No subject

[Joan of Dark]

And how can someone expect.
For the words to come to his mind.
To write.
To You.
Tonight.
Isn’t it ironic?
I don’t hurt anymore. I don’t think.

I pushed all the Memories one by one. Until the last one. I strangled them 
over the void of my mind like crippled, deformed babies. I heard the air 
hissing in their throats And their throats were beautifully, so beautifully 
soft, save that, within, I could feel the slippery chords of their -my- 
life. And this I crushed. This I could crush. What bliss! Oh what bliss at 
last, what satisfaction! My fingers were tangled around their tiny crooked 
necks. And they tightened the grip. And my nails were thrust into their 
flesh….and a few drops of crimson blood run. I strangled them one by one, 
carefully.
     The beautiful and the ugly all the same. But the beautiful ones with 
more hatred. And I laughed. I LAUGHED. Everything beautiful has to die. 
Because incomparable beauty can be found in unbearable ugliness , in 
reciprocal pain. I strangled the little bastards and threw them down in the 
precipice. I didn’t even care to watch them crush against the rocks. One or 
two got stuck somewhere and screamed and howled. Doesn’t matter. Something 
to haunt you is not bad after all. Until it dies. Until it goes to hell as 
well...
     And I picked your pieces one by one. Picked the pieces that fell off 
your decomposing body carefully off the floor of my house. Pieces of  
rotting skin and nails from the carpet, and your cut-off fingers in the 
sink. Your dislodged bones, your excrements  from the corners of the living 
room. Your dried semen off my bed. I put them in a box to return them to 
you.
     I washed the walls. I washed the mirrors. I threw black veils on them . 
So that they wont project your reflected image to eternity. I filled the 
bathtub with bleach. With bleach and acid and sank myself in it. Oh and I 
burned and burned and melt away. Until it was enough and when my bones 
started to show, shiny and glowing and white, I emerged.
    I don’t feel a thing now. But I am overcome by terror in the thought of 
closing my eyes and going to sleep. If you come back...WHAT THEN? How am I 
gonna get away?
   Sleep. Nails of sin, nails thick like Christ’s, hammer your betrayed 
dreams on your eyes at nights. The torture you have to undergo until dawn. 
You wake up in the middle of the night and you speak strange tongues which, 
neither you, nor the palate of your mouth know who wedged them between your 
teeth in your darkest hours.
    Broken. My arms. And my heart is half. In my lungs a gaping hole. 
However deep I might breathe, its not enough.
     I scrape insanely the grey , greasy  dirt from the depths of my soul. 
>From vomit , blood and semen . Ancient,dried salt from tears that 
overflowed. The walls got yellow and chipped off from the smoke of the 
cigarettes that stuffed this room. This nausea that has become a habit 
nowadays, every time you Remember yourself.

    You. Yes. You.
Little. Miserable. Bitter. Unable to smile. A Liar. A  Whore. Like life.
   You. Me.
    Me.



....oh well...one day they're gonna shun me from this list...i see it 
coming....
sorry for spoiling anyone's mood...

truly yours,
joan


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