There wasn’t much to it. At least not in the end. The various pills and elixirs scattered and spilled on the floor mixed in the piss and vomit. Torrent of tears from mothers with Rosary-wrapped hands held in prayer to a god that wasn’t there while the altar boys knelt to pleasure Father Jesus. The voluptuous, vivacious Virgin vixen lay on the bed, her legs spread open for the offering of saints and sinners alike while the whore superior baptized the children with menstrual blood.
The boy overdose on heroine. Blood clotted the dropper. The injection came in with strong. They televised his death as Saint Francis Assisi held his naked body against his own.
A stained-glass heart. Multicolored facets of Hell. A bit too Catholic for the religious.
Manticore & Other Horrors by Cradle of Filth is available at Amazon.
Bared on your tomb
I am a prayer for your loneliness
And would you ever soon
Come above unto me?
For once upon a time
From the binds of your holiness
I could always find
The right slot for your sacred key
I can’t sleep. I haven’t been getting much these last few days, weeks, months. Like a recurring nightmare, the dream of a sweeter time in my life keeps revealing itself, jolting me awake, leaving me with the realization how lonely I am. The greatest part of this scenario is I haven’t a single person to share this dream with. Nor would I if someone would offer to listen.
I used to think of a world in which I’m not a part. A scarier thought never crossed my mind. Not suicide, just a world in which I never existed. How much happier would people be if I never polluted their lives. If my indecision or inability to act never held them back from bigger and better.
I used to think of suicide, too. What a waste of life. At my weakest state, that seemed like the best solution for everything. I read a post by someone on Tumblr stating that suicide wasn’t a form of weakness. Her argument seemed sound, but it lacked everything. We only get one life, one shot to do something great. Even in the smallest way, we leave a mark that changes the world. Maybe not the whole world, but maybe someone’s world. And quitting before you even get a chance to start is possibly the most selfish thing. And selfishness is the sign of weakness. I should know.
I’m rambling. I know that there isn’t any linear way to describe depression. Fuck it. I’m out.
Chapin City Blues 