Parasites

8.8.11 -- 11: 59 PM

Parasites, parasites, parasites

I can hear them behind the door.

Parasites, parasites, parasites

I can hear them calling me.

Parasites, parasites, parasites

Chains weigh me down, pull me beyond.

The door opens wide.

Parasites, parasites, parasites

The demon in the mirror speaks,

“Time to dance, Raymond.”

And so I dance.

Twirling, whirling.

Chanting.

More, more, more!

Parasites, parasites, parasites

You scream, you writhe beneath me.

Upturned faces, outstretched hands.

Rapture.

You are addicted.

You’ve been waiting for me.

For my dance.

For my voice.

For what I can give you.

I breathe new life into you.

With every movement, I rejuvenate your spirit.

Parasites, parasites, parasites

You can’t get enough

More, more, more!

Chains drag as I spin,

Linked to you.

Both of us, prisoners.

Feeding off one another,

Some more than others.

Parasites, parasites, parasites

You don’t see it.

You just want more.

You scream it.

More, more, more!

You push me beyond.

I spit my blood upon your smiles

You taste my music

Parasites, parasites, parasites

You don’t hear me.

More, more, more!

You don’t see me.

More, more, more!

You see this demon.

Parasites, parasites, parasites

You hear his gleeful shrieks

More, more, more!

What he has made me.

PARASITE!

You watch.

You don’t see him

Creeping

Into you.

Your eyes glow.

Your limbs twist

More, more, more!

You just want more.

So take it.

Take the demon.

Give me your soul.

And I’ll give you more.

MORE, MORE, MORE!

Whoever You Want Me To Be

Document created Wednesday, ‎August ‎03, ‎2011, ‏‎11:18:00 PM

I can be whoever you want me to be.  I can be shy, scared, sexy.  I can be a murderer, a clown, a dancer.  You tell me what you want, and I will change myself to fit your desire.  It’s what I was born to do, made to do, manufactured to do.  I will betray anyone, kill anyone, love anyone.  I am your servant, your slave.  I will do your bidding until the day I die.  My mind is sold to you, consumed by you.  I live in a shell of lies, one disguise on top of another.  Tell me what to say, what to do.  Put the words in my mouth, the movements in my body.  I will follow you to the end of my days, obeying without question.  Say the word, and I will transform.

A writhing mass of humanity, a monstrosity in my own eyes.  I will poison myself, rip my own heart from my chest, bury myself alive, await the moment your word sets me free.  Then I will claw my way out of the grave, reborn in the dirt, in the dust.  Reborn in the eyes of the serpent.  For a moment, the illusion shimmers, truth fights to break free--

But your voice pulls me back, pulls me out of the mud, pulls me into the lies.

I can be whoever you want me to be, but never who I am.

No Escape

Document created Tuesday, ‎July ‎19, ‎2011, ‏‎11:30:06 PM

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There is a sudden twist.  A snap.  The mind breaks, crumbles.  Thoughts decay, logic vanishes.  The personality wavers, flees.  It cannot survive in the madhouse you are about to become.  Bile rises in your throat, blood flows freely.  There is no escaping this.  Your time is up.  Do what you can, you cannot change the course of destiny.  Your fate is determined, was determined many moons ago.  Sacrificial lamb--the slaughter is coming.

You could try running, of course.  Not that you’d get anywhere.  Your brain becomes confused.  It forgets what it’s supposed to do with your feet.  You stumble over yourself, fall to the ground.  Facedown in the ashes, you lie there.  You cry.  The ash becomes a paste, stuck to your lashes as you shakily rise.  With a jolt, you realize you’re right where you began.  The ashes vanish, but the tears remain.  There is no escape.

You will not deny me.  I will take you, I will wrap you in my embrace.  Give into me, make it easier on yourself.  The slaughter will be painful, it will destroy you from the inside out.  My way is much nicer.  Just fall asleep.  You won’t even know what hit you, what ripped your head from your body, what sucked out your soul.  You won’t even know what I’ve done to you.  Not until it is too late.

But you don’t trust me.  You don’t trust anyone.  You prefer to flounder, to flail in a stew of your own tears and vomit, your anguish and fear.  Fine.  Just wait.  The slaughter will catch you.

There is no escape.

The End of You

Document created Tuesday, ‎July ‎19, ‎2011, ‏‎1:18:41 PM

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I hate you.  I will kill you.  I will rip your soul from your body, I will leave your organs to burn under the thankless sun.  I will torture you, eat you alive, chew you up and spit you out.  I will wipe you from the face of the planet.  There won’t be a trace of you left.

