A fist of ice clenches my heart,
is there no candle to melt it?
A chain of cold steel is bound to my heart,
to where it drags me ceaselessly...
It drags me to my doom.
I know there is a demon standing before me,
or is it behind? To my right? To my left?
Is it above me? Beneath me? Is it all around me?
It is omnipresent, my shadow threatening to usurp
this vile, wretched corpse.
I see know, it is the demon's own fist,
his other holds the chain.
He drags me to an unknown, ever-shifting
fey ephemeron that is alien and yet
as familiar as my bitter blood.
I AM THE MOST WRETCHED, DESPICABLE, VILE, WEAK,
COWARDLY, STUPID, CONTEMPTIBLE, INEFFICACIOUS,
IGNORANT, FOOLISH, SELFISH, UGLY, DETESTABLE,
WORTHLESS, MEANINGLESS, INARTICULATE, HATED...
I HATE MYSELF!
I hear now, my own screams: SILENCE, FOOL!
I DESERVE EVERY IOTA OF SUFFERING!
From the crucifix that has become my home,
I hang in agony with a black flame as my cloak,
hiding this hollow shell.
I know now, that I am that ephemeron,
I see that mystery that I have cursed for
the entirety of an existence that is
without meaning or purpose...
...just pain.
Fleeting dreams pass by to raise my hopes,
building an ivory tower from which I can
attempt in vain to heal my wounds and wipe
my tears, the tower from which I subsequently
FALL.
Into the abyss I fall, onto the lances of
the legions of those who hate me and harbor
a burning desire to kill me. Please kill me.
The Pain, the suffering, the torment! I HATE IT!
I deserve it.
Somebody, please kill me. I deserve no mercy.
I hate myself, I know you do, too.
Once, I desired to know why you hate me.
I no longer care, since I hate myself, too.
Everybody hates me.
That demon is not a shadow, he is a mirror.
Forcing me to see the truth about myself.
There are no words to describe the horrors
that I see in my reflection, but ripples destroy the picture
as I spit on my own face!
The ephemeron, the demon, the reflection,
my final destination to I am irresistibly drawn,
past the parted ranks of all of those who hate me,
glaring at me with twin lances of sheer spite,
are one and the same.
I deserve no happiness. I deserve not to exit this abyss.
There is no justification for any kindness shown to me.
DON'T BE KIND TO THE STUPID CREATURE says my cage's sign.
I am just a dumb animal, with no rights to speak of, which is why
Everyone can TORTURE me.
My bleeding eyes can see nothing but my delusions.
Is my own existence just my delusion?
Is there no light to shine out in this darkness?
Is there no water to quench the flames that threaten
to consume me?
No, why should there be? I MUST SUFFER!
Pain is not everything, it is the only thing!
The screams that tear from my parched and dessicated throat
carry on the harsh winds only one dirge, aimed clearly at myself:
I HATE YOU!
Only once did my withered heart beat...
I could then see a world of light beyond pearly gates
with emerald fields, and Apollo's golden shafts piercing through
verdant canopies, resting near crystal lakes and cerulean skies.
SHE CAST THAT WITHERED VESTIGE TO OBLIVION
In the empty cavern of this cadaver that once housed my heart,
I can feel that icy fist,grasping upwards, groping my spine,
caressing it in the macabre embrace OF DEATH. It desires
to crush the mush that would bear my mind, but it finds my hollow skull
LACKING.
I have consorted with none other than my own demons for so long,
that I have become one myself. Perhaps, this is why others
look upon me with such passionate hatred. Pray, tell me,
how have I sinned that everything in existence turns on me,
to torture me?
My breath rasps, drinking in poisonous air,
sustaining me only to prolong my suffering.
After all, perhaps I deserve not to die,
but to suffer eternally?
I AM DAMNED
How much do I hate me?
I have let you count the ways.
I am quite confident that you do not
believe contrariwise, since,
You hate me, don't you?
I want to run, like the blood runs from
my eyes, my ears, my mouth, my nose, my pores,
my innumerable wounds. I want to run away from
my eternal tormentor, that accursed, hated torturer;
I WANT TO RUN FROM MYSELF.
I stand, alone, freezing in the harsh, chill winds
that are the turmoil in my mind. I am frozen solid,
unable to move, to speak, to touch, to scream, to run
as I LUST to RUN from MYSELF!
But, there is no escape.
The freezing flames and burning ice of this barren wasteland,
that which is my mind, impede my progress.
What is the point of this struggle?
"GIVE UP THESE VAIN HOPES, RETURN TO YOUR SUFFERING!"
"WE HAVE A QUOTA TO MEET."
I lie here, strewn about a dreamscape of
CRYSTALLIZED PAIN, contemplating -
"WHY DO YOU CONTEMPLATE? YOU ARE INCAPABLE OF INTELLECT!"
- my fate; This is my home, I know no other place for me.
EVERYBODY HATES ME
"I am aware of your presence."
"SO, YOU HAVE SOME WILL LEFT IN YOU."
"You haven't answered my question."
"DO NOT MAKE THE MISTAKE OF PRESUMING THAT I WILL HONOR YOUR WILL!"
"I deserve an answer - "
"YOU DESERVE NOTHING BUT PAIN AND MISERY!"
"I know who you are."
"YOU KNOW NOTHING!"
"I know that you and I are one and the same."
"..."
"I know the truth: all exists and exists not simultaneously, transcending both. I know that my world of suffering is the only relevant reality."
"CONCEITED WRETCH..."
"I know that I am the perpetrator of this suffering, however justified it may be."
"..."
"I know that I will conquer you."
"HA HA HA, VINCIT QUI SE VINCIT, EH? BUT, AGAINST YOUR OWN VAUNTED 'TRUTH,' THERE CAN BE NO VICTORY.
ESPECIALLY NOT FOR A NON-EXISTANT INFINITESIMAL SUCH AS YOURSELF."
"I know that 'I' am not axiomatic - "
"THEN YOU KNOW THAT YOU HAVE NO HOPE."
" - but, I can also - "
"YOU CAN DO NOTHING! YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO POWER!"
" - retort with a Latin phrase, since you are so fond of them, ''Aut Vincere Aut Mori.''"
"SO BE IT."
