Live this simulated life for me...

You hide behind a calm, cool, collected face. You pretend to be fully in control of everything during the day. But I see you at night - the tired, frightened child that can't escape from his dreams. Years from trailing a blanket or sucking your thumb, you still project the image of a terrified toddler, not grasping the meaning of the sadness that overwhelms you.

Imagine what your life would be like if I were a cruel person. Imagine if I exploited you, exposed you, shamed you before yourself. Think of how deliciously sadistic it would be if I pared away every fear, every neuroses, and held it up, paper-thin, to the light. Imagine you were only a skeleton, cold and lost in a world of humanity. Or perhaps a knife would do better; clumsily hacking away at every negative feeling in you.

There would be nothing left.

Or, better yet, don't think about it at all. I am not a violent man; it is just that your self-hatred runs so deep that sometimes, I can't help but hate you too. But when you sleep in my arms, that delicate angelic child that you seem to be when you come to my door, I forgive you. I love you. It may not be unconditional, but then, love rarely is.

So sleep until tomorrow, and perhaps during the night, I can carefully remove a fear and replace it with a hope. Perhaps, someday, my love will repair you so that you can continue to work on yourself alone; and that day, you will leave me.

Just remember that I loved you first.

~end~

I have to love this random urge to post things.

I can spew out the most amazing crap sometimes. And no, that does NOT mean I cam (er. am. can/am. Canada AM. can.) explain my last post. Don't ask. If you want to try and interpret it, go ahead.

All I ask for is a little commentary. I may have my own running dialogue, and they may come up with things I wouldn't normally think of (oh Victor, you so scary), but they can't edit their own fucking stories, okay? Please. Anyone. Comment on anything. Go to my page. Rip apart a poem. Ask me for a story. Rip it apart, too. But for the love of GOD do not just say banal crap. I would give up precious possessions for one good comment more than once in a blue moon.

First up for auction: my first born child. A very precious and rare commodity.

NB: To all the people I had hunting for my Victor story? Never mind. I found it. I *did* think to put it on disk! Hurray!

Next post: Victor's scariness.