Post by webster52402 on Jul 27, 2008 2:10:17 GMT
Well, after FC read it, he said it should be alright to put up here, so here it is. This is my latest delve into the mind of the insane, the thoughts of those that kill, those that are detached with reality. And, I call it...
You know, I don't think there is anything so powerful in this world, or in the next, actually, if there is a world after the one that we exist in, fooling each other into believing that we are living for a reason, that there is a point to the way we wander around the Earth, carving out small places that we can call our own and all the while desiring more, desiring what cannot be ours, what we think we need to survive, to consider it a 'life', than love. Love holds power over men's hearts, over their minds, over their bodies... over their very souls. Love is valued by any man that ever truly finds it, valued above anything that exists, over money, over success... even over life itself.
There have been... so many things, that have been committed in the name of love. Whether these things were truly born of love, or born from the idea of love, I don't know, who can say? But, countless people have been killed for the love of another, fortunes made and lost all to gain this one object, minds created and destroyed because of the actions of one that holds this power over others, obsessions created from the dark shadows of men's hearts, wrapped around that golden nugget, that object that everyone calls love. And, to those that find it, those that hold it, there is nothing more precious, there is nothing that brings quite as much happiness, as holding the one that you love, be it simply acknowledging yourself for you egotistical self-loving pricks out there, be it an object that you fancy, an animal that you hold dear to your heart, or the love of another, of someone beautiful to you, someone that is your all, that is worth giving your heart to.
Yes... Love makes a person do some strange things.
It's also nearly unbreakable. Much like steel... Like the steel that I hold even now. So smooth, and so flawless, with such a... intoxicating texture. There are times that it's so fluid, so very smooth, the cloth that caresses it slipping along without so much as a hitch, and then there are times that it's rocky, that the sharp protrusions press into my hand, breaking the texture so suddenly, so unexpectedly... But always, it's still hard, still unyielding, and no matter what way you hold it, no matter what way it is observed, it will always be what it is. It will always be there, it will always be something that is unchanging, that is... pure.
And it shines, too. Steel shines... Love shines, too, in the hearts of those that possess it. There is nothing that could possibly replicate such a glow, there is nothing that could ever approach the brightness that you feel, the warmth that comes from this light filling your entire body, spreading from your heart all the way to your fingertips, to your toes, everywhere. It's a light that even the blazing glare of a thousand suns could never approach, something that just... radiates.
Love can be cold, too, though. Love can be the coldest mistress you ever embrace, the most cruel and unforgiving of chills. From the nuclear chill of love completely lost, that rivals the cold of the depths of the arctic, freezing the heart solid in a case of ice, so thick that it could never be shattered, so much that it's inescapable, to a simple, overall cold. Much like the cold of this steel, much like the coolness of the metal as my hand grips it, pulling the slide back, to release that piercing click... The sound of resolution.
Which, ironically, is what love is, isn't it? Resolution? Resolving yourself to dedicate everything that you have towards someone, towards giving them everything that they want, everything that they need, everything that you are able, everything that your heart contains, EVERYTHING! You have to be prepared to give everything, yes... or else, it will fail, and love will vanish from the hearts of those that you care about. You see, love is a fickle thing, and unless it's properly taken care of, it will never last, the fragile state scattering like ashes in the wind.
That's not to say that I failed, of course. You can try your best to hold on to love, you can do everything that you can possibly do, everything that seems right to you. And what else is there but that, really? To give it your best, and to hope that everything works out, to have the ultimate faith in someone, that they can hold your heart without breaking it, without ripping it to shreds. Since love, like this gun, is a weapon. A weapon that can, and has, killed so many in the past. There is nothing quite as deadly as love when it is turned against someone, and nothing that drives a man to quite as far of extremes.
Extremes? Is that what this is, an extreme? As I look up from the gleam of the gun, my eyes piercing through the shadows into the room beyond the small hallway, the place where I have come to such decisions, and focus on the two in the other room, I can't help but wonder. As I see my wife, always so beautiful, even now, in the throes of passion, with another mind you, I can't help but think of whether or not this would really be classified as an extreme. I suppose it is an extreme, it is murder after all, but is love itself not an extreme as well? The dedication of your heart seems like a rather extreme thing to me.
