It was a factory road that lead me here. I only know well enough to be able to recollect that I had died twice that night. She laid me out, in cold blood, with gangrine into forgotten sights. I looked into her eyes and said – ” You shot me. You shot me through and through. You pierced into me and asked me for forgiveness”
All she could say was “(*)Hello, I love you. Won’t you tell me your name(*). ”
Music? Lyrics? The doors? She was insane. Her eyes became diamond-like as she innocently pressed the knife into my stomach deeper. She had lost her mind, but in that moment she seemed like her hands were pressed onto that knife, as if it defined her childhood in that moment. She had a single tear that was ready to leave her eye, but her raised cheeks prevented her from leaking onto the wound. It was weakness for her, but she liked how she felt.
I clutched onto the knife that drew blood from the pool of insatiable desires that was my ruptured stomach. The crimson became darker, more subtler, as I reached onto it, becoming it, and being the blood inside my own soul. I felt one with the knife, to try to lower my pain. I clutched onto it, but I didn’t know that I felt sorry for her. I felt like I had to fix her, and I felt like I wanted her to be me for a day, in order for her to be alive.
“Hello. I love you. Won’t you tell me your name.”
She was mad. And I was in love. Who’s losing their mind, I couldn’t tell you, if i could.
Source – https://www.flickr.com/photos/internetarchivebookimages/14777914402/in/photostream/