Wednesday, 14 August 2013

The boy who murdered love

A story of blood, revenge and deception in four acts, four seasons.

act one: the dawn

A day, a year, a life, an age ago it seems.

While my heart was still baffling from first hearing the horns of victory being blown farther and farther in the distance, while I was still starting the million-piece puzzle, it all happened.
During the night, a second skyscraper erupted from the soil.
As the sun walked up, it shadow threw its cape around each corner of me.

The dreams of the dog nights came all at once true.

Flowers bloomed in one stomping momentum. It was spring.

act two: the day

Caring, gentle, passionate affection.
Intense, sick, tainted love.

As voraciously as comets, but as subtly as the growth of a flower, the branches twirled together in one big piece. All the leaves and flowers shared the same core. The forest became one single tree.

And as roads were being crossed and the unknown was being mapped, a particular paradise was hand-made, under the pallid sun of the late winter, particular spring.

The sunset, however, eventually comes.

act three: the night

A new season came, giving chills as the fresh breeze became colder and the weather went nippy.
Dead leaves were falling to the ground; with them, the decay of my own very establishments.

About then, I reached the big metropolis, almost immediately morphing myself into a cutting-edge glammed up version of me.
It was late at night. I was walking down the bohemian streets of the city, unapologetically bumping into faceless strangers and refusing entry to strip clubs. All sorts of thoughts were running through my mind, in a chaotic storm boosted by the intense sleepiness.
What is it you spend your entire life building and that the slightest autumn breeze can make it crumble?
What is this hatred towards odd numbers?
What is this single-lane road I gaze before me?
What am I here for?
What is it all?

The fire lost focus. It was spread to the lands out of sight.
My thin embrace could not carry the heavy, bulky load of all the items I picked along the way.

In the middle of the tug of war, I was aware of my very fragility, my faults and my failures.

Me, my ego and my aspirations were heavily violated. I was in pain.

act four: the boy who murdered love

His cheeky character is fool's gold
He will tell you the story mostly untold
He will make. He will break. He will overtake.
He is the boy who will murder love.

In the winter, my army failed. The rope was torn.
Felt in the battleground, their unconscious bodies were slowly covered in frost, forming a beautiful crystallized whitish field, not even loosely resembling the glories from the past.

And I -- I was left on my own, struggling to steer throughout the falling snow, keep myself warm from the intense coldness, and maintain some of my dignity.
I could see no further.
I could see no future.
My integrity was broken.

Being a victim of such destiny, I had a revenge to make.

A cup of coffee, maybe two.
I closed my eyes and became a statue of salt.

Forgive me.

Feeling safeguarded by the miles, I was in the sink again, trying and wash off the spider webs. The ugly face shown in the mirror was no help.

My limited eyesight will never be able to capture the immensity of it. All them flowers dead, them leaves dry.

In the very corner of my room I wonder again, what is it all?

You've dragged this fuckery way too far, young man, I scolded myself
I wish I could swallow your pain, I told him in thoughts.

A liar, a thief, a murderer. A criminal, it is. This bruises me too.

A new dawn will come.
And I shall be steering on my own.