Status: Developing. There may be more shorts, there may not.
Love
Sometimes.
Sometimes I stand out in the rain, and I remember you.
I remember how it all started with you, all the love. You were my true love, the one who made me feel safe and cared for.
You were my worst enemy, and you used me for yourself. You declared war on my sanity and never knew it!
And here I am, in the rain.
I scribble here, and I scribble there, and it leads me back to one night. You were drunk, too drunk for me to see the voices filled with rage sprawling their pain all over your face. What they said to you, I do not know and I will never know. All I know is the madness scattered plainly in sight on a madman's features, dancing around a fire of insanity and spitting in my soul. And then you charged.
Sometimes I realize it's not just you, though you meant a lot to me. There were more, and you knew. There was this one in particular who took a carving knife to my decency and bittered my soul. He broke my spirit, and in turn I broke yours, though I didn't know what was going on.
The next, the last, the love. It springs forth and gushes out and is blind and without logic. Its path is a thermite python, murderous in its rage, destroying everything around it. But it is also creating beautiful moments, sometimes overpowered.
Sometimes I forget these beautiful moments, and then I just remember the bad ones. And these bad ones will sit, and they'll stew and ferment. And I'll drink the liquor of this rotten evil and vile mind-souring carcass of memories and sit and stew and ferment myself. Sometimes it drives me mad before I can stop the torrent of hate and spite and need to never partake in the creator of the moment the liquor is made of. The madness releases, and the beautiful moments have been gone, and I hate you more than protons hate electrons even when we are making love, and I hate you.
Sometimes I remember those beautiful, soul-wrenching moments. I remember feeling your heartbeat and remembering you're human, like me, and looking into your eyes and seeing your love and crying, crying for a moment at the surprise I feel. I left you to die, your soul to perish in a world without a care for you. I left you. And you waited patiently for me, to see if I really was gone, or if I was simply mad from the bad liquor, though you did not know about it at the time. And I would cry, because for the first time I felt unconditional love. The mistakes I made were mine to make, and you were there no matter what.
But now, sometimes I remember who you are and realize you're making love to someone else. You're caring for someone else, and someone else is feeling surprised. Because your love gushes forth, and it is blind and without logic. It is a thermite python.
It is my love, and your love. We love like few others, and our love is spread around, because we fall in love so easily and with so many. I deserve it, to feel what it must be like to love me. I love you so much, so much more than any other because sometimes, sometimes I just want to be hurt. I want you to take that power you have over my heart and shape it into an apache revolver, and punch and stab and squeeze the trigger. For every time you comforted me in my hallucinations and delusions, you twist for when I comfort you after you realize I love someone else as well. And you do it, every time I imagine you cramming your dick in someone else and saying their name instead.
Sometimes I notice I'm all out of love, and all I've ever had after you was hate or less hate, and I'll never hope for love.
Sometimes, I remember I love them. Each of them. But you're not just one of the ones I love; you're one of the ones who is so deep into my mind, even when I realized what you've done, I cannot do a single thing to retaliate.
Sometimes I remember that heartbeat.
Sometimes I remember that laugh.
Sometimes I remember why you're not here.
Sometimes I realize it will be years to recover, but I never will. Why kill what is now a part of you?
Because sometimes isn't enough.
I remember how it all started with you, all the love. You were my true love, the one who made me feel safe and cared for.
You were my worst enemy, and you used me for yourself. You declared war on my sanity and never knew it!
And here I am, in the rain.
I scribble here, and I scribble there, and it leads me back to one night. You were drunk, too drunk for me to see the voices filled with rage sprawling their pain all over your face. What they said to you, I do not know and I will never know. All I know is the madness scattered plainly in sight on a madman's features, dancing around a fire of insanity and spitting in my soul. And then you charged.
Sometimes I realize it's not just you, though you meant a lot to me. There were more, and you knew. There was this one in particular who took a carving knife to my decency and bittered my soul. He broke my spirit, and in turn I broke yours, though I didn't know what was going on.
The next, the last, the love. It springs forth and gushes out and is blind and without logic. Its path is a thermite python, murderous in its rage, destroying everything around it. But it is also creating beautiful moments, sometimes overpowered.
Sometimes I forget these beautiful moments, and then I just remember the bad ones. And these bad ones will sit, and they'll stew and ferment. And I'll drink the liquor of this rotten evil and vile mind-souring carcass of memories and sit and stew and ferment myself. Sometimes it drives me mad before I can stop the torrent of hate and spite and need to never partake in the creator of the moment the liquor is made of. The madness releases, and the beautiful moments have been gone, and I hate you more than protons hate electrons even when we are making love, and I hate you.
Sometimes I remember those beautiful, soul-wrenching moments. I remember feeling your heartbeat and remembering you're human, like me, and looking into your eyes and seeing your love and crying, crying for a moment at the surprise I feel. I left you to die, your soul to perish in a world without a care for you. I left you. And you waited patiently for me, to see if I really was gone, or if I was simply mad from the bad liquor, though you did not know about it at the time. And I would cry, because for the first time I felt unconditional love. The mistakes I made were mine to make, and you were there no matter what.
But now, sometimes I remember who you are and realize you're making love to someone else. You're caring for someone else, and someone else is feeling surprised. Because your love gushes forth, and it is blind and without logic. It is a thermite python.
It is my love, and your love. We love like few others, and our love is spread around, because we fall in love so easily and with so many. I deserve it, to feel what it must be like to love me. I love you so much, so much more than any other because sometimes, sometimes I just want to be hurt. I want you to take that power you have over my heart and shape it into an apache revolver, and punch and stab and squeeze the trigger. For every time you comforted me in my hallucinations and delusions, you twist for when I comfort you after you realize I love someone else as well. And you do it, every time I imagine you cramming your dick in someone else and saying their name instead.
Sometimes I notice I'm all out of love, and all I've ever had after you was hate or less hate, and I'll never hope for love.
Sometimes, I remember I love them. Each of them. But you're not just one of the ones I love; you're one of the ones who is so deep into my mind, even when I realized what you've done, I cannot do a single thing to retaliate.
Sometimes I remember that heartbeat.
Sometimes I remember that laugh.
Sometimes I remember why you're not here.
Sometimes I realize it will be years to recover, but I never will. Why kill what is now a part of you?
Because sometimes isn't enough.