there are so few of you left, that I am reluctant to even address the issue of reading this

[mynewplace]

However out of respect for you I will. Don't read it. You know how I can get, murderous rage coupled with abyssimal pain. It DOES feel better to get it onto screen!paper. heh And there comes a point in time when you decide to bare your soul and damn the consequences. So just don't read it. 'K?

 

I am my beloved's, but my beloved is no longer mine.

I am a mere possession of that master, to deal with as he sees fit.

I have accepted the fate I have been dealt, though not willingly. I do not go gentle into that night, for it is not good. I go furious, enraged, incredulous at the insult of watching minions remain while I am set aside, firmly, silently, permanently. I scream and vomit and shred my own decency in my grief and anguish as I am crushed to a million bits, only to pull myself to my knees, toss my hair back, and be crushed again. And again once more. I hate this muscle within my chest as it continues to constrict, clutching at a life I find repulsive, pushing with every beat against the walls that rebuild themselves around it, sludge stiffening to mortar. Pain is stronger than blood and seems to squeeze the muscle in agonizing slowness. Would that the collapse were quick, complete. Gasping provides little oxygen until the brain forces the lungs to accept it against their better judgement. Lashes at half-mast not from lust now but an inability to cope, a reluctance to accept the sight of a world which continues - such a fucking cliche’.

A possession I remain, another trinket for a deity who carries them in a multitude of trunks dedicated to eons of experiences garnered when life is lived on the edge to the fullest at 110 miles an hour for years on end. No soul resides within me, for it lies buried under sapphires and chains, mounds of peaches and rope, a blinking neon IHOP sign, reams of paper with concepts incomprehensible to all but two, music that seduces movement in vein and hips and mind, with words that induce painful memory.

What more in the name of love?

If only you believed like I believe

You’re so won’erfully . . . . pretty
Oh you know that I’d do anything for you

but more than any other

I’ll give you everything I’m capable of, and then some

 

Comments

[sapphirescarlet.livejournal.com]

I love you so much. Is it a sign that I'm still sick because I see him in TWIST as much as I see myself?

[nemecic.livejournal.com]

No dearie, because in order for a human being to be like this, he must have gone through the same (or at least a similar) hell. The thing is though, what you do afterwards. Do you subject to others the ordeals you went through and perpetuate this never ending cycle, or not?

Kisses
Nem