It is funny that people respond more to the rehashed photos and sayings that I include rather than what I am actually saying. This happens here as well as in reality. What is really funny about the whole thing is my soul is being flayed alive in a parody of hell on earth. Don’t worry I don’t feel it anymore.
Not even the fact that I went from being relatively OK and dealing with it to a full blown psycho in the space of weeks seems to bother anyone. Maybe that’s because I hide well in every realm but here and the world that used to live inside my head. The true difference between a psychopath and a sociopath is that one doesn’t feel the difference between right and wrong and the other knows the difference and just doesn’t care. Which do you think I am becoming?
How long can a person not feel before they become amoral. Pain teaches us what to avoid or in my case what feels the best. It is how I cope with all of the other stuff sometimes through sex or on the edge of a knife. Without pain we don’t avoid the things we normally would. Yes, I am more than a little bit insane but I am good at seeing things for what they really are. I am above all else honest with myself and others to a fault. It gets me into trouble more often than not.
It is not that I don’t know it hurts others it is I just don’t care. I know that on some level I should and I once did but that was in the endless stretch of time that I fondly classify as before. What is really ironic is the same thing that makes me so ruthless as makes me more capable. Faster, harder, more calculating than I ever was even at my best. Most noticeable is that my aim is better and in speaking, writing, hunting, and fighting I am much sharper and everything is clearer now that I am not fettered by emotion or empathy. I sleep less, eat less, drink less, and am generally vibrating with adrenaline all the time. I can make practical logical choices despite the consequences to other people.
I am finding that there are a lot of things that are unneeded and most people do things that are just contrary all the time. Sometimes what I say is mistaken for malice but for the most part it is because I just don’t understand why it bothers them. I should and I am sure I used to but its just not there anymore. Is this better? If you look at it in terms of efficiency it seems so or would if it were not so very wrong. I could very easily become the killer that I always knew was inside me and is probably buried deep inside us all. I introduced myself to that particular darkness a long time ago. So here is the equation which is greater the need to kill or the fact that I used to think it was wrong even if I knew they deserved to die. Its simple math or it should be. Shouldn’t it?
I am watching, standing back as little bits of my soul are flayed and have long since given up praying for it to stop. I can hear the bits that once made me who I am shrieking in pain as they are torn, shredded and tortured until there is nothing left and I have to admit its beautiful, much like pain is, or the razors edge is.
I know the damage I do to myself is viewed as wrong but I don’t care
I know that I am just wrong and have gone so far from OK that even I can see it but I can’t seem to bring myself to care
I know that what I am thinking probably enough to get me locked up or worse but it doesn’t bother me anymore
It probably should
I know that I am searching for something but I don’t know what or what will happen when I find it
I know I crossed a line somewhere and I did it on purpose and I don’t care that I did
I know after they tried to help I became different, something new and they didn’t care
They played in my head once too often, their own private sandbox, prodding because I am an unusual case, tearing things up with their clumsy fumbling. They thought they were helping, making me face something without realizing that I already had. Never thinking that it would turn me into something dark, desperate, and hungry. It isn’t facing something that’s the issue I already knew what was down there. They just let it out. I would say god help me but god help them is more appropriate.
I don’t own Lucifer nor would I really ever want to… Angel, Morning Star, Prince of Darkness and all.
Lucifer sat staring out over the windswept rock. It was a time of peace for him even after he’d fallen. Breaking dawn had always been his favorite time of day and the rocky Irish coast his favorite place to be. There was something about the spectacular beautiful display of dawn over the staggering gray of the cliffs and the deadly swirling darkness below. This day he arrived here just before dawn a heavy mist clung to the rocky cliff hiding the sharp rocks and swirling water below. He waited peacefully for the dawn chorus to begin. As the first hint of sun hit the horizon he took a breath and began to sing.
“While the moon her watch is keeping,
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O’er thy spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night “
He smiled adopting an Irish lilt to his voice as he sang watching the gray start to seep from the sky.
“Though I roam a minstrel lonely
All through the night
My true harp shall praise sing only
All through the night
Love’s young dream, alas, is over
Yet my strains of love shall hover
Near the presence of my lover
All through the night”
He closed his eyes enjoying the feeling of the soft breeze and sweet sound of the ocean below, rocking gently in an unheard rhythm.
The girl stared at him. He was the most stunning thing she’d ever seen. Soft black hair hung down just past his shoulders and was tied back with a black ribbon. He seemed to move with the song he sang his voice sending chills through her with its soft beauty. She watched his back expand as his chest rose when he began the next verse. Muscles rippled even through the linen shirt he wore.
“Hark, a solemn bell is ringing
Clear through the night
Thou, my love, art heavenward winging
Home through the night
Earthly dust from off thee shaken
Soul immortal shalt thou awaken
With thy last dim journey taken
Home through the night”
She hadn’t realized that she’d moved forward as he sang until she realized she was standing at the edge of the cliff beside where he was sitting. She reached out to touch his cheek to brush away the tear she saw there. Her hand hovered beside his face the strands of black hair that had escaped its tie sliding over it.
