Sunken Daydreams

The pictures hung off the wall like brief nods to the time before this, they were slanted and buckled . The walls looked haphazardly strewn up, and the curtains hung in unhappy, unsymmetrical clumps, begging for breeze, for a breath of fresh.

Even the daffodils looked heavy with sweat, drooping in their vase, like sad, weary commas,I breathed air, stale with sweat, the disease of them dripped from my pores, and I willed the fresh taste of blood.

My fascination with vampirism began in adololesence, the dark melonchaly of being a sexual object to those beneath my intellect settled over me in a morbidity that has clung to me like a well worn cloak, comfortable and safe. A floor length trench coat, of course, and oh,preferably with a Victorian flair.

I drained them of their life and vitality, the rather. Finding some sick satisfaction in watching them bash themselves against the stones of my love, the hard coldness of my body, a constant assurance of my superiority and eventual security.

I grew older, my sweetness kept by the morbid sense of righteousness, that justice does keep in said instances.

Meanwhile, my work fell into places and exploded, cultural phenomenons were born, revolutions were created and dictators were overthrown born from the strength of love and power in my words.

I knew nothing greater than this realization, the glory was surpassed only by the secret push of my love.

There were thorns though, systems unaddressed and hatreds not known. Therefore, I found myself now in this predicament. Unable to shake the mantle of its cloying sense of control. Oh retch.

It was so insidious, I wouldn’t even drink it’s 🩸blood, even if I could. I just wanted her to die. My God, I missed myself.

For the smell of anything fresh, at sight of her,I would kill her with bare hands, my eyes knew this as surety.

Outstanding moments awaited me. I grew impatient. I was weary. I could smell the life outside of its stagnancy. My every instinct pulsed just to submit it, this feminine dominance born of sheer envy. For me!!! My God, what madness, what sheer fucking idiocy. Oh, I could hardly stand it.

My vampiric instincts held me wait, in soft blighted moments of discomfort, I measured intents and found judging me, an eel. I waited for him, my mouth watered for his blood.

I felt him know it. I waited. I wanted. I bled, I slept.

I.

Kept.

Hope.

Alive.

Eventually, my hopes, faith, and work paid off, and as the tentacles of socialism, envy, and unwanted sexual affections began dying, I felt again the light of a Fathers love. Freedom broke chains that I didn’t even know existed.

My words finally came back to me in love, rather than the furious disdain of ignorance.

Outside, after the afterbirth and bile of her octopus of a mind slid its tentacles from my womb and mind. I wretched. I cried. I walked away.

Irony of 3 years of sensory deprivation and negatives?

Have you ever smelled a marigold?

It’s not a rose. But it’s a potent medicinal fresh little smell, thats beauty brought tears to my eyes.