And extreme emotions call for extreme measures, right? I mean, you fight fire with fire, right? In order to best the devil, you have to become a devil yourself, and all that. Right?
Right?
Heh, you probably think I'm crazy don't you? You probably think that, I've lost my mind, that I'm not right in the head. But, tell me this, if you will. Tell me, in your infinite wisdom, what you think is more crazy?
Going off to work, every day, every DAMN day, after kissing your beautiful wife goodbye, to go and sit in front of a computer, for hours, slogging through report after report, after report, meaninglessly typing away on this... cursed machine that exists just to devour all of your life, all of your time, with a boss yammering on in your ear about your failures, your laziness, your pathetic life, your pathetic existence, in this... pathetic little cubicle, underneath fluorescent lights, their sallow, milky light sucking the very ENERGY from your eyeballs as you focus on endless streams of data in front of you. Thinking, as you do this, as you demean yourself, your very existence, through this work, of what awaits you at home, of the one that you can turn to with your problems, where everything is right in the world, when you can put your arms around her again, and have the rest of the world just... disappear...
Then, bringing home your meager paycheck, after long hours of nothing, after so much strain, so much toil, and so happy that you can hand this check to her, to the one that you love, that you EXIST for, the only reason that you keep returning to that damned office day after day after day after day, AFTER DAY... So happy, that you can watch her spend it, that you can make sacrifices of yourself, your wants, your desires, your needs, just so that you can make her happy, just so that you can see her smile again, just so that you can see the affection in her eyes when she looks upon you, just to see that you have at the least done SOMETHING with your life, that you have... done something that has actually made a difference.
That you can bring home a bottle of wine, one night, on the night of your anniversary, after having worked for so long to try and earn up enough of a vacation to take her somewhere nice, somewhere that you can get away from it all, and truly, finally, show her how much you care for her. Tickets in hand, and bottle of wine in hand, with your hard-earned time burning up with every single breath that you take, sure that this is a moment that you have sacrificed for, that this is a time when you can return to the happiness that she brings you, that you can finally be with her again, only to stop at the door, only to pause, and listen.
Oh, what's this sound? The soft cries of pleasure, that used to be only in your presence, that only used to be when your were with her, inside her, during the moments that your passion overflowed for her, that you could be as close as you could ever get with her... The sounds that she made when making love, so familiar, so passionate, so... desirable...
So, tell me, what do you think is crazier? The feeling in your heart, of when you slowly climb those stairs, the tickets and the bottle of wine forgotten, lying on the floor just in the living room, forsaken instead for the growing feeling of despair in your heart, for the certianity of what you are about to find, but still telling yourself, that it couldn't be, that the one that holds your heart, that you have always been faithful to, that was always on your mind, that was always there for you, that you were always there for, that you had spent your LIFE trying to better, that you had given your money! Your LOVE! YOUR GOD DAMNED SOUL! Was not in that room, that there was some mistake.
What's crazier? Hm? What? What is crazier, tell me now? The idea, that you had lived a lie, that you had lived something so pathetic that even that thing that everyone looks for, that everyone searches for, love, had been false? The idea, that love, that... wonderful little thing that everyone seems to think is the penultimate goal, has a dark side? Or, what I am about to do? Hm? What's crazier?
Huh? Am I crazy, as I step into the room, holding the .45 that I had bought to protect HER from anyone that would seek to rid us of everything that I had sacrificed to get her? Am I crazy, when I even slightly enjoy the look of surprise on her face, and on the face of her lover, as I raise the pistol, relishing the weight of the handgun? When I relish the way she cries my name, the fear that appears in her eyes, as she realizes, that the dark side of love, that the shadow that love casts, has finally come to light? Is it crazy, how cold my eyes are, as I begin to squeeze the wonderfully heavy trigger, as they begin to panic, trying to escape the inevitable?
