Blog Archives

When Death Becomes Her

Is conceding to defeat
preferable to basking
in its inevitability?
Humanity began
another war today.
Where one concludes
another begins;
there is no end to
tyranny.

Oppression is what
keeps the heart at bay
and prevents our love
from living. Where
once love reigned
supreme, now she
knows only defeat, for
we have failed to
nurture that which we
once hailed as our
most paramount emotion.

When death became her,
she was taken at the
reaper’s blessing. His
minions, our militaries,
were only too eager to
prove themselves reliable
by eliminating the only
force strong enough to
halter humanity’s violent
expansion.

In the name of hate we
killed her; love is now all
but gone. Her demise will
not be remembered; just
another death on the
casualty list; just another
nameless number in the
statistics; just another
victim to the grinder that
is war. If love was as
popular as hatred,
perhaps she could have
outlasted till the bitter
end.

If this be true; if these
written words are proven
reliable and all that this
piece dare reveals is the
inconvenient existence we
are all bound to, then what
is the purpose to our
continuation? Why bother
submitting to a life that is
destined to be unfinished,
for what is life with the
absence of romantic passion?

The lie we would be forced
to tell ourselves in order
to get out of bed each
morning would be a betrayal
upon our very souls and
lead only to our damnation.
This writer can already
taste the suffocating hatred
that has drenched the
surface of our planet; can
you not taste cherub’s
defeat?

If love was so easily taken,
then what unfortanate
future is in store for our
soul mates? Why bother
living, breathing, eating,
if your lover’s flame has
already been extinguished?
With the amount of death
that has covered this
world, what chance is
there that your future
lover has already been
consumed?

What chance is there for us
if our futures do not include
such passion? What hope is
there for anyone if
tomorrow brings us no
closer to that which we are
lacking? If love is truly
dead, then we have
already joined her in the
afterlife. I only hope that
hatred does not exhist
there too.

Monster Heart

I may have been born
and raised by humans,
but I was never one of
them. I am alien, as I
always was; I am Clark
Kent without the power,
E.T without the family to
go home to. I almost look
human and can therefore
almost assimilate physically,
but always there was
something missing; a
necessary component of
humanity I was always
deprived; love? I had that
once, but now that time was
over. I could hope for it
again, but do little else.
Empathy? I could sympathise
with those in pain and
sometimes wish they weren’t;
I could relate to the loss and
potentially even cry for them,
but I could do little else. Speech?
I could at times be quite
garrulous despite my normally
silent demeanour. Anxiety?
A necessary evil it would seem;
a burden I did not wish to carry;
the part of humanity I wish
I had been denied. Anger, fear,
hatred, happiness; the list could
go on and on. So what is it that I
had been denied; what had I been
forsaken; what was not my
birthright? Can you guess? It was
as forgettable as a pebble, but as
important as the human heart; the
essence of humanity. Barred from
me like a prison, without which I
was not quite myself, I instead
became something less than I
ought to become. I was as
hideous as a nightmare; as
unloved as a cockroach; as
unwanted as a tax bill. I
was an insidious monster
that very few people could
ever see past. This was no
mask which could be taken
down, it was beneath the skin,
burrowing deeply into the
lower reaches of my soul. My
gift for being birthed I do
presume and it made me wish
that I hadn’t, but all it would
take is one touch; one kiss; one
sign of lust from a fair damsel
to remove this burning pain from
my interior. Like a frog’s first
kiss, I would finally feel alive
once more and perhaps, if luck
may have it, I would take my
first step into a human world
and maybe even enjoy it; and if
I didn’t? Well, I guess I’d just
ask the fair angel to kiss me
again and I would immediately
be the man I ought to be once
more, with the queen of the
human spirit standing, perhaps
happily, by my side. And they
say monsters cannot have dreams?