Verse XXXXXI 2011

Verse XXXXXI 2011


Hello again, Miss.

Glad you could sit down for another tale.
You know, I’ve been contemplating on whether I should continue these unhealthy habits. After all, my stories aren’t exactly the most beneficial, but at some point in time, I must have felt their importance.
I needed to tell them to something so that the poison from my mouth and the insanity from my mind could torture someone else.
So I wrote: wrote with the blood from my wounds. Onto parchment, I released my rage, sorrow, and toxin, and yet, that was not enough.
Someone alive and moving needed to know my plight; I yearned for the pity and attention that would be allocated to person of failing standards.
But this is all background, Miss. My small talk is of no interest to you.

Shall we begin?

It wasn’t until yesterday I did notice what I had done to myself. For the past several weeks, I had deceived myself into infatuation. My bad – hopeless infatuation. I took maybe the most ordinary girl in all the world and turned her into divinity, one to be admired, to be loved. My saccharine perception of her twisted my emotions into believing that an angel had purpose with man – that for some reason, simply out of sympathy, she would share the same feelings.
And when she didn’t…
Man was crushed.
Smothered in the flames of hideous betrayal of my his own self. I held her ever so dearly in a heart I never fixed, and therefore, my insidious deterioration had never felt so potent. I gleaned every little action she gave and amplified them beyond measure.
She looks at me: an endless eruption of elation. She looks at someone else: an abhorrent aversion of jealousy.
My eyes… they bleed from looking. Sockets red with blood and pupils blue with sorrow.
I hated it.
So I gouged my eyes out, tearing them from their fibers.
I had come to dislike her for treating me this way, and since I was blind, my inability to distinguish between people made me unpleasant to everyone else.
Plunged into a pitch, black world of nothingness – nothing but repugnance and wary of things I had no reason to be wary of.

In such forlorn and pathetic state, I had neither the mind nor time to remedy the situation. I could not explain how or why I acted in such hideous disgust of you and all the other people that were so good to me.
In a common progress of insanity, I found that rare moment of clarity to write this. I write to apologize, Misses. A story embedded within a thought masked behind the crazy boil of heart’s love and frigid sheet of frozen sadness–that is what I give you.

I hope that suffices, Misses.

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