Crazy?
Hehehe... As I said...
Love makes a person do some strange things...
BANG!
The Dark Side of Love
You know, I don't think there is anything so powerful in this world, or in the next, actually, if there is a world after the one that we exist in, fooling each other into believing that we are living for a reason, that there is a point to the way we wander around the Earth, carving out small places that we can call our own and all the while desiring more, desiring what cannot be ours, what we think we need to survive, to consider it a 'life', than love. Love holds power over men's hearts, over their minds, over their bodies... over their very souls. Love is valued by any man that ever truly finds it, valued above anything that exists, over money, over success... even over life itself.
There have been... so many things, that have been committed in the name of love. Whether these things were truly born of love, or born from the idea of love, I don't know, who can say? But, countless people have been killed for the love of another, fortunes made and lost all to gain this one object, minds created and destroyed because of the actions of one that holds this power over others, obsessions created from the dark shadows of men's hearts, wrapped around that golden nugget, that object that everyone calls love. And, to those that find it, those that hold it, there is nothing more precious, there is nothing that brings quite as much happiness, as holding the one that you love, be it simply acknowledging yourself for you egotistical self-loving pricks out there, be it an object that you fancy, an animal that you hold dear to your heart, or the love of another, of someone beautiful to you, someone that is your all, that is worth giving your heart to.
Yes... Love makes a person do some strange things.
It's also nearly unbreakable. Much like steel... Like the steel that I hold even now. So smooth, and so flawless, with such a... intoxicating texture. There are times that it's so fluid, so very smooth, the cloth that caresses it slipping along without so much as a hitch, and then there are times that it's rocky, that the sharp protrusions press into my hand, breaking the texture so suddenly, so unexpectedly... But always, it's still hard, still unyielding, and no matter what way you hold it, no matter what way it is observed, it will always be what it is. It will always be there, it will always be something that is unchanging, that is... pure.
And it shines, too. Steel shines... Love shines, too, in the hearts of those that possess it. There is nothing that could possibly replicate such a glow, there is nothing that could ever approach the brightness that you feel, the warmth that comes from this light filling your entire body, spreading from your heart all the way to your fingertips, to your toes, everywhere. It's a light that even the blazing glare of a thousand suns could never approach, something that just... radiates.
Love can be cold, too, though. Love can be the coldest mistress you ever embrace, the most cruel and unforgiving of chills. From the nuclear chill of love completely lost, that rivals the cold of the depths of the arctic, freezing the heart solid in a case of ice, so thick that it could never be shattered, so much that it's inescapable, to a simple, overall cold. Much like the cold of this steel, much like the coolness of the metal as my hand grips it, pulling the slide back, to release that piercing click... The sound of resolution.
Which, ironically, is what love is, isn't it? Resolution? Resolving yourself to dedicate everything that you have towards someone, towards giving them everything that they want, everything that they need, everything that you are able, everything that your heart contains, EVERYTHING! You have to be prepared to give everything, yes... or else, it will fail, and love will vanish from the hearts of those that you care about. You see, love is a fickle thing, and unless it's properly taken care of, it will never last, the fragile state scattering like ashes in the wind.
That's not to say that I failed, of course. You can try your best to hold on to love, you can do everything that you can possibly do, everything that seems right to you. And what else is there but that, really? To give it your best, and to hope that everything works out, to have the ultimate faith in someone, that they can hold your heart without breaking it, without ripping it to shreds. Since love, like this gun, is a weapon. A weapon that can, and has, killed so many in the past. There is nothing quite as deadly as love when it is turned against someone, and nothing that drives a man to quite as far of extremes.
Extremes? Is that what this is, an extreme? As I look up from the gleam of the gun, my eyes piercing through the shadows into the room beyond the small hallway, the place where I have come to such decisions, and focus on the two in the other room, I can't help but wonder. As I see my wife, always so beautiful, even now, in the throes of passion, with another mind you, I can't help but think of whether or not this would really be classified as an extreme. I suppose it is an extreme, it is murder after all, but is love itself not an extreme as well? The dedication of your heart seems like a rather extreme thing to me.
