(no subject)
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
- W.B. Yeats
---
The wastelands have ceremoniously devalued my contempt for life. I seek the daylight in the darkness, and I find nothing.
Nothing to comfort, nothing to embrace.
What is this whispering in my ear?
...Shostakovich lamenting through a violin, the torn sheets against my bare flesh. I recline as a ghost, a phantom of years past. The hourglass repents my existence. I listen blandly to the frenzied stream of dialogue trickling downwards from the floor above my own. You hideous bastard! You promised to change! And I believed you... Why do mortals believe such inconsistencies? Ever-changing, never aware of the consequences they create. Faintly, in another room, deep in the darkness, a child's cry goes entirely unheard. Except by me.
It seems I will at least save a single soul tonight -- and greedily placate the burning inside. I remember those long days past when all I was ever offered was that tender nectar, not yet matured. You mortals weep and protest in support of the neglected unborn and ignore those who have already entered the world. Why should I wonder of the morality of my actions in an uncaring universe, feeding upon itself until it eventually responds with fleeting satisfaction?
It has been years. Come, gone. Here, there. Memories remain, hidden.
I have learned to find satisfaction in other things besides decadence.
Tonight, I will rise from this bed and draw the curtains. I will close my ears to the whining, whimpering mortals around me, and I will feed. My flesh has withered with the emptiness, my eyes hollowed, my lips thinned. What has brought me from the edges of the earth to the grandest cities and, finally, to the middle of nowhere?
The vivid remembrance of the warmth sliding down the back of my parched throat stirs me. When was the last? Who was the last?
I lay in bed with him for hours before finally losing the fight against my growing hunger. When he rose to leave, I begged him to stay -- manipulated, seduced. It was only a matter of minutes before he was entirely in my control. But where was the enjoyment in teasing a puppet, a shadow of reality? I let him go. Followed him down to the pier, watching him tread his way home through the moonlit sand dunes.
He lasted me for a few hours. I left him, as he had nearly left me, yet I gained little satisfaction. As his lips grew cold and repulsive, his body stiff, I sat and waited for a while first, watching him linger, and then decidely snapped his neck. My arousal had ended, my hunger satiated momentarily. What did it matter...
And here I have been, empty in mind, empty in body. The raging argument above my head has calmed for the time being -- I will take the child before sunrise. Perhaps next evening I will leave this shore for another.
Distracted in thought, I finger the sharp outline of my ribcage.
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
- W.B. Yeats
---
The wastelands have ceremoniously devalued my contempt for life. I seek the daylight in the darkness, and I find nothing.
Nothing to comfort, nothing to embrace.
What is this whispering in my ear?
...Shostakovich lamenting through a violin, the torn sheets against my bare flesh. I recline as a ghost, a phantom of years past. The hourglass repents my existence. I listen blandly to the frenzied stream of dialogue trickling downwards from the floor above my own. You hideous bastard! You promised to change! And I believed you... Why do mortals believe such inconsistencies? Ever-changing, never aware of the consequences they create. Faintly, in another room, deep in the darkness, a child's cry goes entirely unheard. Except by me.
It seems I will at least save a single soul tonight -- and greedily placate the burning inside. I remember those long days past when all I was ever offered was that tender nectar, not yet matured. You mortals weep and protest in support of the neglected unborn and ignore those who have already entered the world. Why should I wonder of the morality of my actions in an uncaring universe, feeding upon itself until it eventually responds with fleeting satisfaction?
It has been years. Come, gone. Here, there. Memories remain, hidden.
I have learned to find satisfaction in other things besides decadence.
Tonight, I will rise from this bed and draw the curtains. I will close my ears to the whining, whimpering mortals around me, and I will feed. My flesh has withered with the emptiness, my eyes hollowed, my lips thinned. What has brought me from the edges of the earth to the grandest cities and, finally, to the middle of nowhere?
The vivid remembrance of the warmth sliding down the back of my parched throat stirs me. When was the last? Who was the last?
I lay in bed with him for hours before finally losing the fight against my growing hunger. When he rose to leave, I begged him to stay -- manipulated, seduced. It was only a matter of minutes before he was entirely in my control. But where was the enjoyment in teasing a puppet, a shadow of reality? I let him go. Followed him down to the pier, watching him tread his way home through the moonlit sand dunes.
He lasted me for a few hours. I left him, as he had nearly left me, yet I gained little satisfaction. As his lips grew cold and repulsive, his body stiff, I sat and waited for a while first, watching him linger, and then decidely snapped his neck. My arousal had ended, my hunger satiated momentarily. What did it matter...
And here I have been, empty in mind, empty in body. The raging argument above my head has calmed for the time being -- I will take the child before sunrise. Perhaps next evening I will leave this shore for another.
Distracted in thought, I finger the sharp outline of my ribcage.