Compliments or
insults, it makes no difference, I
cannot tolerate your lies.
Suffocate with vigor. There is no
repent, there is no time to
question why I do this, because I
must or do I just find sick
pleasure in displeasure, in your
pain, in your fear, in your need
to feel the feelings of my
unbridled hate. There is hardly a
difference between living and
dying: only consciousness, rot and
a peculiar odor. The time it takes
to change from one to the other
can be no more than the blink of a
lazy eye if I decide. I can smell
your fear dripping down your leg.
There is no escape from my grip of
death. Convince yourself you’re in
a dream. Close your eyes, tighter;
you’re still seeing things.
Whimper, cower, shake like you did
when you were a child hiding under
your sheets from the beast under
the bed. If you cannot see it, it
cannot see you. That was rule
number one and it no longer
applies. Wake up. You have plenty
of time for memories. Now focus on
me. I am the last thing you will
see. I am your docent for the
descent ahead. Brace yourself and
prepare. Beg. Beg for your family.
Beg for your friends and your
pets. Beg for all the things you
would never do anyway. Beg for
nothing, I do not care. You define
desperation. You epitomize the
weak, the helpless, the
insubstantial. Your time has come.
The knife slides in… |