And extreme emotions call for extreme measures, right? I mean, you fight fire with fire, right? In order to best the devil, you have to become a devil yourself, and all that. Right?
Right?
Heh, you probably think I'm crazy don't you? You probably think that, I've lost my mind, that I'm not right in the head. But, tell me this, if you will. Tell me, in your infinite wisdom, what you think is more crazy?
Going off to work, every day, every DAMN day, after kissing your beautiful wife goodbye, to go and sit in front of a computer, for hours, slogging through report after report, after report, meaninglessly typing away on this... cursed machine that exists just to devour all of your life, all of your time, with a boss yammering on in your ear about your failures, your laziness, your pathetic life, your pathetic existence, in this... pathetic little cubicle, underneath fluorescent lights, their sallow, milky light sucking the very ENERGY from your eyeballs as you focus on endless streams of data in front of you. Thinking, as you do this, as you demean yourself, your very existence, through this work, of what awaits you at home, of the one that you can turn to with your problems, where everything is right in the world, when you can put your arms around her again, and have the rest of the world just... disappear...
Then, bringing home your meager paycheck, after long hours of nothing, after so much strain, so much toil, and so happy that you can hand this check to her, to the one that you love, that you EXIST for, the only reason that you keep returning to that damned office day after day after day after day, AFTER DAY... So happy, that you can watch her spend it, that you can make sacrifices of yourself, your wants, your desires, your needs, just so that you can make her happy, just so that you can see her smile again, just so that you can see the affection in her eyes when she looks upon you, just to see that you have at the least done SOMETHING with your life, that you have... done something that has actually made a difference.
That you can bring home a bottle of wine, one night, on the night of your anniversary, after having worked for so long to try and earn up enough of a vacation to take her somewhere nice, somewhere that you can get away from it all, and truly, finally, show her how much you care for her. Tickets in hand, and bottle of wine in hand, with your hard-earned time burning up with every single breath that you take, sure that this is a moment that you have sacrificed for, that this is a time when you can return to the happiness that she brings you, that you can finally be with her again, only to stop at the door, only to pause, and listen.
Oh, what's this sound? The soft cries of pleasure, that used to be only in your presence, that only used to be when your were with her, inside her, during the moments that your passion overflowed for her, that you could be as close as you could ever get with her... The sounds that she made when making love, so familiar, so passionate, so... desirable...
So, tell me, what do you think is crazier? The feeling in your heart, of when you slowly climb those stairs, the tickets and the bottle of wine forgotten, lying on the floor just in the living room, forsaken instead for the growing feeling of despair in your heart, for the certianity of what you are about to find, but still telling yourself, that it couldn't be, that the one that holds your heart, that you have always been faithful to, that was always on your mind, that was always there for you, that you were always there for, that you had spent your LIFE trying to better, that you had given your money! Your LOVE! YOUR GOD DAMNED SOUL! Was not in that room, that there was some mistake.
What's crazier? Hm? What? What is crazier, tell me now? The idea, that you had lived a lie, that you had lived something so pathetic that even that thing that everyone looks for, that everyone searches for, love, had been false? The idea, that love, that... wonderful little thing that everyone seems to think is the penultimate goal, has a dark side? Or, what I am about to do? Hm? What's crazier?
Huh? Am I crazy, as I step into the room, holding the .45 that I had bought to protect HER from anyone that would seek to rid us of everything that I had sacrificed to get her? Am I crazy, when I even slightly enjoy the look of surprise on her face, and on the face of her lover, as I raise the pistol, relishing the weight of the handgun? When I relish the way she cries my name, the fear that appears in her eyes, as she realizes, that the dark side of love, that the shadow that love casts, has finally come to light? Is it crazy, how cold my eyes are, as I begin to squeeze the wonderfully heavy trigger, as they begin to panic, trying to escape the inevitable?
Crazy?
Hehehe... As I said...
Love makes a person do some strange things...
BANG!