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agent of oblivion
It has been too long. I have forgotten this feeling, and now it seems new and confusing. She intoxicates me with the simplest word, and I long for the moment when I can hold her again in my arms. I fear what I will see when she returns to me, aware of the restraint that we allowed to separate us every time we came together. I fear that she will not forgive or forget the darkness of our past, and that it will envelop our promise of the future in tenebrous treason. But nothing can keep us apart this time.
I feel the weight of my isolation bearing down on me and trying to desperately squeeze what breath I have left from my body. With my last breath I would surrender my will, and the sum of all my work will be the defeat of my inner desires. I dread to admit that I need someone beside me sometimes, that I cannot face the world without an accomplice. In the absence of my daughter I feel the need for the presence of another, but I have lived in the torment and turmoil that such a presence brings. I cannot win.
She saw me before I walked through the door. I recognized her but could not place from where and could not remember a name. She greeted us with confidence, paving the way for steady interaction throughout the evening to follow. Her grace and comfort augmented her already radiant beauty, and I was so taken with her that I could feel myself trembling with interest. I went about my ways and she quickly embraced the opportunity to approach. The exchange of names and numbers came quickly, and though the night was not as we expected I felt both accomplished and exuberant.
He looked familiar to her, but she did not immediately place his stoic face. His eyes devoured the room slowly, but they did not linger upon her or show her any regard. As he approached the bar where she stood, he removed his coat and set it beside him. It was then that she knew him, seeing the tattoos on his arms and remembering their first encounter. How drunk she had been then, and how polite and soft-spoken he was. His sanguineous disposition made him linger in memory, and she was elated at the chance to speak with him again.
I know too much to allow myself to be here. It torments me that I have come to stand here. I have let myself grow weak out of spite for splendor, deceiving myself into believing that I must fail in order to escape the tribulations of my mind. I knew what would happen if I gave in and gave up and did it without hesitation. So I have only myself to blame as I rise again to rebuild what once was and know that I will never be able to fall back into this hell that has become my life.
Why does she keep calling my name? How many times must I come to her like a promise of heaven, only to leave her in the depths of hell? She cannot handle me, and the harder she tries the more she hurts. There is so much of her blood on my hands, this fragile little monster that so desperately craves me, but cannot swallow the taste of my might. I feel like I will bring her only further suffering and I regret every time I give in and give her my attention. I am the object of her masochistic desire.
I could feel the tautness of the flesh of her throat pushing back against my clenching hand. She was gasping, and with each stolen breath there was the rousing sensation of pleasure shuddering through her whole body. Her skin crawled with excitement and the rush of adrenaline caused her eyes to roll back into her head. Her convulsions screamed the passionate screams that her mouth could not, and she gave herself completely to my forceful endeavors. With the slightest thrust or subtlest withdrawal she surrendered to a new rush of pleasure, and my awareness gave me complete control of her.
She came to me with confidence, and I broke her certainty. She pursued me with determination, and I broke her will. She crawled to me with desperation, and I accepted her defeated. She surrendered all she had left to my whims and wants. At her darkest and most desperate moment, I cast her aside, breaking her heart. In breaking her heart I conquered her belief that she was the most cherished prize one could possess. With her completely shattered I brought her to kneel before me. Now this goddess lays at my feet in tribute to my might and malice.
The horror of it all lies in the fact that I cannot tell who is telling the truth and who is exploiting my lack of memory for personal gain. I never would have considered that it could have ended like this, and I know that there are many who are walking on glass to keep me from knowing what happened. Things were said and actions were taken that will stand strong in their minds, even if they have no home in mine. I am cursed to never really know, so all I can do is hope for absolution and redemption.
Against her back she could feel the burning sand, and against her chest she could feel only my hands. She was helpless and writhing beneath the tyranny of my rapture, begging with her body to be forced and fondled as I wished. My mouth pressed tight to her and my fingers thrust inside her, she moaned as she never had, but her moan was met with a hard kiss and the feeling of my hand wrapping about her neck. Her arms wrapped desperately around my shoulders as she tried to scream, unsure if she was screaming in pleasure or terror.
