Saturday, 29 October 2011

• It isn't coincidence there's a six year difference.

  Tuesday, 05 July 2005 12:40AM

  A crooked smile, knife in hand
  Isn't life so grand?
  Bloodshed begins now
  I know that you're gunna ask how
  When you forget how to cry
  You begin to lie
  When you forget how to dream
  You begin to scheme
  When you go cold
  You're soul gets sold
  Now I cannot make amends
  For this is how it ends...

  Saturday, October 29, 2011 11:40PM

  A crooked smile; knife in hand—
  isn’t life grand?
  The bloodshed begins…now;
  and they’re always asking, “how?”
  When you’ve forgotten the reason you cried,
  it’s time to learn the reasons  to lie;
  when you’ve forgotten what it means to dream,
  then it’s time to scheme;
  when your flesh turns cold,
  you know your soul’s been sold.
  I will not make amends
  for this is how it always ends.

   

  The original piece above was one of the first I posted on this site. It was the beginning of the first "revolution" in my head; it was the beginning of a major change in my life. When I look back at my old poetry I can still see the girl writing it, and I still know the mindset she was following, the path her Dark Father had laid out before her; the one she could do nothing but follow. That girl still exists within me, obviously. She never went away, she's the one I became -- she was the child that eventually became Loveless. She exists now inside a cage. I only let her out on certain, rare occasions, like the monster. They each have designated play-times, but never at the same time. 
  I have returned to the original poem again and again over the years. It's symbolic, like the number six. (It'll be six years more that this kills me to the core). It's personal, so you won't like it, but I don't give a shit. This is the newest revolution. This is the new version of Loveless being born.
  I believe in reincarnation -- I believe in the reincarnation of ideas, and the need to rebirth old ideas in new forms. I believe in revision. I believe in evolution of the evil, wicked thing that lurks within each of us. I still believe in the darkness, like I did all those years ago. And I still believe in that knife, my age-old friend; my trusty little steak knife. Oh, friend, where would I be without you? (sleeping with a screwdriver under my pillow instead, as if I could screw sanity back into place -- that's a real laugh). 

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