Paradise for demons.

“It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back so shake him off.”

I have suffered. I swallowed the poison and held myself like a saint. I have wept for the dawn did not break. But I like to keep myself strong despite my blind foolishness. I still love despite all of my hate. I thought I’d buckle under the weight of all my unreciprocated love but instead I’ve carried it with a martyred soul. And for my suffering God has repaid me with strength of character, certainty and a wise heart.  

This week has been paradise for the demons in me. I was damned either way. I found a darkness in me that needed to be unbound. I untied the ropes and let it consume me.
"These violent delights have violent ends"
I ended it violently. Abruptly, I murder the love I had for you. I would have cut out my own heart to have stopped loving you but instead I saw a beast in you. Something hateful and cruel. I could see no way but to cut you out.
"Hell is empty and all the devils are here."

Fever.

I can’t be certain of what happened but I’m pretty sure it went like this:

He changed his mind. It feels like a sudden fever that spreads from your head into the rest of your body making you ache with the sickness of fear. I felt in my bones, my lungs and my heart. It shivered through my veins, moving like poison. He has changed his mind about me. It’s hard to hear the reasons when all you can think is; I wasn’t perfect enough. I contain my despair and force my howl into the dark. I still love you. How can I ever love myself if he doesn’t love me?

Love is only beautiful when it has been blemished by sadness. Always, you feel most alive when you're ready to die. 

Pain makes reality come into sharp focus. The only time I’ve ever felt so alive was when I felt like dying. 

I’m overthrown with self-hatred. I open the plastic bag he left outside of my door. My favourite shirt smells of him. I lunge forward and vomit in my paper bin. My hands shake as I grasp the metal edge of the bin. A sharp ache hits my chest and I want to die.

I want

 I want

I want

Help.

 No. I shake my head and refuse myself that privilege. I lost that when I decided I liked no-one. I won’t let anyone else carry my burden.

I have a choice.

Carry myself or kill myself. If I stop caring I’ll survive. I’ll be like a ghost. If I die, I’ll definitely stop caring. I will stop existing one way or another.

I notice the pain killers on the dresser.

This was the moment that I would die inside.

Poetry is a lie and love is dead. There's only beauty in indifference.

I sit alone in bed, left with my thoughts. I open the curtains slighting and glance towards the stars; it is a clear sky and I can't help but smile. My phone lights up and I see that name grace it's screen. I feel a swelling in my chest and it makes my heart ache. That name. It provokes desire, love and happiness and I let these all of these feelings overwhelm me for a short moment. But then they withdraw, allowing me to breathe. One thought lingers in my mind.

Where have you been my whole life?

I once dreamt that our souls were carved out of the stars and that we were two halves of one star. 

My vision is blurred by a pale incandescence. My focus finds the bottle green of the living leaves that are dangling on the trees above me. My fingers grasp the cool earth beneath me. My hair feels damp and my skin is cold. In the distance I hear the howl of a wild beast. The dawn is coming but I feel a calling from the night.

I feel an ache fill my hollow chest; an ache for a lost love. A cry escapes me as the darkness of distant memories holds me. The dawn spills golden light into the forest but I am already lost to the night. 

A thrusting ache hits my chest and I fight back the thought: this is my fault. No it isn’t my fault. I was always truthful about how I felt.

My future is suddenly open and uncertain. Once I dreamed of getting married and having kids. Now I can get a job anywhere I want, travel, move to a different country and there would be no obje-

 “I’ll go wherever you want to go.”

Another thought, another memory interrupts my rational. Get out of my h-

 “Why can’t you understand I’m here to stay?”

 Lies. My angry simmers and swells inside of me. I didn’t deserve this. I think of everything that’s happened in the past 3 years. Now this? I feel embarrassed for being so trusting. Next year he’ll be long gone. I can’t wait to stop caring. 

Never love a vampire.

My mind is broken. I am torn. All I want is to be left. Don’t try to fix me because I’m not okay. I never will be. Just leave me alone. How can you love me if I hate you? I hate everyone. Just let me go. Oh, fuck off. Don’t be a martyr. Don’t sufferme. I’m not your responsibility. Someone once promised me that God would carry my soul. But, you see, I don’t have a soul. I’m pale and empty and that is beauty. My hate is self inflicted. I am completely selfish. Don’t- please just don’t make me feel bad. Don’t make me feel. Let me jump. I want to get lost in the incandescence of this breaking dawn. I will be immortal because I sold my dead soul. I will be ancient. Just don’t come with me. Leave. Justleave.

