Forbidden love, Definite Hate
Another piece that is coursework related. stimulus was song by 'White Lies', 'unfinished business'. love is lost, as is life.
"No!" I say out loud. My voice sounds hollow, pale, as I lie on this bed of sin and debauchery. The sound croaks in my throat, and exits my mouth in a feeble canter. You pull the trigger. Again. Again No sound for me, although I imagine the bangs of the gun; the crash of my corpse hitting the floor. You sit there. Cry. Why is it that you weep? You caused this. You kneel down, bed soaked with tears and blood, pray to the Lord. He can't help you now. Sinner. Terrible sinner. Things were never going to be the same. You broke my heart, but it wasn't enough. You broke my heart. You stupid, hateful, love of my life, bitch. You broke my heart and then you took my life.
I was already dead. I can see you still. Still crying. Do you regret? I cannot tell. My heart was broken into multiple shards, and you took them all to yourself. If you couldn't, then neither could anyone else. My love was not yours to have, let you took it anyway. It was your fault that I fell in love. I hear the voice of angels, yet I want to stay here and observe the woman that I love so much. Still.
A glimmer of guilt in your eye? Compassion? I still cannot tell. But the look on your face as you look at my unmoving cadaver is haunting none the least. You stop the praying. Move over to me. You were one of this God's mistakes, a crying, tragic waste of skin. You touch my face. It is cold to the warm touch of life emanating from your delicately painted fingertips. Sadly, a life that my flesh can no longer possess. Cold, oh so cold to the fires of your passionate hatred.
The drips of blood are covering the satin sheets, dripping ever so slowly over and soak your carpet floor, glimmering red in the frozen moonlight. The fluid seeps through, leaking from my head, chest and neck. Spurts stop from the coronary artery now. The blood is running out. Mixes with the tears from my sorrow filled eyes. I cry now too, you carry on with your weeping. Grief? I can only doubt. You could never belong to me, but you played with the fire. Played the God, the Lord. Played me like a puppet, like the fool I am. I was.
Emotions run deep through my broken vessels. Replaces the blood that has gone astray. A bitter understanding, a hatred, a similar passion to your own. But the love still shines brightest from my severed chest, illuminates all and everything. Most of me wishes no harm upon you, and some of me wants to get up and slice your neck with my pen knife. But you were quicker on the draw. Now I am dead. I hear the impending call of the netherworld, the beautiful and entrancing voice of God, the silent and suggestive whispers of Satan.
You finish the tears. Take your arms from around me on the bed. Your ever so beautiful body is even prettier covered in my life's fluid, and your own grief. You stand up. Pick up the gun, sit on the edge of the bed, look at my bloodstained face. Your eyes close. I want to stop you, but I cannot. Blood in your blonde hair, the hair that I loved to touch. Tears on the face, the face that launched my heart towards yours. "Don't do it" I whisper. You do not hear. Point it at your head. Your eyes are so tightly closed that your face begins to screw up. A quiver of an emotion, fear, passion, love appears on your lower lip, the upper one remaining stiff and strong. Whimper. Bang.
Deadness. This cold black. This cold blackness. Cannot see you, cannot hear you. Longing to see you, to kiss you, to hold you in my bloodied arms. Alone. Cry. Weep for the ages. God has punished. God punishes all who are the sinners. My Lord, my God, why hast thou forsaken me to the evils of mine woman? The blood still falls from my head, drips from the chest, spills from the neck. Will never stop in this hell. I am still on your bed, your lifeless body still over mine, covering it from the early morning sunlight that creeps through the cracks in the slightly stained curtains. Together. Forever, like you said. Like you promised. Two lover of disproportionate affection. Forever. Till the End.
I was already dead. I can see you still. Still crying. Do you regret? I cannot tell. My heart was broken into multiple shards, and you took them all to yourself. If you couldn't, then neither could anyone else. My love was not yours to have, let you took it anyway. It was your fault that I fell in love. I hear the voice of angels, yet I want to stay here and observe the woman that I love so much. Still.
A glimmer of guilt in your eye? Compassion? I still cannot tell. But the look on your face as you look at my unmoving cadaver is haunting none the least. You stop the praying. Move over to me. You were one of this God's mistakes, a crying, tragic waste of skin. You touch my face. It is cold to the warm touch of life emanating from your delicately painted fingertips. Sadly, a life that my flesh can no longer possess. Cold, oh so cold to the fires of your passionate hatred.
The drips of blood are covering the satin sheets, dripping ever so slowly over and soak your carpet floor, glimmering red in the frozen moonlight. The fluid seeps through, leaking from my head, chest and neck. Spurts stop from the coronary artery now. The blood is running out. Mixes with the tears from my sorrow filled eyes. I cry now too, you carry on with your weeping. Grief? I can only doubt. You could never belong to me, but you played with the fire. Played the God, the Lord. Played me like a puppet, like the fool I am. I was.
Emotions run deep through my broken vessels. Replaces the blood that has gone astray. A bitter understanding, a hatred, a similar passion to your own. But the love still shines brightest from my severed chest, illuminates all and everything. Most of me wishes no harm upon you, and some of me wants to get up and slice your neck with my pen knife. But you were quicker on the draw. Now I am dead. I hear the impending call of the netherworld, the beautiful and entrancing voice of God, the silent and suggestive whispers of Satan.
You finish the tears. Take your arms from around me on the bed. Your ever so beautiful body is even prettier covered in my life's fluid, and your own grief. You stand up. Pick up the gun, sit on the edge of the bed, look at my bloodstained face. Your eyes close. I want to stop you, but I cannot. Blood in your blonde hair, the hair that I loved to touch. Tears on the face, the face that launched my heart towards yours. "Don't do it" I whisper. You do not hear. Point it at your head. Your eyes are so tightly closed that your face begins to screw up. A quiver of an emotion, fear, passion, love appears on your lower lip, the upper one remaining stiff and strong. Whimper. Bang.
Deadness. This cold black. This cold blackness. Cannot see you, cannot hear you. Longing to see you, to kiss you, to hold you in my bloodied arms. Alone. Cry. Weep for the ages. God has punished. God punishes all who are the sinners. My Lord, my God, why hast thou forsaken me to the evils of mine woman? The blood still falls from my head, drips from the chest, spills from the neck. Will never stop in this hell. I am still on your bed, your lifeless body still over mine, covering it from the early morning sunlight that creeps through the cracks in the slightly stained curtains. Together. Forever, like you said. Like you promised. Two lover of disproportionate affection. Forever. Till the End.
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