I sit as an observer in my own masquerade, i have so many facades I can no longer distinguish the real from the fake. I like the roller coaster, i like hurting and being hurt. I like what gets you to that hurt. The fact that you actually have to let someone close enough to be able to hurt you.. that’s beauty to me.
I indulging in indulging myself. I am selfish and reckless. I am the epitome of the scum in the human existence. I lie because I want to see what I can get away with. I have no guilt, no remorse. If someone hurts me, i hurt them twice as bad. If someone loves me I destroy them completely. The guilt of my actions is poison my vains and the only way i can endure is to build up my immune system. Build up walls to cancel out the negative. Yet somewhere in the equation I choose to disregard that the negation of negative never proves its opposite. I would never truly be positive, i would be flung into the norm, the normative, that state that can only be described as numb. Detachment and disconnect at the snap of a finger. Now fake it. Fake it till you create no cracks. Keep them out. Its you against the world and the only way one will win. So i struggle and i kick and scream as though somehow that will make it better. I indulge in all of the 7 sins and for some reason feel pride in it. I have crushed numerous hearts. mastering my technique more and more. As i learn what makes people tick I begin pushing. I’m a professional deception artist. I can fake anything for as long as it need be. I don’t even think about what or who i hurt unless i get caught. I lost my conscious before I had time to properly introduce myself to him.
I’m a dangerous dog that must be put down.
I will never stop and I will hurt and hurt until the world finally destroys me.
At my funeral I will expect to see everyone hurting, crying, weeping, lamenting having hurt me. Feeling guilt that I envy. But as I open my eyes to see the beauty in my destruction i realize no one came…..
Alas, the was free beer at the party on 43rd Street.