Saturday, 8 September 2012

Hypnophobia

My eyes opened me to an illusion of body in front of the mirror. Pale, starving muscle pushing under big swollen rooted veins. The skin harder around the core, I scratch, push and try to break into my chest but the nails are useless. I can´t feel my pulse, can´t find my breath. It seems as if I wasn´t awake.

Still too tired to fight it off I enter the bath. I can disappear inside the cold foreign water, it doesn´t matter too much if my head is under the water. My body is dead weight inside my pool of thoughts, another stone not yet carved. For how long have I been in this state i can´t recall.

Leaving the house afterwards, covered in clothes with an aroma of old times. My feet lead me towards the center of the storm of voices and laughs. It feels as if someone had taken me inside this carcass and had invited me to a weird voyeur ball dance. If only I could enjoy the vision of all this female flesh around me.

One of them takes me into a separate room. She undresses and sits next to the candlelight. Her hands reach my sex and the rush of blood inside me isn´t as fast as her mouth drawing all of me inside her hell. She opens her eyes while my pulse increases with the touch of her tongue. Her lips finally rise over my heart, and she comes to me. She lays on me with her perfect lust over me and the next thing I can see is her left breast profusely covered in blood. If only it was mine. I bite her, suck her, brutally kidnap her pain and lust. A second later she is dead, but not more than me.

The next women come but I am still not there, I cannot feel myself. I drink more and more, anxious to feel free. Their blood only makes me hungrier and more cruel. I rip their bodies up, tearing up their thighs, their essence entering me and leaving instantly through the corners of my mouth.

There is not enough wine to fill such a grotesque cavity, a perversion of nature. All my nightmare fantasies, the darkest wishes are fulfilled but I still cannot feel anything. I am still an afterthought after the orgasm of their pain.

The sun finally rises and I am still standing with my back on it. Sometime later I see my eyes opening again, the book open and the pages full of ink. My tears are black and burning wax over my chest, my blood painfully bursting from my chest, my lust fluid running over my legs.

I am finally covered by my own fear, pain and the life leaves me until another day in which I will remember nothing of this. I will morph into something I won´t remember, but surely something depraved and lost just as my soul.

Waiting forever for the morning in which I can finally wake up, open my eyes and see something similar to what I think it may be me.


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