"The Lovers of prostitutes are healthy, happy and sated;…"
I sat at the window as I always did, my eyes staring out at the dark night. The clouds blocked my view of the heavens thus robbing me of the beauty of the stars, and so I found my eyes drifting downwards to embrace the harsh reality of the city. Neon lights announced their presence with mind numbing blinking. Car headlights shined through the murky fog as lines of zombies made their way along the streets of their home.
My gaze was drawn to a less busy corner of the buzzing metropolis that stretched out before me like vast network of sorrow and suffering, as it had been a thousand times before. She was there again, dressed in her fishnet stockings and thigh high boots, has she no shame!? Her skirt was so short that every time she moved she displayed what was or sale, this sickening siren of the streets. I could imagine her sweet smell, the smell of overdone makeup and cheap perfume, the smell of decay and decadence. I stared at her in utter loathing.
A man stepped up to her from the kerb, and he smiled. I knew him, not by his name but by his face. One of the faces that haunted my dreams, the nightmares that keep me company when I slept. The faces come to me then; smiling, laughing, mocking. The girl wrapped her arms around his strong body and laughed with him as they walked away, just as they had done so many times before.
Oh how I hated them. I hated them for the corrupt and decadent social structure they represented, I hated them for the perverse symptoms that they were. But more than that, I hated them for their happiness; their utter, perfect contentment.
"…as for me, my arms are broken from having embraced clouds…"
I cried.
On my perch at the window watching life go on and on without me, I cried. The phone rain again, but I refused to answer it. I refused to face the life that tortured me so; the life that wanted me only as a plaything for it’s twisted, sadistic amusement.
Oh for love I would have sold my soul itself if I had one left to sell, and they knew. I was once gifted with a love sure pure and perfect. So real that it could never possibly have been real. I wanted so much this pure and perfect love that I blinded myself to the evil that laced my flower’s kiss. The poison She brought me to drink, the lies that were my bread.
Blessed be the meek and merciful! Blessed be the poor and weak! Cursed forever be the dreamer, searching for my perfect love.
"…it’s thanks to the matchless stars that blaze in the furthest skies that my burnt out eyes see now only memories of suns."
Memories. Memories I couldn’t and wouldn’t face. The picture on the dressed stared at me as it always did, and try as I might I couldn’t avoid Her gaze.
I gave her my everything!
I gave her my everything and she left me with nothing.
There have been others since her, beauty’s in their own right professing love. Love! What do they know of love? These devils in silk cloth, these flowers of evil. None of them can compare to Her, neither in beauty, nor in pure tainted torture.
"…in vain I tried to find the limits and center of space; under some unknown fiery eye I feel my wing breaking;"
I stare out of the window at the endless sea of faces.. they are laughing, mocking, staring at me. They know, they see, they laugh at me. I start to shake as bitter tears of anger, hate and longing burn my face like acid.
"…And, consumed by the love of the beautiful, I shall not have the sublime honour of giving my name to the abyss that will be my tomb."
I leap. Jump. Fall. Cast into the Abyss by my own weak heart, the heart that betrays me still. The heart that calls out to Her like a lost babe for it’s mother.
I fall and the faces laugh at me, they know they’ve won.
It ends. All is black.