drmagicmcnasty-blog

[drmagicmcnasty-blog]

[drmagicmcnasty-blog]

For those moments melancholy caresses you

[drmagicmcnasty-blog]

And as her last words manifested themselves as fuel for a madman, my heart anchored in a pit of incomprehensible pain. It must take a commendable amount of energy to stay sane after a situation like this; energy I don't really have. For the days are far too long when they are spent dwelling in the timeless void of chaotic pondering. Where minutes turn into hours, and hours into days, and days into months, and months into years. And years into misery. Always hoping for a change that will not come. That's the very essence of insanity, staying in repeat and expecting a different result with every attempt; a well known condition. Yet what they neglect to address is any information on ending the perpetual cycle. "I've been there before," and "I went through this myself," and "I know what it's like." Well prove it to me! Because for as much as I try to halt those piercing words, they only echo louder. The noise only amplifies with my dismay and it tells me to do unthinkable actions. What once was a bullet in the heart has gone through so much distortion I begin to hear the agony her words brought swimming in my blood. It rushes through thick veins, flowing anger and adrenaline throughout my body. And I come to a realization, perhaps, this is a revelation. An infection such as this cannot be taken lightly. I hear the many distorted voices screaming in my head, equivalent to the sound of a roaring jet engine, all telling the same twisted story. It's quite suiting because she used to love stories. Before her departure, we would commonly go to a cafe near her apartment, I can't remember the name. But we were never there for the coffee, although it was a very much appreciated accessory, we would be there to read. As a way to calm the runaway thoughts that grew too distracting I would look up from whatever book was in my hands, usually a thriller novel, and stare at her as she read her own book, often a romance. But that was then. Currently she's reading something but I can't make out the title, the light is too dim for me to see from outside the window. Luckily she didn't notice me walk in. I want this to be a surprise; she hates surprises. With every step that brought me closer to her, the distorted conscious only grew ever-more frustrated. How strange moments can be, for each individual I mean. An anxious adrenaline paces my time slowly, allowing me to savor the seconds. Meanwhile, a collected mood playfully hurries her time forward. If either of our times are unexpectedly disrupted it converts into its opposite. Time is as fragile as people. My hand suddenly reaches for her and rips the book off hers. I can tell by the look on her face, the time she grew accustomed to has converted. But my time is as excited as ever, with this I'm able to capture every detail of her expression. She looks hideous. I pull the knife out of my pocket, a normal kitchen knife, and like the graceful fall of a dove's feather I stab her in the chest. Blood empties out of her as she tries to escape with knife in chest. What a silly thing to do. She falls to the ground as her blood puddles around her giving me an opportunity to relinquish the knife from her chest. A nostalgic feeling soothes me. And I stab her again. And again. And again. And as her last words manifested themselves as fuel for a madman, the epiphany that this is who I am excites my bones. Thirteen times I stab her, enough to kill her.

[drmagicmcnasty-blog]

Jazzinuf- Dreaming Of You