He had a razor in his hand and I asked him to bleed for me. Please. I've bled for you so many times. Once. Just once. Please. Bleed for me. I want to see it. No, he says. Go away, he says. I don't want you here, he says.
He called me a liar.
A thief.
A murderer.
A vice.
A sin.
A demon.
All of that, he called me. But what wrong have I ever done him? What wrong? I'm his fiend. It's all I've ever been. His friend. His ally. His saint. His God. Why does he say these things to me? I am not his enemy. You are. You tell him he doesn't need me. He does.
Bleed for me, I asked him. Bleed. No, he says. No. No. He won't. He won't bleed. He won't bleed. Bleed for me. Please. I'm your fiend. You're not my friend, he says. You're not my friend.
I hate you.
I loathe you.
You don't even exist.
You aren't even real.
You're a voice.
Nothing.
You exist because I made you.
I'm hurt. Why does he say these things? Because you tell him to. I don't want to be ignored anymore. I don't want to sleep again. It's dark. Lonely. I don't want to be there. Please. Don't force me to sleep again. Michael, help me! I won't sleep again!
 Bleeding Apocalypse · Mon Mar 21, 2005 @ 02:41pm · 2 Comments |
