July 15th, Year of the Corpse

Though he has the face of a dolt and the heart of a traitor, I continue to communicate with Stephen, whose parents lacked the ability to spell his name correctly. We talk while I figure out how exactly he is to fit in my life. The space need not be large, since it is not in the plans to keep him longer than necessary. Just a few moments, to encourage Joseph to leave me alone. If there is no prey, the hunter cannot stalk.

I realize that I am hardening with time. Men are to be used or studied, then discarded. It isn’t that I cannot stop this phase, but that I do not want to. The ice age is near, and it is a fool’s adventure to approach me with the idea of romance. To stand next to me, is to challenge me. My territory is wide. I don’t like my space invaded.

Years have passed in mourning. The veil has covered my face, just as it hid the world from me. There was always some kind of hurt, some kind of death. In that fragile state, I was molded by all who desired to feel a moment of absolute power. To that I say, it is my turn.

Long gone is the belief that loyalty and fidelity, can exist between a man and a woman. All love is an inferior version of what is imagined. It is raised up by speech, while simultaneously being pushed down by hand. Poetry is not life, and life is more than words.

July 15th, Year of the Corpse

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