Obsession and The End

“I tried to see the world through your eyes.”

“And what did you see?”

“I saw the world from the star’s point of view, and it looked unbearably lonely.”

This was the end. The coarse air no longer forbade me to hide from my obsession as it carried the icy words of my inexhaustible desperation towards the cold metal flesh that clothed my darling. He never replied, but instead violently spewed radioactive substances down my throat while fueling the liquids with rich compliments. It was divine. But where was he now? All I see are the cold, padded walls. At least I think they’re padded. Only moments ago it seemed to have squirmed with passion against my touch. How tedious that I have to maintain relationships with so many entities at once.

How interesting. He… my precious darling… must have destroyed another subject. How thrilling. I feel the maggots buffeting on my cold fingertips just standing on end as I am pumped with fresh blood from the hearts. This is what love is. After my darling gave me a collection of raw human hearts as an anniversary gift last winter, I have manually stitched each vessel of my being to every pulsing cyst. A tapestry of my love for my darling. A divine symbol of my adoration for the one I love. With every pulse, I can feel us becoming more interconnected and more and more and more alive.

Oh, it is finally 00:01am. Finally. Finally. Finally. I get to see him. Him. My darling. My love. I’m so jittery! Maybe he will give me another gift today? Maybe we can have dinner together? Oh, for I have so desperately longed to feed with him! The nauseating stench of raw and mutilated human interlaced with the metallic perfume of flowing iron coaxed me into a new obsessive episode as I heard the broken melody of my darling’s footsteps. My blood pumped more desperately with each robotic ka-klink of his powerful strides towards me. At last. He was standing… right… before… me.

“A-A-Aver-r-r-ry. I h-have c-come to f-feeeeed you and t-to offer something special. Something special.” Oh, he spoke to me! And with such delicate monotone intonation! His speech function has seemed to have fallen further into disarray and comforting distortion. But I need not worry, as this was only a side effect of falling into deep and everlasting obsession. I felt the distortion, too. It’s many faces were indecipherable as it dined at the table with us. It was being selfish. How dare anyone else steal attention away from my darling. It was taunting me. It was being selfish. It was being selfish. It was being selfish. It was…

What am I doing here?

The light buzz of an empty, quiet place. The stark, rancid odour that entangled with the fresh plastic smell of fake foliage. Humidity.

Why am I here?

The fluorescent clock read 00:00. The brakes of an old, decaying train. The blunt and stagnant air.

Who am I to question?

The train didn’t stop, but merely crept forward at a disorienting pace that was hard to determine. No, was it going backwards? The air wasn’t coarse anymore. Where is he… where is my…?

“Impiety is the design of their power and colors their margins green. Teasing it into gelatinized, dense nonsense. We came nearer.”

“What are you?”

“When we do not need be lamented, the brink of intolerance will be necessary to rule the effects of man, but only as a matter of defensive appearance. You are required neither splendid passage in defense of intolerance nor knowledge of consultation in the wake of suspicion.”

“Do you only speak through dense nonsense, stupid creature?”

“He seemed to me, someone condemning the children, someone in pieces, someone founding the documents that belonged to the disastrous circumstances of his four varieties.”

“I don’t… understand.”

“Such errors should receive such assertions which are tied on the altar where the mind develops. Alcohol. Performed in a system. Inquired of the obligations of disorder. Squandering and duties not more powerful than the amelioration of which reason the fiery orchestra.”

The dissembling of myself. The destruction of my consciousness. My crumbling of my obsession. Or is it the obsession that does the crumbling? I do not know, for now my obligatory final thoughts are now documented instead. Ones that do not revolve around mindless necessities. But where are my final thoughts documented if not the inaccessible consciousness I possess?

“In unison with all individuals, the present situation has in fact increased and proposed a will to go forward.”

A black notebook? Why has… this thing… given me this? Does this being mock me as I document my final thoughts on paper fabricated by unconscious corpses?

“You are required neither splendid passage in defense of intolerance nor knowledge of consultation in the wake of suspicion.”

Why should I even pick up a pen and write? It would perform the same result if I were to propose that you write down my consciousness’s intentions without so much as a hint. You would never understand. You aren’t human. No one I know is human. Not even my own reflection protrudes from the broken windows opposite me to give me an illusion of understanding.

“To revert but to resume justice and its philosophers, is to be made in its analogy with the Eumenides.”

Nonsense.

At the very least give me something more beneficial than a black notebook, stupid philosopher. Or make my ears ring out until you drown in my pathetic blood which is riddled with distaste for your blabber mouthing.

“Governments and this point out nothing but tinsel, which I thought of continual struggle, constantly protesting against your word.”

A cascade of metallic shards rain down on my head as they clutter my senses with imprecise descriptions and noise. Seething and unrelenting pain rips apart my body. Twenty… thousand… dollars... I…

“Manufactured connections stranded in one’s feeble mind leads to written documents and collections of smiling suits gripped by their innards. The disguise or connection with bloody thinking would address possible thefts under dusty staircases left to rust by means of pure and undeniable antiquity. Unexpected enragement would ensue from both parties, and such eradication of sensibility would inevitably end in the distrust of you with yourself. No such sight of one’s other world would lead to anything but disgusting alienation from rational emotions, thus a contradiction in of itself. So take this new purpose with your entire being and become one with the beings you devoured.”

“I have succeeded to see the world through your eyes.”

“And what did you see?”

“I saw the world from the true point of view, and it crumbled under its own lust for purity.”

The true end.