Monthly Archives: July 2011

Hell or High Water

“I’ll either kill you, or peel off your skin so we can be one, together”, he said.

She had laughed at that sentence for many times, when other innocent children had said it, but after a swift demonstration of what he was capable of, the woman was as scared as she was marveled. She took her time to answer, chosing foolishly to call his bluff.

“I would never lay a finger on your skin, not even at gunpoint. I’d rather die.”

That was the end of what could have been a beautiful life.


The Birth Of A Snowman

Clearly off-balance, he sits down on the sidewalk and glances around. There’s no one there, at all.

At three in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, and in a very dangerous drunken stupor, the boy stares at the sky. “Oh, how long will it take for me to join you there, my love?”, he whispers. He shivers, realizing he’s very cold, and that the empty bottle of whiskey in his hands does very little to make his body warm. He gets up and starts to move away.

The houses here are silent. No one watches him pass by, stumbling on his feet, falling a few times, and moaning in pain, the invincible pain the alcohol couldn’t kill. He feels safe to weep when he’s all alone, but he was never able to shed a single tear about her death. There was only the exasperating pain in his chest, and the lack of energy to do anything but breathe.

Yet he does it. He breathes. He keeps on trying to survive, in this train wreck city. He daily washed the bloodbath of his life without the one who made him see what life was all about. He fights, even though he doesn’t have a clue what for. “Must be human nature, this desire to keep wanting to live, no matter how miserable your life is”, he whispers.

He takes a right turn at the end of the street and walks into the rest of what’s left of his lifespan.

Bourbon #2

Poison, poison, poison! Hello, mischievous metaphor of the lonely kid who drinks his ass out without telling anyone but his ever faithful notebook. Yes, here he is, the Ferris Wheel Dragon, the Scarlet Minstrel, the oldest youngster you’ll ever find.

You see, the thing about being a bad man is that you’ll always want to kill and fuck (not exactly in that order) anything stupid enough to share a word with you. You’ll always have something in mind, a plan you’ll use to murder and hide the body, something painful to do with the damsel in distress. You’ll always be the sociopath, the cannibal you were born.

But something brilliant happens when you are also born with a heart. You’ll find yourself battling your nature and trying to change the fuck of a man your parents worked you out to be. You’ll find yourself holding back your angst when you see something that kills you. You’ll always try to be the good guy.

Hell, I am the good guy! I’ve tried so much to hide it, to give myself the chance to be that which I admire… it’s been hard, I’ve been provoked into unleashing the vampire in me, a lot of times, and still I’ve held my ground. I am doing it, I am a good man, no matter what sick thoughts linger inside me. I am good, I am better than I was when I…


The Deathbringer.

My only chance of forgetting the past.

My only way of avoiding my present.

My only way of withdrawing my future.

Painkiller! Redeemer! Salvation!

While Clarice uses this demon to unleash the one that lives inside herself, I’m bound to it by a pact of blood. A pact that cannot be undone. A pact carved with scarlet letters on the most ancient of papers.

Curse! Ultimatum!

And it’s the only thing I’ll ever be married to.

What I Learned From This Snowland

Good men lose themselves in the chaotic mist of our society. Human nature is a savage and selfish one, and we are all bound to die alone and rotten. But, hey, there’s always hope…

The Straggler’s Lesson

Looking me in the eye. she had the sparkle of youth and the serenity of experience. I was cautious of both aspects of her personality, when I heard her saying, with an angry voice:

“You never listen to what I tell you… if you keep acting like that, you’ll have to learn it the hard way”

That phrase, being voiced by her sweet tone, was the background music for my wondering for a long time after it was said. And the more I watched her, the more I knew how right I was in not following her heartful suggestions. She was, as I described her to myself, the female version of me, with a little less luck on the friends she had made throughout her life, and with her wagon a couple of miles down the path of darkness, while mine was standing still on the spot where the road of carnage crossed the road of reason.

From her line, I drew my conclusion. I came out with what she was ultimately trying to teach me: the reason why she was standing there, with a decaying health and a mouthful of regrets.

Vampires never win. I get it.

The Letter Without A Receiver

I wish you were here.

Not to be around for small talk, or to kill time when we both felt bored to the bone. Not to give me advice I would stubbornly ignore (and then hear the famous “I told you so, but you never listen” when my way didn’t work). Not to tell me inventive stories of your eccentric acquaintances and their paradoxical quest to change the world they hated. Not to set me any more examples of how I shouldn’t walk the path you almost fell into. Not to watch over me, making sure I didn’t bleed anymore. Not to hold my hand when I was trembling, overloaded with hatred. Not to cool me down when all I wanted was to burn down any highway that led me far from, well, everything. Not to tell me about how fucked up we both were. Not to wonder what would have happened differently between us if you were born a couple of years later…

I’m not that selfish. I never meant to be a burden to you, but the circumstances of our meeting were critical, and you are, or were, the best thing that ever happened to me.

What we had went beyond the line of conventional love. It went far beyond anything I’d ever seen in those Hollywood tear-jerkers you despise so much. We’re more than lovers, we’re more than siblings, we’re more than friends. We are each other’s savior. I pulled you away from the dark corners of the death wish menace you faced, and you made sure I wasn’t drowned in a sea of malevolence.

I don’t know how I’ve managed to keep holding on, after you left. I really don’t…

All I wish is that you were here, to see how much I’ve grown. I bet I’d make you proud.

About Someone I Once Had

Sinking away from madness, he swore to destroy all the traces of sorrow in his damned little heart.

He wasn’t afraid of the lonely outcomes that his plaid shirted friends predicted he’d have, but all he could do was seek out his pacific revenge against an old but still standing thirst for something you’d never understand. You can see that he moves in a straight line when thinking about what to do…

In that context, he met her.

Dressed in black, the little girl was smiling all the time, in contrast with what he later learned was a Hell of a life. He thought there was nothing wrong about the frantic way his heartbeats responded to the closeness she dared to display to his unique case of mischievous insanity. She was his only hope of survival, she was his only hope for not giving way to hating, to tearing, to mashing, to pulling close the instantaneous love for the crushing of bones.

She wasn’t around him much, albeit she was always taking care of his growing personality. She told him everything there was to know about the lair of the Beast, while he listened with shining eyes and building desire, for what he heard was nothing more than the oral version of his deepest dreams. So deeper, still, was his desire for having her hand crossed with his, for all he thought would be the Countable Eternity, in a magical sea of undying love… it was a preposterous feeling, and as such it was tucked away in the trunk of his mind.

All he could do, then, was walk as close to her as he could, without touching her hands, or her hips, or her lips… and everything would be alright. He’d be alright, guarded by his Black Angel.

He never even considered the possibility that she might one day leave him.

Welcome Home, Soldier

Well…they’re gonna have some trouble, ’cause this time I’m delaying the obedience they deserve. I don’t care if I’m going to Hell for the second time in a row or if I’m reaching the gates of Heaven with this decision… I’m not staying under shelter anymore, folks. I’m entering the battlefield, once again(and I’m gonna make sure they taste some blood).

Between Carfax Abbey and the Florence Cathedral

Lies a standalone explanation of all my unorthodox tastes.