Waning

My passion is nought. The nights are long and arduous, leaving me with little energy for the morrow. Each day is a fallen ruin, in whose shadow lays all the power and all the sopor of despair.

The only thing I sometimes hope to strive for is revenge - people aren't even worth bothering with that about. Time will do that for me. They are pitiable creatures enough. At least I have the mind to know the misery of life. It is justice that I give them no pity. Let their illusions slowly be eroded on the jagged rocks. Let not realization come but before the darkness engulfs their terrified soul.

But this, it is not enough - I must constantly endure the wounds placed upon me in silence. Just endure, endure, endure, as a Christ crucified, with no witnesses to the horrendous spectacle but my own demons, who say nothing, do nothing, offer nothing but terrible patience. 

Some people would give the world for another day with family, friends, children. It aggravates my wounds as salt to see a pretty woman, to hear a song of love, to be in a place where people seem happy. I feel as though an invisible fist has mightily struck within my being when I see a woman smile lovingly at a man, a mother and child, to see people having lunch with someone with whom they enjoy the company of. Everything  speaks with vacuous mockery. This must be what it is like to be an earth bound spirit. Everything is a torment, a reminder of a time when you were once human. When once there was hope in a future, hope in being happy, fulfilled. In having a life and sharing it. In loving someone.

There is nothing now but enduring. I was not designed for this world. It is harsh. The people within in it are cruel and barbarous. All their actions are borne from selfishness. They really do not know what they do. Many people such as myself become more monstrous than the monsters. I have been that. It doesn't stop the pain. It doesn't stop the scenes playing over and over and over again; doesn't stop the words that were said from echoing in your head day after day. As the years pass by, the afflictions are not relieved. They only become a deeper source of pain. They become more deeply enmeshed in one's soul. A slow murder. They take everything and become all that you are, all that you can feel, all that you know.

I want them to know what they have done. I want them to understand and perceive what it was that made me different inside from anyone they will ever know. Why it was that I was so guarded, so unwilling to let my walls down. I want them to see the destruction they have wrought before their own destruction comes. I have no hope of this ever happening. There is no justice. There are only horrors and tragedy. I see the world for what it is. I see a place of pain and death, where none clings to anything but out of selfishness or desperation. If true love exists, it is not within this realm. Here true love is a term used to conceal mixed motives, dark secrets and sinister agendas, which is all the more Satanic, because these are pursued unconsciously, and called love in earnest.