A Love Story? (open piece)

Preface 

I warn you, if you've never cried for a villain, close this page book now and put it back on the shelf. There is no riding off into the sunset.  Your sighs will quickly turn to anger. The monster is a ghost changing faces and possessing even the damsel in distress. The heart broken will lose their right to pity, and sorrow is only an ingredient in the pie of confusion you'll be licking your fingers to.  

I was taught poison as love and given a broken lens to see the world. I thought its cracks were art. She possessed me with the only way I could ever love others.  As I loved, I infected.  I drained their hearts like a vampire, but the poison wasn't about being fed. It was like a drug, the more I had, the more I wanted.  My cursed insatiability was hidden under the pursuit of true love.  As I searched, I killed, as I killed, I wanted more, and the more I felt I would never find her, again, driving my search even more, doubling, even tripling my efforts. I made Bram Stoker's stomach turn and I made the devil raise his eye  brow.

But how did I get here? Bloodied hands, my lips red and tender from kissing death into my victims and ripping their hearts our as they dreamt of me. How did false love turn me into the reincarnation of Vlad the Impaler. Yet,  now, how do I sit here, not realizing my cape of darkness had the weight of a mountain all this time? Each day as I awaken to the trail of blood and darkness in my wake, the cape gets heavier and heavier, revealing it's true nature.  I wore this cape and every time I cut someone, the cape cut me and fused into my skin.  Eventually, cuts, thousands, and the cape replaced my skin.  I became pain and pain became me.  How do I rip it off.  Can you peel your skin off?  Can you dig your fingers in and use all your strength to peel it back?  Can you ignore your pain receptors while you rip your own flesh.  In my case the pain is memories, the pain is their broken hearts screaming in my head, maddening me to eternity.  It seems pain of death is my revival.  But do I deserve it? How do I get it?  What really is the penance of someone who became friends with darkness and a bloodhound lap dog of evil. Maybe we can understand this story, and maybe it will be a story of love.  Maybe there will be a sunset to ride off into.  Maybe the good guy can still win...maybe.

Quebec

(tba)

Tin Soldier

 I found out today that I'm not a narcissist.  They called me that and I thought it was something unique and rare.  Something to be stared, examined, and discarded. Neither was I a monster, not mystical being driven by some cosmic force unleashing destructive purpose as Karma's Rottweiler, sitting at her feet waiting for her next command, to attack. But instead, I found out I was simply broken, re-wired for pain. Wired like the rest of us.  Wired by our first experience with love.  Saddening and pitiful.

I marched right up to her with my shiny, young eager self. My gears turning in a musical hum, ready to love, smiling ear to ear.  She looked at my ignorant heart ready to love infinitely like a child, and she poured her glob of darkness all over it, and rusted it shut. She fused my mouth shut so I couldn't tell anyone what was wrong with me. All I became was attracted to hollowness and gears that couldn't work to save me.  Stuck. I couldn't move my feet to walk away.  I couldn't open my mouth to say help me.  

I was nothing special anymore, just another hurt person hurting people. A self encased prison, bewitched to never give the love I want to give, or ask for what I need.  Forced to chase empty victories and reset, only to chase the exact same emptiness again and again.  I challenged Sisyphus, and even earned his awe.

How do I get this rust off? Will I ever be shiny and new? Will I ever see the love I want and go after it? For now I remain cursed and rusted.  But at least I'm aware now.  A slow awakening it seems.  No plan yet but I will see what happens.  Maybe my friendship with Sisyphus won't last and he will forget me. Maybe I get to touch my dream one day.  Maybe one day, I'll forgive myself.