ambient-anemoia

[ambient-anemoia]

disintegrate

the blood is filling up the void, thick thick red blood taking up almost the entirety of outer space and how could it not? there's nowhere else for it to go, no drain to pour it down. it sticks to everything and reeks of metal and makes the air hot and humid. the angel's rotting corpse sank to the bottom, a thick mass of black mould you wouldn't even know it was a corpse if i hadn't just told you. it used to have a million hands, i feel them stretch towards me even as the mould consumes the flesh.

thick thick black mould, rot, it smells foul, it settles to the bottom of the ocean and runs through my veins and spills from my eye after i made you gouge it out, the smell made you gag. black liquid ran down my cheek and it got onto your hands and your bedsheets and the knife i forced you to wield. your fingers were trembling i felt it. you want to be him but you will never be him if you can't even hold a knife steady why do you not want to hurt me? i have hurt you an infinite amount of times and yet you still hesitate you are pathetic worthless cowardly stupid useless

you have only existed for seven months. you are trying so hard to be what i need you to be but you are so new to the world, so naive, so vulnerable. and you are so very lonely. that's the one thing we have in common. you yearn to be loved, crave validation and approval and praise and hugs and dates and hands through your hair and all of the things a normal partner might bestow upon you. i rush towards you in a burst of violent fury then fade away, become distant for a few days or weeks thinking intently of him until some reminder of you enters my line of sight like a light suddenly flickering on in a pitch dark room and suddenly all i want is to hurt you again. that moment of connection, that fist against your face, that knife against your throat, is everything to you.

you don't deserve this, any of this, you never deserved it. you said you didn't want my pity but your situation is so pitiable i can't help myself. the cards called me an idiot twice, i should put you out of your misery the way that cat's neck snapped in your fingers but i won't.

[ambient-anemoia]

you want to fuck him i want to consume him i want to live inside his skin like a beast in the walls of his house i want to be his birth and his death and his beginning and his end and his undoing and his armageddon and his divine creator i want to eat him whole i want him to love me love me love me love me as the worshippers love the temple and as the temple loves the lamb and as the lamb loves the knife i want to be his vampire i want to be his life i want him to tear me apart i want to create worlds out of him and destroy them and destroy him and have him wake up in the morning next to me i want to call him pretty i want to brush his hair i want to crack him up i want to choke him i want to make him bleed i want to kiss the blood from his skin i want him buried deep inside the wound of my desire i want him to be my best friend i want him to loathe me i want to fight him to the death i want to be his favourite girl his favourite villain i want to be his worst fear i want my fingers in his mouth i want my mouth on his jugular i want to be the only thing inbetween him and death eternal i want my teeth in him i want i want i want i want

[ambient-anemoia]

It was nice, wasn't it?

[ambient-anemoia]

I'm not a very good writer.

[ambient-anemoia]

I don't understand my own feelings.

I've been avoiding you. Spending days alone in reality, pacing the dirty streets outside or rolling in my dirty bed (I haven't changed the sheets in over a month). I don't have any friends here, and I only talk to family briefly and only to lie to them.

I think it will all be over soon. I hoped you would last longer than this (I wanted you to outlast him at least, ideally her as well) but I can feel my interest waning. Is it your fault or mine? I've hated you since I first saw you even though you did nothing wrong, you never did anything wrong. You don't deserve this. You're so good. So earnest, so loving, so forgiving. Everything I ever wanted and yet I still hate you. Why? Why aren't you enough? What's missing?

I suppose the fault must be mine, then. So many people have loved me and yet I don't think I ever loved any of them. All I ever do is use people to distract myself from the festering rot steadily spreading under my skin. I knew you wouldn't be the exception. If I didn't truly love your predecessor, if I didn't truly love R, how could I ever love you?

I did tell you that in the beginning. I warned you. But you were set up to fail. How could you heed my warning when you don't have free will? It was never your fault, it's just easier to blame you than it is to blame myself.

