Blookg

Track II – My apocalypse-»Metallica

The rest of the day came and went, mysteriously, time seemed stuck, although it seemed not to move the effects of sunset appeared as always. In all this time he hadn’t left the sofa, moving only to light up cigarettes and to put them out, by this times his ashtray looked like a mountain and smelled like a graveyard.

She had left hours ago, it was almost impossible to know when,  maybe before lunch, but when the July sun began setting, he heard  three buzzes, it was his mobile phone, a message no doubt about it. Casually he reached for it, coming to face with a blank screen displaying 20:37 and a little white envelope. Upon opening, a little text from her

“I’m sorry, I’m gonna move on”. It then struck him that it hasn’t been a few hours, but a few days,  his mind was in such a daze, that auto pilot kicked in and he lost himself. But this little message triggered something, something foul, something … that burned from within. Anger?

Pain?

NO….hatred. Suddenly the haze cleared up and he realized the patheticness of his last week, rotting alone in is empty house, holding to memories, holding to mementos, praying for her smell not to go away. NO! SHE IS GONE… THEY WERE NO MORE

Slowly he began trading love for this new found hatred, he wasn’t proud, but it felt good. He then embarked into a journey, a dark journey, exploring this feeling, destroying himself, punching walls until his fist were painted crimson with blood, roaring to no one, destroying pictures, burning them breaking glass. He felt invincible, the heat from the bonfire cuddled his face and a maniac grin appeared. Oh how good the fire felt, how glorious, oh how his wounds, the countless blade slashes all over his body felt,  the joy, oh the pleasure, the crimson and ruby dance of fire and blood…OH THE FIRE, THE BLOOD; THE SMOKE THE DESTRUCTION, the beauty almost orgasmic.

but this ritual soon lost his effect, the ashes on the floor made him cry, the bruises and cuts on his skin embarrassed him. His body was a wreck, his mind ached with the simple fact of exiting, and his soul was broken. This was a mask, a mask of hatred, but not for her, but hatred for himseld. This truth came to him when one dawn after countless hours awake he showered, and stood under the pouring water, without moving, until water poured out of him. The mask had came of, the true feeling re emerged, he missed her, he missed them, but most he missed being happy. And no mask could really hide that…It was indeed time to move on

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