Curiosity wants to murder my soul.
Curiosity wants to murder my soul, in the dark corners of my mind she rampantly plans my torture. Happy endings have no existence in reality, tear open the heart watch as testosterone drives the kinetic force, the swinging pendulum. Repeating history, repeating history, repeating history. Reach for it, curiosity whispers, rip it from the tentacles of history. The fatality of vulnerability will leave you torn open as vultures devour your innards. Tear open the soul of your destroyer, drain their dripping blood, satisfy your thirst for pain, curiosity a constant whisper. Words jotted upon the page, ink smeared, Sahara tears I see what curiosity kills in a heartbeat. Like an addict I claw at my skin, holding back, wasting in the shadows my voice a dying echo. Taste it, she says, the crimson blood, devour it, she demands, let it flood. React with the splendour of the scorpions sting, fuel the fires let them burn at the heart of your destruction. Feel that power in your veins, destroy the light, leave it shattered upon the floor and walk with me again into the darkness, curiosity caresses the contours of my mind, working the shadows you do not see. Do it. Let destruction become you, rip souls from torsos, lick their dripping blood, taste their pain and leave the carcass discarded for wolves to tear apart. Feel it bubbling beneath the surface, let the halo fall, let the fires burn. Inner destruction no pain is too great for a broken soul as life seeps from the cracks and a black mist rolls in. Curiosity wants to murder my soul.
Karen Hayward ©2016