Vendredi 21 septembre 2007 à 0:14

Headache. Sick feeling. I guess there must be a word for something like that. There are words for everything. Or almost. Because no matter how much words you have, there will always be some feelings, some sensations you will never be able to express. Like this angered hating love going through my veins right now.
Tired. Exhauted. Yeah. They would say that. The doctors, or even the common people... They can't understand. Not that they don't want to, but they just can't. I feel like my bones are heavier than the ground. Like they're gonna crush the floor, like I'm gonna fall into the Earth.
Once I have been broke, shattered into so much pieces you can't count them. Broke by love. Someone slash my heart with a giant sword, almost splitting into two parts. But although it was sliced on more than ninety percent, there was still a small, living, resisting and wonderful link between them. With that heart slashed I lost tons of blood, weakening my body. An hemorrhage that didn't stop before I nearly die. But I didn't die, even if it would have been so simplier this way. I didn't die and I tried to rebuid myself, searching deeply in me every little light I could use to became operationnal once again. But I didn't fight enough lights. There wasn't enough lights. There were killed before I can get to them.
So I turn into my darkness. And let them became stronger.

This should have ended so long ago.

I did rebuild myself, very slowly, hiding that part of me from the others. Love has been beaten. Hate now takes place. And working the way through.

None of this should have ever happened. I should have surrender earlier and die. It would have been better.

I seek revenge. Nobody will let me have it. But I'm not going to let them block my path. Now I'm full again. Weird feeling. It makes so much time since... I need power. Energy. Something to move. To move on. I don't want to be stuck here and I won't be. Just need some more time to get that energy. Then I'll stand again. And this time I will be much more deadlier and mercyless. My heart is ike a broken mirror that someone would have fixed with some glue, like a puzzle of images reflecting me, myself and I. Once again, the Heart is. The Spirit is. They are together. And they got scars all over. The same scars raging for revenge.

This is gonna be nasty. I should have stopped when I could.

I could use some help. Be no one is going to help me. Because they all think they know who I am. Seriously. This could be the joke of the century.
Nobody can understand. Nobody. That's why they will they say I'm crazy. Mad. Stupid. Jealous. Retarded. A bunch of words to qualify me as they see fit. As they think I am with those little brains they got. For so long I have been only a shadow form. Swiflty running into everyone's back. Trying to use everything as a cover, creating decoys, and losing myself under a mask of "normality". Losing myself. Cost me so much to find myself again. To be again.

That will be so nasty. I am getting excited, but I know I shouldn't be. Though... Nothing of this should be neither.

I am. As a matter of fact. I don't need any explanation for this. I am and she is. She sent me over the edge of life, but I managed to climb back. There could be a truce. But with that pride of her, she won't accept it. No. No way. They don't understand. They won't understand. I'm gonna throw heer overboard too. And not only her, but every and all of those who have helped her in that. Friends or foe, makes no difference. They will pay. And I'll make sure that they will cry of this. Cry. Something I haven't done for years. Like I have forgot how to do. No tears. Just Hate. Hate in place of Love. Your fault, no mine. Now it's payback time.

My spirit is covered with deep and eternal scars. I'll make her some, for the fun.
I'm just Skar all over.

Par Corly le Vendredi 21 septembre 2007 à 21:29
Hehe... It's nice to see you back, Skar.
Par Apfel le Jeudi 11 octobre 2007 à 21:46
I am. Peut-être, oui. Parfois un "non" s'impose, et pourtant je m'accroche à ce déterminant. A cette parcelle de mot qui semble qualifier la relative existence. Les mots. Abstrait et concept. Je ne m'y sens plus tout à fait à l'aise, car les images et les sentiments n'arrivent plus à s'y refléter alors que je pose quelques ébauches sur une feuille cornée. Il parait que ça revient. Il parait.
 

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