"Fear is a funny thing, ya know? It makes us do the stupidest things, create the worst in our senses, though it sharpens them too a fine point that even a single prick upon the skin from this dagger of the mind, it'll cause us to bleed out in irrational mess of not only the red ink that flows through our beings, but also a deadly concoction of all these feelings that we have felt over the time and even in that moment of shear terror.
And in these moments of shear terror, numerous things can happen to the one under it's influence... high pulse rating, pupils contract into a reduce proportion of their original state, rapid breathing, running of the mind, breakdowns of the body/mind (which ever comes first.), jittery movements when stationary or moving, a sense of doubt and distrust in those around them: even if they are close to them. And so many more symptoms of this, natural, primal function in the mind--
I've created these fears, these demons that will never cease with their journey and quest to make me pay for what I've done to not only you, but to others as well, that have been caught in this web of lies and deception, only for me to be the immortal black widow, my fangs laced with the venom of greed and lust, as my fangs are sharpened by the hate and darkness that I've collected in the depths of my very being. It's funny how love can make you do stupid things, make you blind and unaware... How it nullifies your senses as you continue to tangle yourself within my web; I feel so guilty for all the things I've done to you, let you get tangled up in lies in false hopes, then allowed me to go in for the kill with my raw hate of venom. Which you've put up a fight and killed me once or twice... as I have killed you also.
Fear is a funny thing, indeed. Along with it's sister/brother emotion of anger (Which I would say is much more fiery than fear, seeing it's effects on me.) It acts like a drug, that pulses through our heart, soul and mind, to make us act upon instinct and react-- or not react with such ease. It creates a jump-start, an adrenaline rush of unspeakable acts or flat out induce the feeling of excitement. It's the one thing that has probably kept me alive and going for so long, fear adapted into paranoia as I draw out these words into a written confession that will never be seen by your eyes or anyone's.
These words are something that I would never admit to others, heaven forbid they see me weak, when others have thought so in the past, including you. But upon this page, I silently speak out all my crimes, my faults, short-comings, and grievances for my personal sake.
I am old, yet I'm young compared to a handful of others who have lived this way of life. I've been trampled on, marched upon, fought on, and more or less conquered by one too many people that really I forget most of them. Though it may seem that my lands be the land of the wounded, dead, and once dying. I cannot help but to be proud of how long I've been around, to see great men fall, flags changing like the leaves in the midst of autumn. My eyes have seen cities burn, and have taken a gander of the beautiful horrors of war.
I've developed a love-hate relation with most; love them dearly for their power and wealth, but secretly loathe them as their fingertips intermingle with the spaces between my own. I've called you a con and a thief, when really... I'm the one that is so. I'll play my part, cast my eye-deceiving magic upon you, lure you into the ocean of sorrow and uncertainly like a siren-- I'll sing my song for you. Only to take you under, suffocate you in this murky nightmare that I have titled and named "Lies", and watch you-- just watch you gasp for air, struggle for survival, take witness to your fear and anger as you slip away into this abyss of lonesomeness. And with all the regret in the world.. let you go, only to hold onto you even more.
' Because, I can't let go... '
Your words reflect back onto me, and even when I've called you a weakling afterwords... I only realize now, that I'm inferior, a hypocrite, a complete lie to myself and to you. I'm pathetic, a mockery, even the most simplest things that you've offered me, I have to make unbearable and complex, and I don't know how to change that- and I doubt I will ever break the habit. Simply because, I'm an addict to my own fear and anger, as I inject myself with more doses of pent up rage, before drinking it away with a few bottles of mind-numbing regret, before I dare flood my empty home with the sound of sorrow from the piano up on the second floor.
I'm a lair, a thief, a con, a false magician, I'll take everything that you are, and what you will be.. Replace it with something a little bit fancier, and maybe a tad better than before, transform it into something whymsical and far more appealing to your eye to the point that you believe it's all true and there... only to make it vanish into nothing or to let it wither like a dead rose.. only to bloom back and repeat this cycle of Hell on Earth that I've managed to loom and weave.
Isn't that our love? An act-- a magic show? Only smoke and mirrors, an untouchable object that the mind perceives to be there when with all the honesty of the world, in which we call reality-- isn't truly there, but you still choose to believe in it?
Or is that what I've made it to be?
Because, Darling.. Trust me... I want to believe in my own magic, in my own song and lie. I really do."
Black blood, dries on parchment as her blade of a pen is set down upon her desk as her emerald hues, close. She doesn't have to look over it, there isn't a need to do such a thing... This was for her eyes, her own torment, alone. Her fingertips graze over the edges, tip-toe over the lines only to pluck up the paper, fold it in half- perfectly, before opening up the drawer and tossing it into the confines of the wooden container as she slid it shut. Cecile's elbows rested on the desk, as her hands cupped over her mouth, in this moment of deep thought, she's lost- completely lost. Glancing at the time that was shown on the bottom right corner of her compute screen, she can only sigh.
"Damn these one o'clock musings."
