VIII; 12.30.22
You still linger in my mind, not out of uncertainty, nor due to a longing for the future we dreamt of. Those ghosts shall not haunt me, for I know I am the one who is doing the haunting.
Early on it felt akin to a movie, I saw the tragedy, the misunderstanding, before it slapped me in the face and it shocked me despite the prophecy being foretold to me.
Whether it is psychopathy coursing through my bloodstream or the logistics that comfort me, I know myself enough to be aware that you were a specimen to log into my brain for further study. I am not missing the facade of love that you attempted to pitifully gift to me from a place of lusting, I miss the unpredictability of your delusional behavior. I killed myself and entered your mind repeatedly to become the delusional mess that is your mind, it is not attractive, I found myself in an endless maze that was abundantly riddled with nonsense. Another rat running on the wheel with all the rest, stuck in a Hell of one’s own creation, trying to find someone to run in circles with them.
How much easier it is to talk and point fingers, rather than working towards tackling the issues at hand. I am a nobody who has learned the art of words and expression to survive in a world full of crooks with phishing hooks. Talk is only a chunk of the game, the way I carry myself has kept me looking more confident than the rest. I am reluctant to show fear, to show a negative emotion out of instinct instilled into me. I will laugh in pain before shedding a tear, I saw how alarmed you were when you perceived my behavior—even with context regarding my suffering, all you could see was a psychopath waiting to eat your flesh. The reality is that if you believe a single drop of my story, which is far more than a piece devised to tug on strings, when all I care to know is what is going on in your mind. My perception is not limited to one direction, my limited education has not deterred me from taking in my environments for observation and coming to conclusions that complexly defined my personality.
I’m not insecure, nor am I even worried, my vagrancy and “schizoid” level of morality is a way of coping with living in a society that has killed me more times than even a televised series might find conceivable to realistically put on the air. You cry from dying in a dream, I revel in it, and look forward to the next time I might feel eternally at peace with my existence.
You helped me see who I always have been, and to see what kind of person I never would wish to be. A walking psychedelic trip, I can see the universal mycelium in my head which connects all living creatures. I ate from your fruit to see nothing was there, and consented to you feasting upon mine despite you not being ready for a demonic creature like me.
My heart and soul need not be drained by a man such as you, I have always been free to do as I please, and you’re but only another controlling entity that sees your own reflection in my dark eyes rather than what I possess behind them.
You will never know the pain you caused me, you couldn’t tolerate the intensity of my experiences that has merged me into this hurting human being that exhibits demon qualities inexplicably.
I feel alone with the power of my senses, but I don’t need you to play pretend to make me comfortable with the isolation I have gained from trauma. I am content with my existence, despite others’ perceptions that believe otherwise.
I’m at peace, even with my game pieces deteriorating or missing. I am free to play with the rest of society, stagnating is not an option for me when death is close to me.