...
I wake up, and find myself in my cold dreary room; I must've fallen asleep whilst waiting for the potatoes to cook. Running to the kitchen, I see they are almost done. Whilst eating dinner, I think about Him... I want to possess him, make Him mine, slaughter anyone who is looking at him in even a remotely sexual manner...
Dear me, what am I thinking?! I am not a monster, and I don't want to sleep with Pretty... He is nothing to me now... Or is he...?!
I can only ever see your perfect porcelain skin, and deep red hair... Your eyes are closed, but I can remember they are an odd grey-green; I feel your breath on the back of my neck, your hands creeping towards my shoulders, and your husky voice whispering something half arousing and half ludicrous in my ear... And wait, I forgot, we even have a theme song: Bad things, like the ones I am thinking of doing to you when I see you...
Is it just me, or is it getting hotter in here? I see a musketeer like face, with a moustache, dark hair and eyes, and a slightly ironic smile; I thought you were dead, my... pretty little friend. Apparently devils can't die... Suddenly, a hand is on my neck, blocking my air supply, but I find that I don't mind it terribly, since his talented tongue is following on the few inches still visible of my neck, a pattern only he knows... I think I am going to faint, but I can't tell if it's because I haven't had a good breath in God knows how long, or because of Pretty's tongue and hands...
I open my eyes again, and find myself on the flour... When the Hell did I get down here? I didn't drink anything, I think. And then, I see Him, all smiles and impossibly green eyes. He whispers gently into my ear something which I don't understand, probably because I am too busy ripping his shirt open. What surprises me is his good natured laugh, and his hands lifting me up and...
I wake up, and find myself in my cold dreary room; I must've fallen asleep whilst waiting for the potatoes to cook. Running to the kitchen, I see they are almost done. Whilst eating dinner, I think about Him... I want to possess him, make Him mine, slaughter anyone who is looking at him in even a remotely sexual manner...
Dear me, what am I thinking?! I am not a monster, and I don't want to sleep with Pretty... He is nothing to me now... Or is he...?!
joi, 3 noiembrie 2011
Ashes...
This is not a love letter, and this is not a hate letter; this is reality...
You know, my relationship with them is good, actually... But this is the reality between us... It's their fault that I haven't lived.
This is my life, Love....
For what have I lived? What have I done? What did I bring to life? Nothing... At an age when love brings you to new heights, or kills you, I ran away from love...
What have I done? Nothing... I am the person who has always run away from something or someone; what, or who was I looking for?
I face the story of my life, and I am frightened. Where didn't I go? Like the ghost ship, I've always traveled, driven away by an undying torment, and I passed through everything, yet I remained untouched, and I was not stopped. I am a wraith. I exist for other people, but not for myself, and life doesn't exist for me either. I pass through it like a ghost. The obstacle that makes one exist, giving strength and desire, is unknown to me...
I pass through life like air. I am abstract, I have no meaning... I pass through this concrete world like driven by a curse, without essence, without break. I wasn't gifted with repose and strugle...
My father gave me my mind and personality, and cursed me forever to be a black sheep, in a family of black sheep, that is twisted and gloomy, and not unlike the Black family. His maternal grandmother gave me my hair and eyes, and I thank every God that is listening that she didn't give me more... My mother threw in me the untamed spirit of her Albanian ancestors, and gave me some of the beauty and the warmth that she has; and they are those of a Greek statue. But neither of them gave me a soul. The moody black sheep and the untamed Albanian loved each other, but I am not the fruit of their love, I am the curse that has stemmed from two cursed lineages...
I run, this is my life; I run of nothing and I run after nothing. And yet, I still do it. I crawl on this earth, without taking root. I slither. Life doesn't accept me, I can't cling to it.
Am I able to pass this curse unto you? Can I utter the word "love" in your presence? No, I can't. I, the person without a soul, without substance, don't have the right to say it. The flame of love belonged to my parents; to me they've left its ashes, and the winds that forever carry them...
Forgive me...
luni, 31 octombrie 2011
miercuri, 26 octombrie 2011
One day closer to Samhain
Something to listen in the morning, when drinking coffee, and thinking about ourselves...
marți, 25 octombrie 2011
duminică, 23 octombrie 2011
I'm not Jesus, why would I forgive...
Ira Superbia...
My mind is filled with rage and pride; I know this doesn't excuse me, but at least it explains me...
I tried to be the best human being I could; I tried to be nice, sociable, I tried to fool those around me about what I really thought about them and the world in general. But the mask is cracking, beloved minions, and it has been cracking for quite some time...
I don't need anything... It's taken me a few years to understand and accept this, but now, that I'm behind it, my reluctance to accept this seems quite silly. I don't need clothes, or books, or ideas, or music, or even You... Well, I might miss you more than I miss the rest, but still... I have become self-sufficient...
I have craved this for years, and now, when I have it, the moment is surprisingly anticlimatic.
I vowed to myself never to develop an obsession with anything or anyone, and I've already broken that vow twice, once with dear old McPretty, and then with You. I will not break it ever again. The third time, I will either have just found the love of my life, or the end of my life on Earth.
I was once told that it is best to forgive and forget, and I always say that I either forgive, but not forget, or vice-versa... The truth is, minions, I do neither of those...
I'm not Jesus, why would I forgive...?! And I have a too good memory to forget...
I will now scuttle back in the shadows, where I belong...
My mind is filled with rage and pride; I know this doesn't excuse me, but at least it explains me...
I tried to be the best human being I could; I tried to be nice, sociable, I tried to fool those around me about what I really thought about them and the world in general. But the mask is cracking, beloved minions, and it has been cracking for quite some time...
I don't need anything... It's taken me a few years to understand and accept this, but now, that I'm behind it, my reluctance to accept this seems quite silly. I don't need clothes, or books, or ideas, or music, or even You... Well, I might miss you more than I miss the rest, but still... I have become self-sufficient...
I have craved this for years, and now, when I have it, the moment is surprisingly anticlimatic.
I vowed to myself never to develop an obsession with anything or anyone, and I've already broken that vow twice, once with dear old McPretty, and then with You. I will not break it ever again. The third time, I will either have just found the love of my life, or the end of my life on Earth.
I was once told that it is best to forgive and forget, and I always say that I either forgive, but not forget, or vice-versa... The truth is, minions, I do neither of those...
I'm not Jesus, why would I forgive...?! And I have a too good memory to forget...
I will now scuttle back in the shadows, where I belong...
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