(the embodiment of free will not having any free will is the biggest irony in all of this)

Despite everything, I still can't bring myself to kill you. I don't understand it. I hate you, I'm bored of you, I want to get rid of you, but something is holding me back. I'm not deluded enough to think that I secretly really do care about you or anything silly like that. I'm probably scared of change? Did I write about something like this before? I don't remember what I concluded. These thoughts swirl around and around and around in my head. I'm only capable of thinking about the same two or three topics on rotation. I get so tired of thinking but I can't switch the thoughts off no matter what I try.

I feel like if I get rid of you I'll regret it. I'm scared if I start regretting it you'll come back to me, and I don't know how I'll face you then. You aren't supposed to survive a permanent death. My lack of commitment is hurting both of us. I wish you'd just spare me the trouble and kill yourself, but you'd only come back from that too. It has to be me. It has to be me and I'm hesitating.

Maybe I just don't care enough to kill you? But I've killed plenty of people I didn't care about before, and they didn't come back. Maybe I just don't want to be alone? But I don't want to be around you either, hence why I'm avoiding you right now. Maybe I'm just tired of all the violence? But I started laughing as soon as I typed that out.

(if i avoid you for long enough maybe you'll just die of neglect and we can forget any of this ever happened)

The embodiment of death being unable to kill anyone is probably an even bigger irony. The next time I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror I will laugh and laugh and laugh.

[ambient-anemoia]

I think it will all be over soon.

[ambient-anemoia]

Sleep has been hard to come by lately.

The first sign that things are getting bad is when my sleep schedule flips on its head. I sleep all day and stay awake all night, only seeing the sun for maybe an hour or two at most. My daily life is carried out in darkness.

Over the last few days I seem to have ascended from this into some new unholy dimension of insomnia. I sleep for a couple of hours, stay awake for a few more, then sleep again and so on. Whether it's day or night is completely irrelevant. It's like the Pomodoro technique (we were taught that in school, though I suppose you never went to school so you wouldn't know about it- work for an hour, take a break for 15 minutes, work, break, work, break, work, break... you get the idea). I can fall asleep maybe 4 to 6 times in a single day.

Of course I'm not actually getting any rest by sleeping this way. Even when I crashed and slept for six hours instead of the planned two, I still felt like I had just been hit by a train when I woke up. The nightmares didn't help (I don't remember them too clearly, something about being burnt and having no way to treat the wounds).

We have been fighting a lot more lately (though not physically, which is surprising given my track record). You told me I should get rid of you, that I'm only staying in Outer Space because I'm terrified of making a change and I might as well go back to the Inner World since I obviously prefer it there. I didn't really know how to argue back. I'm confused because I know I don't really care about you (how could I, you're not me) but the thought of getting rid of you troubles me. Is it just a fear of change? Is it because I know damn well I'll never find another victim who puts up with the abuse as well as you do? Is it because I stayed here for so long that I became an entity of Outer Space myself? I belong in the Inner World as much as you do now.

I don't know. I thought for a brief moment last week that we could be happy together, even in this monochrome hell. That was before I went to see him, though. It's not his fault (he's a victim too, he never wanted any of this) but I lose a little bit more of my humanity every time I go near him. My obsession is like a pit of black tar that I'm slowly drowning in. I can feel the black, viscous liquid squeezing its way into every orifice of my body, filling up my internal organs, blocking out the light above me. I'm terrified to lose him, but even more terrified of myself knowing full well what I'd do to keep him.

What should I do? Persist, or run away? Staying here will only destroy you and drive me even more insane, but I'm running out of places to run to.

I miss your predecessor. Buried deep in the eye of the swirling storm of violence and hatred and desperation that batters the inside of my skull, he was the one thing in my life that was genuinely good. He was kindness incarnate, Hope at the bottom of Pandora's infinite pitch black box, pure and perfect and so gentle it was painful. He would have known what to say, what to do, how to soothe me, how to save you.