I hate you for what you have done.  I hate you for what you have made me.  I hate you for the shining nights and the shadowy days, alone.  I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.  Why did you do this to me?  Why did you create me?  Why did you make me the way I am?  I hate you.

But I love you.  I love everything about you.  From the clothes you wear to the cereal you eat, I love you.  The way you tie your shoes, brush your teeth, dot your i’s and cross your t’s.  I love you, I love you, I love you.  You will never understand how much I love you, how I would give everything for you, how I would die to keep you here…

I love you more than anything in the world.  All I want is to see you happy, to see you flourish, to see you live out your days in bliss…

But even that will not stop me from destroying you, piece by piece.  I will rip the love from my body, hide it away, murder you, my love.  I will tie you to the wall, cut you into pieces, kiss your sweet lips once more, bite them, tear them from your face.  This day I carry no love with me, only the hatred for what you have done.  My brother, sister, lover, parent.  My enemy, rival, demon, slaver.

You will not live to see the morrow.

Finished, covered in blood, sweat, dirt, tears, filth--most of it yours--I will go to the secret place, I will find my love.  I will rip open my soul, allow it to breathe back into me.  I will swallow it up--swallow you up, my darling, and you will be within me.  You will break my heart--I will break my heart.  I will tear it apart, bit by bit, as I did your love, my love, your flesh and bone.  There will be nothing left, and I shall wander this earth, alone, heartless, bloody, filthy, smothered in grief, despair…

But that shall pass.  Love, grief, regret… 

They shall all pass.  My heart will shrivel, it will decay, it will be blown away like dust in the wind.

I will walk on.

I will walk on, to the ends of the Earth, to the ends of you, dearest, hate beating in my chest.  I will murder just as I walk--one foot after the other, trodding upon the despairing, the loving, the grieving.  None shall surface in my wake.

To the end of the Earth.

To the end of you, my love.

A Midnight Conversation

Document Created Tuesday, ‎July ‎19, ‎2011, ‏‎1:18:48 PM

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The salesman sits.  He waits.  The wood bench is cold beneath the midnight moon, the stone wall behind him colder.  A silvery path, mere gravel in the sunlight, winds its way up and down the hill, rests beneath his feet.  The boardwalk, so far below him, stops turning.  Lights go out.  People leave.  Even from where he sits, the Ferris wheel no bigger than a quarter far below, the salesman can smell the remnants of the day, of the night.  Hotdogs.  Popcorn.  Candy apples.  Sweat.  Blood.

The salesman lights a cigar, lets the smoke swirl around him, pearly in the moonlight.  It’s warm, still.  A good night to be out.  Above him, spilling out over the stone wall, bushes rustle in a slight wind.  A sudden wind.  A supernatural wind.

He’s here.

The salesman exhales, smoke drifting up to the shadow perched on the wall above him.  The vampire sits like a haunting gargoyle, dark eyes gleaming. He watches.  He waits.

“You’re causing problems,” the salesman says at length, staring out over the midnight ocean, the dead boardwalk.  “People are noticing.”

The vampire’s voice is low, barely audible above the ocean waves crashing far below.  “I was making a point.”

“Your point is made,” the salesman snaps.  He feels the vampire flinch.  Sighing, he softens his words.  “Don’t screw this up for me.  For us.”

The vampire doesn’t respond.  He doesn’t like it.  Doesn’t want to be a part of it.  He disagrees with the salesman’s logic, his plan, his desire.  But what can he do?

Minds clash.

The vampire grudgingly backs off.

“I won’t.”

Then he’s gone.  Bushes rustle.  The salesman breathes a little easier, the confrontation averted.  He’s not distressed by the vampire, not afraid of arguing with the vampire, of angering the vampire.  It’s happened before, time and time again.  Years and years of arguments.  The salesman always gets what he wants.  The vampire is no obstacle, no enemy, nothing to worry over.

But the salesman does worry.  He worries for the vampire.  His vampire.  His foolish, reckless, lost boy.  Son through blood and night, through death and necessity.

The salesman sits on the wood bench, shoes digging into the gravel beneath him.  He stares out across the ocean, the darkened boardwalk.  Things are going to change.  He smiles, comforted by the thought.

Things are going to change.

The salesman sits.

He waits.

Can't Fight The Muse

My Muse has an annoying habit of chewing on my brain either right before or right after I get into bed.  These midnight visits often produce some interesting short pieces that amuse me greatly.  For whatever reason, I feel the need to post them online, and I shall do so here.

With the exception of "Parasites," these first few pieces are from quite awhile ago.  I'm too lazy to find the originals (which were hastily scrawled on random pieces of paper lying by my bed at the time) and document the exact date and time they were written, so I'll just be going with the date the MS Word document was created.

Because I can :)