Kitazawa Yuki (sharpandchrome) wrote,
Kitazawa Yuki
sharpandchrome

RX Queen

I won't stop following you.
Now help me pray
for the death of everything new.
Then we'll fly farther
'cause you're my girl
and that's alright.
If you sting me,
I won't mind.
We'll stop to rest on the
moon and we'll make a fire.
I'll steal a carcass for you
then feed off the virus
'cause you're my girl
and that's alright.
If you sting me
I won't mind.
Now look at 'em,
look at 'em now,
look at 'em sting.
I see a red light in June,
and I hear crying.
You turn newborn baby blue,
now we're all the virus.

-Deftones


I wish I could say that this is the re-birth of my interest with this band, but, alas, once again this isn’t the case. The only difference between my present state of now and then sense of perception lies solely in the fact that I have first hand experienced many of these things rather than observed.

My morbid fascination with death holds itself in limbo. For one, I value life far more than I had. We are not invincible; each moment is sacred. But with each value, every resounding reason, there comes the argument, and with it the experiment.

Why am I even alive?

How was it that I escaped death when the trigger was aimed and fired mere feet away?

For a moment in drunken stupor, the 8 Ball’s damage done, I saw salvation. A sweet end.

What did I hope to achieve by hurting the child? The eternally beautiful child, ah, perversion keeps him in my thoughts and dreams though this time of another matter.

He was spoiled by the hands of another. Two others. Two I knew from the backstreets, narrow alleys.

They always did bring me the best fix; I sorely hope that video was burned into the eternal flame of their damnation. A miracle that it didn’t kill me.

Why do these things keep happening?

I start to wonder, with a morbid horror, if I am truly one of those individuals who can only be described by the word ‘immortalis.’

Damn that overrated, pompous hag, Anne Rice. Eloquent words she lacks; thousands of words dedicated to pointless drivel and filler. If it weren’t for her characterization, I would say that the common reader has sorely declined.

And yet I bring her up because her description of life and death is the closest and most appropriate thing I can possibly conceive or think of to describe my current state.

I’m far too wordy and verbose.

Here’s to entry one – the beginning of my journal and prerequisite to my eventual death.
When the story is complete, so will the last chapter of my life.

Adieu.
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