“You’re song is beautiful don’t stop singing,” she said quietly as he ended the last note. A soft peaceful smile played against his face.
“There is no more to sing,” She couldn’t help but think that his speaking voice shined as much as his singing voice. Her heart broke at its sound. His eyes still closed he turned toward her voice as she spoke. She wondered if his eyes were as beautiful as the rest of him. She was inexplicably drawn to him. She closed her eyes for a moment attempting to remember how she got there. Why she left her warm home before dawn because of the sound of his voice? She shook her head confused for a moment. He reached out and ran his thumb along her delicate cheek sighing softly as he did. A soft frown flickered over his features as he did the unthinkable. He opened his eyes and she screamed stumbling backward her foot catching on the edge of the cliff.
Lucifer drew in a breath as the catalog of her sins flooded his mind. She was ruined by the shepherd’s kisses and chose to lay with him before she’d been married. She’d done this willingly and over again. A sad smile crossed his lips as he watched the beautiful young girl fall still staring into the endless obsidian pool of his eyes. Only when she disappeared into the mist and the violent waves and rocks below did he close them. For a moment he’d forgotten it had been so long since he sang. He’d forgotten that only sinners could hear him sing and only sinners and demons would be drawn to the sound of his voice.
Tears slipped down his cheeks he’d only wanted a moment’s peace before the fight started. He’d only wanted to relax for just a moment after years in the cage. He sighed again stretching out his black wings. The shining feathers damp with the mist glittered. Strong muscles flexed as he prepared to take flight. The darkness of his position settled around him like a cloak as he took wing
It has been a long time since I ran and came back. I thought I was done running and that the part of me that longs for solitude and anonymity was barricaded off along with the part of me that feels.
It has been a long time since I have felt myself breaking, splintering into more pieces than I knew were possible. It is not just here it is my home that I want to be away from. I said that would never happen again. Unfortunately I let someone in there that broke me further and despite repeated attempts to distance him from me without involving law enforcement have proved futile. He just doesn’t understand that what he is doing is hurting me or at least I hope he doesn’t understand.
If he does it just means he is a selfish leech who only wants to continue to live off of me like he has since I broke up with him several years ago. It is partially my fault because I felt bad for him and didn’t want him to be homeless but all I want now is to have him gone and my house back.
I never thought being nice could hurt me so bad for so long. It is very true no good deed goes unpunished and even though I have begged him to leave and stop leeching off of me it is going to take law enforcement to get him out.
How did I get myself into a situation where I want to run from my own home?
He knows it hurts, he knows what his refusal to leave does to me, how it breaks me a little bit further and still he chooses to torture me instead of simply leaving.
I am redlining this for a reason. To all of my friends and family that may or may not be reading if you don’t like really strange and you don’t want to know things about me that are otherwise kept quiet. Come to think of it they should be kept quiet but I am going to put them here anyway. For anyone who reads this I have a question – is this too strange. Also I am on pretty much on a large amount of drugs that are supposed to make me sleep… Its quarter to four am here. Lot of good the sleep medication. All it did is make me thing about this and of course after the thought the crazy leaks out onto the page – well in this case the website.
Ok time for random strangeness.
I am a sexual creature by nature. I enjoy a vast variety of ways to play. Truth is despite my good catholic upbringing I love sex. Not just orgasm or the act itself but the sheer pleasure of being that close to someone. I will get there in a bit. First because this is rather odd – I enjoy watching gay men have sex specifically cumming and cumming hard. I don’t enjoy actually watching it. The part that I enjoy is hearing it. I am really not sure why. But it turns me on to no end which in the situation I am in is a very very bad thing. Not really bad just no viable release. Remember earlier when I said I love sex I meant to say I love sex with another person or a bunch of people. I love the type of sex where you have to count the feet and divide by two to see how many are participating. So I remain on edge and more than a little horny.
There is a bond that forms during sex. It isn’t permanent and may or may not exist after the act is completed. If that bond is there then good for you. If not move on, one night stands are not necessarily a bad thing and I have found myself saying goodbye right afterwards because I don’t want to see them in the morning… is this bad of me. Of course not I am a healthy adult with healthy desires or at least I hope they are.
As for me. I am searching for the one person who is willing to open their chest up for me and let me crawl in so that I never doubt that I am treasured. Not just loved but treasured. I want to lean up against his heart and feel it beating against my back while I count his ribs or the spots on his lungs to pass the time. I want to feel every bit of air stolen from me so that he can breath. I want to trace the lines of blood and bone with my fingers dipping it to it and hearing him gasp. I would be content in my cage made from flesh, bone, and muscle. Waiting. I want to be next to his heart so that I can run my hand along its ruby surface. Memorizing it.