I long for the splendor of my former days. I wish to restore things long forgotten and to make what was become what is and what is to come all the more glorious. I crave ancient power unknown to the filth of my age. This is a time for celebration through might and malevolence. The weak should grovel before their slumbering masters lest those lords of forgotten days wake and lay waste to the transgressions of servants gone astray. As one lost I return to a kingdom rightfully mine, and in place of false prophets I shall make my throne.
I am a slave to my ego. The constant need to please myself through indulgence and reminder of supremacy will one day be my downfall. Tonight I lay restless beside a too easily claimed prize, and I wonder momentarily what thoughts spin like spider webs in subconscious as she sleeps. She looked so beautiful as I devoured her, but now as she lies beside me she is cast in the ugly shadow of surrender, and will prove easy to forget. It is moments like this that teach me self-loathing, but they pass too quickly for the lesson to set in.
The harder I try to see what is real the more I want to see what is not. I am searching for something that does not exist with the childish notion that I could somehow transcend what I am and become what I want. I stare out at the masses and feel revulsion surge through my body. I do not want to be another face in their crowd. Each day brings a stronger sense of desire to escape their ranks, and with my desire comes the sickening realization that I may never achieve what I have set out to accomplish.
They devour the remains with disregard; unable to remember that on the day prior their lunch was a man they knew by name. It is unfortunate for me that I was the strongest and the sharpest, for these traits led my company to select me as nourishment for their unbearable hunger. I was the hardiest and healthiest, as well as the one most difficult to overcome. They killed me first knowing that it would take all of their combined efforts, and now I am nothing more than leathery chunks of meat in a stew or the bellies of my companions.
Through the darkness I have come to a place that I should know but do not recognize. Their eyes greet me with familiarity and reservation, as if I am someone to be cautiously regarded out of fear. I do not know their faces and it unsettles me that they know mine so well. They do not speak and I dare not ask where I am out of concern for revealing my lack of knowledge and fear of what the truth might bring. Through their ranks I walk and explore this dark and dismal place, wondering if I will escape alive.
She demands it and you do not hesitate. You have no choice but to crawl to her and give in to her demands. You can remember nights when you did exactly as she told you and still ended up lying on your back bleeding profusely from your head and wondering if you would survive. You can only imagine how much worse it would be if you denied her and let her become upset or angry. She looks so harmless and no one knows the threat she poses. The threat is real and you know the wounds will never fully heal.
You will do as she tells you no matter the consequences. She jumps in your arms and you march into the wrath of the world. As it lashes out at you she sides against you and makes the scorn you face far more severe than you ever imagined possible. She denies you and insists that you are recklessly opposing her will. The authoritarian might of reality descends and she smiles at her cleverness. She knows that when you rise from the beating you have taken she could demand it again and you would not hesitate to fall to her again.
Her charm will complicate you. When I first felt her presence my blood boiled. Now it runs cold at from her glance. She will consume you until you have nothing left and then walk away and leave you with nothing. When you pick up the pieces of your scattered self, she will come back and scatter them again, only to leave you once more like a broken mirror desperately trying to find a face. You foolishly disregard me because you are in love. I have tasted her poison and barely survived. I do not believe you will be as lucky.
I feel like a false prophet wandering through enemy lands. I am leading the lost on a search for something they will not find. We seek the bottomless pit that is our core and heart, and as we sift through these sands under the weight of a pulsating sun I can only wonder how long it will be before they realize I am not the person they desperately want me to be. I continue to move and I talk in riddles to keep them confused and content. They love me for my deception and I hate them for their love.
I am blankly staring at the blood as it runs down the wall, and I can see it painting pictures before my eyes. Her suicide is unreal to me. I cannot grasp what I have just witnessed and her death has yet to affect me. I am simply staring at the lines and the shadows with stunned simplicity, making out images and words from a childhood I have tried hard to forget. I know she is dead but I do not feel anything, and the reality of the moment only makes me wonder if deep down I am dead too.