I am fractured; the flaws in me stand out like the tiny imperfections in cracked porcelain. If you look close enough you will see that my smile is a grimace, that the shine in my gaze is just a reflection of a glassy stare. My teeth are as white as a virgin’s wedding dressing, but the sharpness of them was made to penetrate you. There’s little difference between me and the night. The speckled light of the stars is just the remaining shards of my soul; scattered and distant. Their gleam is tarnished by the dark

We are all in a construct. I now see the cracks in this scaffold we call existence and if I were to gaze outward I would see oblivion. I now see that we are a product of our influences and that nothing is pure, singular or natural. I’m not an individual; I am predetermined by my elders who have been predetermined by theirs. I am a copy of a copy of a copy. Their ideas gave birth to mine, whether they oppose or not. This existence is a mass effect. One ripple that has turned into another. I’m caught in flow and escape in futile.

I can be aware of the construct, the matrix. But I cannot break it down as I didn’t build it. I can look through the cracks but what is beyond is massive, dark and terrifying. We need this structure to control our existence; to give it a name. I used to think the construct was a lie but I know now that it is there to cover the absence of truth. I can choose to accept this, to plaster over the cracks and ignore it, blissful ignorance. Or I can be forever aware that nothingness is real and that whatever I do is meaningless; just another ripple in the water of oblivion. The rabbit hole is before me, will I fall? 

I vaguely wonder to myself whether or not anything holds any true existence. Is it all just random? I don’t think I agree. But, then again, I can’t be certain of myself.

I’m a self-made invention. I can be who I want to be, and there isn’t much more I care about. I’m a product of my influences. I have never cared much for anything and I’m afraid of people. The most glamorous thing about life is that you can choose to be an observer or to be the observed. I chose to be observed. I am the silent friend in your group, the beautiful accessory of dark coldness that you have all chosen. You feel that you have all excelled because of my silent presence, my acceptation, as though this means you all know me personally. But truthfully, no one can look into me. And truthfully, I don’t care as long as people find me interesting. The people that exist around me are all watching me, looking for something in my reactions or my feeling. At some point they will realise that I am only a ghost, an idea of a person. To them that makes me all the more interesting. 

Don't Trust Anyone.

Don’t trust anyone. There’s very little in this world I care about, with exception to myself. I would sit with my peers, gazing on. What they never understood was that my silence was plotted, picked out for pristine moments when I became invisible only to observe them, only to smirk at their stupidity and always know that I am better than any of them. They would call me an outsider and look at me sympathetically because they thought that having a shy friend like me would make them look so much sweeter. School politics. Playground etiquette. The Plastics have an odd friend, oh how sweet they are for accepting her into their group, how sweet! No one suspected me of anything.

The world would glance at me and I would glare back with all my fierce hatred and if the world were to ever noticed it would recoil in terror and disgust. I have seen the deserts, the blank landscape, the abyss that falls into nothingness. I never looked for a God because God never looked for me. I never searched for my reason because I knew there was no reason. I glare back at the world with all my fierce hatred because I know there is nothing beyond what I see. God is a copy of all the empty hope that fills our empty hearts. I now know that nothing is real and I feel cheated for it.

This realisation, this horrifying revelation came to me like a dream. Whatever I do, I know it doesn’t mean anything. It was a Sunday when my peers came to my house. It was a Sunday when I pushed one of them down the stairs. It was a Sunday when, with calm serenity, I stooped over her limp body and placed the heel of my foot on her nape, applied pressure until I felt the crack and crunch of her bones. It was a Sunday when I killed her just because I could. 

The heat through the window behind me was scorching my back. Already I can feel the ominous drumming in the back of my skull of an imminent migraine. Student’s Union. Fuck this place. What am I doing here? Only God knows. Whoever God is.

“Last night was dire,” sulked Jack to Amelia.

“No-one was out. But who cares? I’ve got to finish this God damned essay.” Whoever God is.

“Did you say something?” The two of them looked at me.

“Erm... No.”

Silence shrouded us for a few seconds. The migraine was in full-on attack mode. Abandon ship. My head is going to explode. Brains everywhere. It won’t be a pretty sight. A bird squawks outside and I wonder what the cost of killing it would be.