Experimental Piece

I don't know. Figure it out.

“Be careful what you do,” that’s my suggestion to you. My dear, I waited for you. I prayed for you. I actually, honest in the face of the All-Consuming Truth, prayed for you. Such things aren’t in my natures, you know that. Yet, throwing my shackles aside, I did, all for the sake of you. I prayed for you because I made a wish, a wish upon a bloody scar. It came true. I should’ve known, not been so foolish, dreams don’t come true, never come true. If they do, they turn to eerie, transcendental nightmares. They turn to hatred-fueled terrors so jaded, so awash with their own, self-erasing pseudo-charm they begin losing the element of fear they hold so dearly, turning to nothing more than inane, drivel-spouting bothers.

“Be careful what you do,” I’ll say, for I no longer gaze down upon you. Beside your form, after you paid the Man of Slumber a visit, I woke - each and every end-fated morning. Saying, speaking our sweet-nothings, Lord, those were the days, weren’t they? No? Well, my dearest, I think so. I’ve kissed Death’s salty, chapped lips since you’ve been away. I’ve swallowed the sun. It hates me, that big, mammoth of a glowing orb, bubbles my flesh.

“Be careful what you do,” for line’s end is dauntless, quickly coming for you. Icicles will turn to stalagmites and the mountainous rubble will become the ash in my pipe. The breath of wind, he, that old codger, will fall, cease, forevermore. All of that, just like you, is at line’s end. Your train’s reached its pre-determined stop, mate.

Be careful what you do with…. The point, which I found after sifting through this blithering, babbling nonsense, is: My dearest, Hatred, what we fight on now, these cold barren wastes, they mean naught. The cosmos’ dance, this laughably absurd oceanic sky we wish to swim, it means zilch if I cannot impale the moon with a glance. Furthermore, I hate hatred. I, as a shadow-defying aside-show, make hate with love, and kick the blood-sucking, bone-gnawing dogma life slaps you with.

I bind, cut, slice, and then I laugh. Laugh, ha-ha. That’s it, laugh. Laugh, damnation, laugh with me, sing with me! Rejoice, for you are blessed with the Inferno! Go to Hell, Hatred, my love, we can share adjacent operating tables.

Author's Note

>.> Not to be all violent or anything, but if someone calls me Holden Caulfield one more waffle-flipping time, I'm going to ... I don't know, throw a puppy.