ataraxicbelle

There is a darkness in me. A hollow place where she lives. Where she curls up and laughs to herself at how hard I try to be good.     She is my dark passenger, my shadow self. She stares back at me when I look too long in the mirror. Her eyes half lidded and predatory, her head cocked to the left, she always looks ... sexy. Or dangerous. I'm not sure which.     She whispers to me, asking for bad things. For blood and for strangers in her bed. She whispers and the mutters, she laughs and then she screams. The only voice I can hear is her's begging to make them hurt. Begging to fill the hollow place up with warm, sticky, companionship.

There's something inside me eating its way out. Like 1.2.3 ....    And if I could kiss your cheek and whisper to you softly the secrets that make me who I am I would. If I could make myself less a train wreck bent of throwing myself a thousand miles in every direction all at once.. I would.     Because I've never felt more whole than when I held my cheek against your chest like a sunrise... but I guess it was closer to a sunset than anything else. And this is a night without moon.     I don't WANT to let this go.     But this is how the world ends; not a bang but a whisper. This is not waving. This is drowning. And I am as hollow a

There is a scene in Fight Club by chuck Palahniuk that has the main character beating the living snot out of a very pretty guy. When he walks away and speaks to Tyler about it he says: "I just wanted to destroy something beautiful." I understand that feeling. The feel the need to tear down and rip to shreds the pockmarked ediface of human creation is in human nature. Destruction and creativity walk hand in hand, they kiss with tongue. We want to oxidize the entirety of our uncivilized culture until we are back to the bitter dirty crumbs of the Dark Ages; when the world mad sad, cruel sense. I want to work for it. This pre-packaged, red-43