The memory of a past overshadowed by tragedy and tainted with guilt-laden atrocities has left me sitting in the darkness of my heart and staring out in numb disregard. This is not the foundation for my kingdom, and if I am ever to recapture my essence and build a legacy I must destroy this and erase it from my mind. When it no longer stands and all traces of it have been eradicated, I will be able to start fresh and improve upon the things I know to become what I want to be. I want to be myself again.
This is all needless excess. She is taunting me without relent and making me feel as if all of this is my fault. She has enticed me to helpless passion, only to remind me that she is out of reach and impossible to capture. She tempts me and shows her desire without restraint. When I reach for her she regards me as a crime and pulls away, cursing me for my desire. I cannot win and there is nothing to be gained, but I am too taken with her to just walk away. I suffer for nothing and everything together.
From the darkest moment of her life, she wept as she bled and scribed my name with trembling fingers. Her love felt like a spiritual cancer that was eating away everything inside, and the bloodstained paper upon which she scrawled her confession was slowly being blurred by her tears. When it all stopped hurting she would have nothing left and death would have no value. She did not fear it. She already lost everything she ever wanted, and she was warmly welcoming the creeping demise that she could feel crawling up her flesh. Without her love she was already dead.
Their prophet wept at the sight of her. He knew that he had given up his life for a cause that could never compare to the rapture he found in her arms, and it would haunt him for the rest of his days. Those days would be few. She already demanded of her legions that his head be brought to her as tribute, and her armies far outnumbered the unclean masses that hung on his words and sought salvation through his cryptic orations. His sorrow gave way to his fear, and he knew that her scorn came from his rejection.
In defiance of everything I am giving in to this night. I will walk where I do not belong and enjoy the decadence of the moment. Her crimes will be laced with my blood, and the scent of my conquest will linger beyond the dawn. I do not know how I have come to lie here nor do I know how I will pull away from it, but for this moment I will celebrate my splendor in a place that should have never known my face. I will taint everything I touch and I will be remembered with mixed regard.
The night crept in like a slow setting cancer. The promise of violence was in the air. It was a night to free himself from the taint of her splendor, to wash it from his flesh by basking in the filth of his species. If he crawled with the worst perhaps he would become too disgusting and too ugly for her needs and wants. He plunged into the depths of his unwashed brethren, fearing that when he surfaced she would wash away the sins of the masses and re-enslave him. She would inevitably win, but he had to try anyway.
It would come to pass, but not in the three days that followed. He passed an evening in the arms of a former lover, giving in to past corruption. He followed it with an evening alone, indulging in isolation. He gave his third night to an enemy, and in her arms he reveled in deception. Each night brought him a different crime and different lies, but none brought him the salvation he craved or the absolution from her ways. He was her slave and her prize. Only death could save him from her, and he was not willing to die.
She sat there like a doll on a shelf, so fragile and perfect, waiting desperately for ambitious hands to pick her up and play with her. I lifted her from the mundane world where she had spent so many desolate hours, and the warmth of my embrace brought vitality to the porcelain and lace of her innocence. But it was not long before our play became too rough and her soft features were crushed by misuse, and she became another broken toy. Her beauty remained, but anyone that played with her after was destined to be cut and discard her.
The lifespan of this romance will be shorter than that of a carnival fish living at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. It will be lucky to see three sunsets, and all of the nurturing it could receive will only make it murky and polluted. But for this moment as she slumbers in my weary arms it feels perfect. I can feel her steady pulse ticking away the minutes as if counting down to the inevitable halt that will silence her soft breathing. It is tragic to reflect on only the end of all of this as we lay together.
I remembered her suddenly and passionately, and I crawled back to the place where we last embraced. I sat there and tortured myself with memories, almost able to smell her seduction in the air. Thinking of the whispered poetry and charming confessions I recklessly let slip from my lips, I cursed myself silently for letting her go. And from the shadows she emerged with a smile, clutching my tattered shirt and weeping softly, ashamed and elated to be sharing a similar moment. The attraction was alive again, and without thinking we were caressing and osculating desperately under a waxing moon.
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