I don’t remember coming here inside myself, wait, actually I do remember. I don’t want to remember but I do and I know why. I don’t worry about the strangeness of the thoughts in my head as I run my hand over the black bars of my cage. I belong here and in some ways it is the only place that I belong. My heart still flutters painfully in my chest although I distinctly remember ripping it out a time or two, Or was it ripped from me. I shake my head my shaggy never perfect hair falls around my shoulders in confusion as I remember the crackling pop of ribs as a hand stretches them apart to dig at the soft tissue underneath. It is a wonder I still draw breath. The strange feeling of my lung being pushed aside so that you could get to the most vital part of me. Your hands are warm as they grasp it, somehow I didn’t expect them to be warm. The tugging sensation makes me shiver as its connections are severed and you begin to withdraw. The sliding sensation is all pleasure and pain wrapped up like a Christmas gift, tied with a particularly visceral bow.
I don’t understand why my mind does what it does or comes up with what it sees. Some are brilliant inventions and I know exactly how they work and some are dark and twisted things that kill when you look directly at them. Mad killer I wait until you decide I am your victim, someone who just wanted to know what it is like to kill than I invite you to try it with the complete disclaimer that I asked you to and the estate will take care of your legal fees.
It is always 1:30 in the morning that my mind goes to you. Sleeping or awake it doesn’t seem to matter. It is always 1:30 when for some reason my mind is laid bare and things that shouldn’t be there creep into my head. Things that are wrong, immoral, and painful in so many ways. I know you’ve forgotten that I KNOW you. Above all I know things that make you want to scream because they are as much a part of me they are of you.
I don’t talk to you about it. I don’t think about it until it is 1:30 in the morning and my chest tightens and tears of something unnameable want to slide from my eyes. Every sigh, every moan, every scream rushes back to me pressing down until I feel something inside me die. Something I forgot was barely clinging to life since the last time the sickle slid through it. It writhes in agony and quiets as I wake whether from a dream or from my thoughts. Until it is 1:30 in the morning again and it lives there inside me like a whole other creature whose heart beats in time with mine even though both are bleeding.
I am not the artist. If anyone does know the artist I will be perfectly happy to give them full credit for the photo. It is a piece of phenomenal artwork that seems to express my feeling very well.
Yeah, good will toward men, piece on earth, blah, blah, blah. The accepted opinion of thousands like so many others seems to just give rise to overspending and over indulgence. While this is the happiest time of year for many thousands commit suicide each year on December 24th and 25th. Why would someone do such a thing on such a happy celebrated holiday.
And about a hundred other reasons that would take much too long to post. I wonder how many people watch the world around them and shake their heads no longer wanting to be a part of it, particularly at this time of year. Holidays are when most families fight, most abuse and divorce happen right after the holidays, and many families go without a Christmas at all.
I have a challenge that I have made public on many occasions. Since this is a time of religion and a christian religious holiday I thought that I would make it public or at least public to those who read this. If there are angels out there think about what they would be. One hand raised to heaven and one wing dipped in blood. Angels were gods vengeance for the most part. If they exist on earth why do they not show themselves who beg for them.
Demons for demons on the other hand I offer the same challenge. If they exist on earth then why not show themselves. We have both who wish this public appearance from both camps. Some say the already have. I have asked many times to be shown what is behind the veil. Not for proof but just to see what history, mythology, and religion have gotten right and wrong.
Well suicides go to hell so I am fairly certain I will meet one soon enough. I just wish it were under better circumstances 🙂
The picture is Luis Royo from his fantasy art collection. For some reason I can’t stop staring at them and wondering what it would be like to see one of them.