Darkness Owns Me

You'll never see the darkness in my mind: the bone-crushing blackness, the maddening loneliness, the infinite and cosmic abyss where I fall through an eternity. I fall and fall and fall and there is no telling how long it might take me to reach the ground, to be shattered into a thousand pieces, to end it once and for all.

You'll never understand how the darkness would suffocate me. It washes over me like waves, gentle at first, so soft I wouldn't even notice it's there; then it gets rougher, and I would get swept into the black ocean. I would try to swim, but the waters are viscous and heavy and the inky droplets would stick to my arms and weigh me down. The worst part is realizing that while the drowning at sea part is only in my head, the suffocating part is real. I'm doubling over and kneeling on the floor to breathe but it is like a thick layer of oil is coating my alveoli - my lungs just don't work anymore.

That's not to say that I'm depressed all the time. Sometimes it's as if I'm another person altogether. I guess that's what bipolarity does to you. But even when it strikes, I could fight it for awhile; when I'm with company. I could still pretend that I am another person, untouched by the darkness and I would fake it so well that even my demons are deceived. It is only when I'm alone again, that they would come back and haunt me and tell me that the brief happiness I had felt when I was another person was a lie, an illusion, and I was foolish to believe it.

But it's better that you can't see the darkness. Because then you wouldn't fathom the atrocity of my deepest thoughts. You wouldn't know that when I say I hate the world, I meant I would burn them all, all the occupants on earth - you and him and them and me. You wouldn't know that I dream of monsters, tearing and mutilating people with their fangs and their claws, only to realize that I am the monsters. All of them. Like zombie clones of me.

You don't believe me, do you? That's alright. I terrify myself too.

He Said, She Said

You said you like my dress, because it's so long and so red and it goes on forever. It's an amaranthine river that flows from the blades of my shoulders to the ground. The scarlet train pools around my feet like blood. Or ketchup.

You said you like my skin. Milky white and luminescent behind the crimson silk. Touch it then, I whisper. Trace it with your finger but be gentle, and soft. My skin is so thin it will break at the slightest pressure, and the red would come out of me, and I will die. Trust me, darling, I'll die. 

And I said, tell me more. What else do you love about me? I'm hungry and greedy and I want so much more out of you. So spill. 

So you said:  I love how you get all these crazy stories in your head and demand that I listen to all of them. I love the muscle on your thigh that occasionally twitches when you sleep.I love the warmth of your body, and I drink it every night, and it burns as it goes down my throat. Like brandy. I love your sing-song voice, lilting and fluctuating with every syllable of your words. I love our little arguments and how they always end with you in my arms. I love how you carry your pillow around and bury your head in it and sniff it and tell me that it smells like me. Or I smell like it. I love your insanity and paranoia and obsessiveness and do-you-really-want-me-to-continue-because-it-can-really-take-the-whole-night. 

Well then, I replied, you can write it all down and draw little random hearts on the paper, or you can shut up and kiss me. 

Happy Belated Birthday, Cheeyi

It has become a routine that has to be done daily - a ritual, almost. She stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror with a basin of water in one hand and a small towel in another. She forces herself to look into the mirror and suppresses the disgust and utter horror as she wets the towel and dabs at her face (if it can still pass as a face).

The softness of the towel on her skin is delicious. Slowly, gently and with a deftness that could only hint at regularity, she removes the flakes of skin from her purulent flesh. The pinkish, raw sinewy muscles on her face contracts when she opens her mouth. The foul-smelling pus that flows down her throat is carefully cleaned.

She lifts up a rubber mask from her dresser and puts it on, careful to secure the edges. Make-up is applied to make her face more realistic, more natural. At best, she looked as though she had had a bad plastic surgery, at worst the bleeding is too heavy to put on a fake face at all. She looks at herself proudly, admiring the face that her own hands had produced.

He wouldn't recognize her now. No, she had been beautiful once and he had been the devil. If she had known better she wouldn't have made the deal with him but he had been so charming, so alluring. Let me love you and let me be with you and I'll give you anything. Anything. Well, he did. He let her love him and let her be with him and he wanted her face.

But you know what they say, a deal's a deal and he got her goddamned face. She hopes he does it justice. Pretty faces are hard to come by, after all.


P.S. Hope you don't mind I wrote dark stuff for your birthday. =)

Take My Heart

When I die, promise you'll retrieve my heart before it deliquesces in my body. You have ten minutes. Shatter my ribs and reach into my chest. There you shall find my heart, silent and rigid, but do not be fooled. It may lie limp and dead, but it will bite your fingers off at first chance. Do not fret.

Sing it a ballad. You may stroke it gently once it grows docile. It will purr and squirm under your touch. Now (and you must be quick and firm), seize it tight and wrench it out from its nest of veins and capillaries. Do not worry if it gasps and moans. Stretch it as thin as you can but take care not to tear it. When it is flat, dry it in the sun and tie it around your wrist.

Then and only then, will I be with you. Always.

Advice For February:

Be nice to people this month. Smile, but take care to ensconce your sharp, jagged teeth. Laugh kindly at people's jokes, but do not spout blood. Speak softly, as to not wake the slumbering demon in the confines of your mind. Ignore your belly, you do not want to eat humans. Keep your hands occupied, try not to pull out your nails when you're nervous. Lock your heart in a jar, it had never been a good influence. Bathe in formaldehyde everyday, or you will be plagued by gnats and maggots. Do not go near the animals, they will shriek and hiss. Eat with a fork and a knife, but do not concentrate too much on the knife - or the fork too for that matter (you don't want to kill somebody). Finally, look into others' eyes with loving kindness and do not let the insanity show.

Save Me From Me

My skin is raw and
my heart whorls,
so my darling will you
please
soak me in you?

Smear yourself on me:
On my cumbersome limbs
on my
throbbing flesh.
You may suck
away
the delirium
and the morbidity
and the abyss
from the pores
of my
skin.

Love Your Tumor

You said you want to
Kiss the wound
that is my mouth.
You would
suck away the
cosmic, eternal
darkness
into
you.

I love you,
but

The Girl Who Had Maggots

Once upon a time, there lived a girl who was in love. And when her love died, she had him encased in the concourse of her mind and would not let him go. Soon, the corpse began to fester and maggots infested her mind.

The maggots originated from the soft tissues of her brain. Slowly, leisurely, they ate her brain as she slept. And sleep she did often. When she cried the maggots wriggled out from the corner of her eyes and slid down her cheeks. Still, she did not notice the maggots because they were clever: eating her brain tiny bit by tiny bit so that she felt nothing. But they were breeding now, and the maggot babies were hard to control. They cried and they wanted more.

One day, she woke up with a splitting headache and was left with no choice but to call the doctor. The doctor came and felt her head and pronounced that a surgery was to be taken place immediately. She consented. And when the doctor had her head cut open, the maggots came squirming and writhing out, their pale white bodies intertwined like lovers'. The doctor gently wiped away the maggots to reveal a moiety of brain left.

The girl died. And so did the maggots.

Goodbye Darling

Your love left blisters on
my heart,
your breath stained
my skin.
And now you say
you would leave.
Again.

Alright
you may go.
But first,
could you please
find me a donor -
I can't grow
another new heart
anymore.

I Miss You

I miss you.
And all I am breathing are thoughts.
I gasp and splutter and there is no
air. Only dense clouds of
memories.

The little droplets of anguish run
like blood - rolling and tumbling onto each other
they clot into masses of black and they
choke me
to the point of delirium.

In my lugubrious dose of morbidity
I cried with a thousand eyes.
I wander alone
in the reverberating hollow concourse
of your absence:
missing you and hating you
to the point of death.