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 am not sure if everyone is like this or if it is only me but I don’t deal with frustration very well. Allow me to rephrase – I don’t deal with frustration at all, waiting makes me feel as if I am being driven slowly insane by the most diabolical of demons. Most of the tears that I have shed have not been over sadness, joy, or even anger they have been because of frustration.
Like right now my hands twitch with it. It flows through me dancing down my spine and skipping as if it is having fun. It plays with me sending shock waves skipping across my ribs making my heart pound. I have been pacing my cage looking out across the sands watching them build the walls that they think I need. I am aware that my skin doesn’t seem to want to stay on. It slithers and crawls over muscle, bone, and sinew looking for a way to slide off and live on its own.
It pushes aside the darkness which I have become accustom to. Sending it back inside my duplicitous brain. I wonder vaguely if the architects are finished with their twisted spires and rooms that people never come out of. They don’t seem to be building anymore and I wonder if it is safe to go back the the dark pit I call my home. I try the cage door and find it locked. Looking out across the black sand landscape I try to see the one whom I once loved and the one whom I have lost. I wonder if he still lives despite the torture he has endured. There is no way for me to tell.
What I wouldn’t give to have that heart beat against my hand full of life and love. Somehow I think the same slithering things that got me. Parasites that stretch the fabric of reality in their grotesque bodies unnatural for the real world. I wonder vaguely if they will ever break through using my body as a transport device. They skitter along my bones and muscles as if they are restless and waiting to get out. Each day they take more from me and I wonder when they will envelope me causing my personality to die. They have already altered it beyond recognition. I watch the darkness move underneath my skin waiting for me to touch another and infect them so that they can escape the prison I keep them in.
I keep them close to my heart because I have long since started to view them as my darkness but I know they bite, scratch, and claw to infect another. When I touch someone they envelope him corrupting what he feels, who he loves, and any happiness he could bring. It always happens this way, I think this is why I stay away from people. I don’t want to see the my darkness penetrate them like an obscene lover. It fills them up and burrows its way into any cracks so that the person feels the fullness of their presence. Some people cum when they feel it others turn away, still others scream while it pushes too hard against their walls expanding them to the point of a perfect pain. The darkness is good at that. Good at making you feel all those feelings that are considered unnatural, taboo, but oh so good.
I know that love is hate twisted around to suit a purpose. If one thing my current circumstance has taught me it is that it is better to die fast and young than it is to live. Now I know why so many people get into prostitution and drugs. Right now I think I would do just about anything to escape.
Two of the best escapes in the world rough sex and drugs. I think I will stick to the rough sex and in some ways would make a the perfect concubine. Not so much into the whole drug experience. Can’t really deal with anything that will make me lose my grip on reality any further. It is already slipping too far beyond my grasp. I know what things should be and I know what I should do I just can’t bring myself to do it.
It is funny that I find killing myself easier than living a relatively simple life. The voices are stronger than they ever have been in the past. They whisper to me telling me what I should do and what things should be like. I am sure I could step outside and find what they are asking for. Only the knowledge that if I start doing what they tell me to do I will be lost. Since when they start realizing I am paying attention to them they will get louder and never stop talking, commanding obedience
I will trap myself inside buried deep within and withdrawn from the rest of the world. I’ve done it before and the people around me looked into my eyes and saw nothing there. I can function for a long time like that. My body is on autopilot. I will do what ever I am told. I am almost at the point that I will do anything to not feel anymore even if it means listening to the voices and letting them be in control for a while. It just scares people when they look at me and realize that at that moment they are staring at something without a soul.
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.
As I curl in my living prison watching the leaves that shielded me all day I realize that it is happening again. The reason why I live my life in this desolate land of twisted images and all things sharp and dangerous. Sometimes I am ok and can peak out into the world, the real world. It usually isn’t long before the mask slams down over my features forcing a smile that never quite reaches my eyes. My frayed and fractured world is safe behind the walls inside me.
Most of the time I can function in both worlds, the one of pain and pleasure, and the real one with the people in it. Then there are times that I can’t. I can feel it happening like something blooming deep inside my chest. I can feel the darkness spread seeping through the organs and bone more efficient than the spread of the most aggressive cancer and the darkness is twice as deadly.
This is not new. This is not different. This does not change. I can only hide from it for so long before I start to slip. This is just the beginning. I know it will get worse, I know how bad it will hurt, and I know what my body will scream for. I always hope it won’t come back, always hope that it is gone for good, and I can hide in my world letting the architects of this existence build their strange constructs.
People say that it will pass, and that I shouldn’t think about it. These phrases along with cheer up make me wonder what the person saying it looks like without skin or better yet choking on their own tongue.
The question that is always asked is “Are you homicidal or Suicidal?” I have always wondered what would happen if I grinned at the person asking and answered with the truth “Both.” Something in my eyes always keeps them from asking – it also keeps the people close to me from pushing me too far for fear of me snapping which one day will happen.