October 16th, Year of the Corpse

Up close, beauty becomes a grotesque version of itself. Distorted images offend and injure. In a moment of panic, I push people away with unmeasured force. This produces instant regret and dizzying panic. Because then, it all becomes as clear as crystalline waters. The magnificence of what I held, what I possessed, continues to be as potent as it ever was.

The error is centered on a need to dominate. I want people to be exclusively my own. Trapped in a jar, slowly suffocating. We both suffer together, the specimen and the scientist. I cannot have a relationship with what is reduced to nothing more than an object. All humanity is lost with each passing breath.

I wonder, was the masochist formed by the sadist, or were they formed by life, long before they found each other. I never thought I would start off as one, and soon turn into the other. I am repulsed by my ability to so easily pick up the sword that harmed me.

As expected, I have told the man to stay away from me. For your own good, I said. And now, only now can I write his name. Justin. The only thing he shares with The Virgin of the Sea, is a name.

The days are short and cold, hostile and disturbing. They are darker and louder.

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October 16th, Year of the Corpse

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