Monday, 21 September 2009

The death your dreams sculpted

I climb out of the window, leaving the warmth wash the stains under my corpse. My head creeps out of the wall, hands extended on the horizon, arms unfolded in grotesque manoeuvre. From there you can only see the black sky looking back at you, receiving the disdain and detached glance on your ridiculous face.

My legs are completely broken from the bottom to the waist, the tendons out of their joints so as to suffocate their desire to remain stagnated in the swamp under the bed of routines. The skin as white as the orbs around the naked eyes, my pupils as black as the liquid that used to make the heart pump. The tongue is hidden somewhere under the cellar of solitude, doomed to never vibrate in harmony with the corrupted vices inside.

I move backwards, the blackness inside me revolving, agitating on my head, leaving the numbness in my legs fold and crawl in waves as the neck grows and heads onwards on the illusion of an inverted prison escape.

Finally, the muddy soil sucks my feet in, reinventing new gravity laws for me again. It is amusing to see the organs shift and turn, relocating my soul from the Hell where it laid, to the Heaven where it will bleed until the first lights will smother the power now rising in my veins. It used to be a painful process to rediscover the sources of your nature once and again. At first, the gluttony of absorbing the heat of the magnetic feeding over a victims sanguine roots, climbing my orgasm as I claimed the whole victory over their fatal decaying sexes. Their tongues twisted around the fist of lust, grabbing their own dagger into a final goodbye to all that is futile and banal.

After a while, ripe and blossomed like a crimson young heart I digged my vanities in the dark voids of eternity and slept my nights out of the sounds of a deceiving future. The grains of sand managed the way through the pores of my softened skin, opening my eyes from inside to never let them see the mortal death beyond the realms of doom. A whole monument of perversion was being sculpted underground, a monster trying to help itself out of the madness of the invulnerability to the victory of the rotten idol of peace and love.

Reborn, reshaped, broken and drawn back and forth the soul always found a way to disguise itself as a walking figure again. To be seen, to be spoken about, to be admired and feared were now the only drama I hadn't taken pleasure in killing my way in. The nightmare in your sleep, the pain in your chest when you see no way forth, the solitude in the street while you are surrounded by superficial mouths, the glass of absynthe in the lonely balcony beyond your suicide bed... Your tears make me grow, stronger and certain that your call will be answered soon.

Now you look at me and you know I am even better than what you expected. Your embrace is obscene in its absolute purity. You know you want me to do this, you can't wait to know how your body will lose its identity in me, as I inflict the unclosing wounds of truth and death in you. I will enter you slowly, letting you feel the pleasure of your hunted life bouncing its way wild out of your cells, dancing with my scorching lusting cut between your thighs. You rise and fall on me, breaking your way out of yourself, my teeth on your breast, unmasking a heart filled with the beauty of the love I will never have. I eat you all, as your loves sucks me in...back to the ground, back to another restless sleep.

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