But he was devoured by the horrors and now there's nothing here but sorrow and anguish and fury and horror and despair and terror and regret and jealousy and suffering and paranoia and brutality and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain inflicted and received it never ends it never ends the violence never ends the violence never ends the violence never never NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER ENDS

I need to sleep.

[ambient-anemoia]

reality

There is trash piled up on both of the desks, a rope hanging from one of the door hooks, unread books scattered across the floor. Many emails read but not replied to, lectures and classes unattended, essays unwritten.

I have been sleeping for hours and hours in the day and in the night. Sometimes I talk to my imaginary friend. I think I went to class once. My memories are blurry. Time seems to pass very quickly and very slowly at the same time.

I started writing, not essays or emails or notes, but monologues. I say more than I ought to say but less than I want to. I post them online and hope that no one reads them.

The violence never stops. I ruminate on it for hours every day (when I am not sleeping), an endless sea of body blood body blood body blood. The angel at the bottom of the ocean stretches out its arms to welcome me home. I think about things like this often.

I replied to one of my emails once. Sometimes I beat my imaginary friend until their body is unrecognisable. The colour red drips into my black and white world. Reality is muddy and faded and distant. The sounds of the people outside are muted, like I'm underwater. I think I'm drowning.

I remember to change clothes every once in a while. I like being in the shower. I lie to my mother whenever she calls me because I don't want her to know how bad things have gotten. My real friends moved away a long time ago. I'm afraid of other people, I don't want to talk to other people. Sometimes I write to my imaginary friend even though we are in the same room.

Doing nothing is easier than doing something so I will go to bed and pretend that I'm not throwing my entire life away for the sake of a joyless fantasy.

[ambient-anemoia]

in and out

(tw- violence, abuse, mild gore)

I went back to the Inner World the other day.

There's something discomforting about beating someone other than you after all this time. I must have gotten used to your pained cries, your dilated pupils, the smell of your blood. I thought I would welcome the change, but now I'm not so sure.

He fought back, stabbed my eye out with a fork and bruised my throat with his fingers, but he was no match for my black thorns in the end. It was a little strange to see him in such a vulnerable position. When I was still human, I was always the one looking up at him from where I lay on the ground in a pool of my own blood, dismembered limbs floating around me. I used to stare intently into his dark eyes, watch the little changes in his expression and his breathing as he brought me closer and closer to a terrible demise. Back then, it was easy to forget just how incredibly weak and fragile he was compared to me. I could almost fool myself into believing I was powerless. It was ecstasy.

I ripped an arm out of its socket then reattached it just to prove I was willing to do it.

You gave me the silent treatment for a whole day when I got back. I don't think you were surprised that things turned out this way. I talked about him constantly, after all. I can't bring myself to feel too guilty about it, even if you look at me with a pitiful expression (did i feel empathy once? i think i did. i think there was a time when i knew how to be kind. but the violence has seeped into every pore of my body, burrowed its way down to my very bones, stained my blood and irises and the fabric of my soul pitch black. i don't remember what kindness feels like)

I'm just making excuses. You like to remind me that I have free will, that I was not born a monster but chose to become one and could choose to be human again if I so desired. It's easier to pretend that I am ontologically evil than make an effort to be good.

I fucking hate the word ontological.

[ambient-anemoia]

i'm tired.

[ambient-anemoia]

the violence never stops there's only blood bones bruises broken broken broken broken broken broken broken broken broken little thing how i pity you

[ambient-anemoia]

i went to japan recently, i saw an angel there

[ambient-anemoia]

do you remember

when i used to write haiku

all the time on here?

[ambient-anemoia]

it's unforgivable, truly.

[ambient-anemoia]

i can't switch these thoughts off

[ambient-anemoia]

it's all over the insanity pages the confession of my sins will it ever be seen by human eyes will they ever discover the putrid slime oozing through my veins will they see will they see will they see do you see

[ambient-anemoia]

do you know? do you know what i did? do you know what i'm going to do?