February 3rd, Year of the Corpse

“May your sister die, and take her husband with her. I will die, if you do not come back to me. I think you are dead on the inside, without my love.”

When will Robert learn that a strong focus on death is better done by me. Such things he says, when he does not get his way. He is an unruly child, with no mother in sight. Someone has poisoned him, and it is beginning to affect his brain. I swear that it was not me. Not this time.

My tormentor is beginning to repeat himself. In truth, he has always done that. Affection has a way of making the waters warm, and the colors bright. Now that I am out of anything resembling love for Robert, he is coming through as a tedious man, with an acid tongue.

 
His words do not come from a central source, but a skewed perspective. One, in which I am the villain, the vampire, nailing him to the cross. And I feed on his blood. And I deplete his energy. And I am his, because this darkness is enough for him. Though my feet are firm these days, I fear being pulled back in.

There is no victory here.

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February 3rd, Year of the Corpse

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