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What I despise

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Self-loathing has become a norm. I sit wondering how I myself am able to tolerate something so putrid and vile. A soul so dark that it repels its possessor. It wreaks havoc in innocent lives and creates chaos. How romantic. Stirrings within crises as its main motivation – and so it creates and manifests everything broken and unsavoury. It somehow prefers to blossom within the realms of abuse and destruction because it follows the sole instruction to endure and survive. It grows through only harsh reminders and a few broken bones. It doesn’t quiver under threats of violence. It begs for more. However, circumstances are not always conducive to its growth. How amusing. You cannot thrive and dominate within the realms of peace and harmony, my dear. It needs to be reminded of its nothingness; of its emptiness. Because on its own accord, it chooses to change; to grow.

Addicted to the thrill of despair, it is a chaos-creator – show me more pain; hurt me, break me; unearth me. Kill me. Attracted to parasitic demons who live off the lives of the vulnerable and angels of death, more cousins of Satan and the like. A damaged soul – a parasite itself; nourished, revitalized only by those pleading eyes which occupy only the most tortured bodies. Hurt me. Your weakness is my power.

Cry.

Bleed.

Beg.

It pleases such a soul to see you so destroyed – so wonderfully shattered. Tell me of your pain. Tell me how you wish to feel peace again.

Your inner peace is nothing.

Your inner peace means nothing.

Offer your tortured soul and sacrifice yourself for the good of those who honour and uplift their own destruction.

Peace is nothing.

Self-loathing. A soul so deviant and crushed – putrid and repellant.

My own.

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