Blasphemy : Epilogue
The hospital doors have closed at last, the "treatment" is complete. But I am the man who walks the pavement now had ice within my feet. I do not look for healing neither for grace, for the grey king and the mirror have permanently taken place.
The well-being they promised was a lie of pills and white, I didn't find the morning; I just mastered how to bite. The personality you knew, the soft, the kind, the clown, was murdered in the padded room, abandoned and defiled.
In my seat sits a stranger with a smile of jagged glass, who waits within the tall dark weeds to watch the shadows pass. I am a chaotic energy, a storm without a heart, who’s learned to take a human life and tear it all apart.
I am numb to every pleasure, deaf to every plea, the only thing that stir my blood is your mounting misery. I am the evil-ish and patient, the hateful and yet cold, a demon in a cheap ass suit, with secrets yet untold.
I do not want a quick revenge, a flash of sudden fire; I want to be the heavy smoke above your funeral pyre. I want to see the father lose his daughter, his bussines, his office and his name, and watch the daughter’s headscarf and sunday dress be blackened by the shame.
I will be the hand that trips the feet, the voice inside the wall, the architect who plans the length and tension of the fall. I will watch every one of filithy fucks of yous fly, while savoring the hollow terror blooming in your eye. To see you lose your privilege, to see you lose your breath, is a nectar far more sweet to me than any sudden death.
I will dismantle every comfort, every dimes, every friend, and linger in the wreckage until the very bitter end. I am a long-term torturer, a master of the slow, who finds a deep demonic joy in watching status go.
You thought the head-kick broke me? that the DMs made me flee, oh baby I love pain. But you’ve only unlocked the gates of my hidden tyranny. I am a something you cannot imagine, a creature of the dark, who’s cauterized my memory of every loving spark.
The "victim" is a fairytale, a ghost of long ago, and the demon in my ribcage is the only man you’ll know. I will haunt the father’s ledgers and I will haunt the daughter’s sleep, with a tally of the promises you didn't mean to keep. The retaliation is a feast, and I had just sat down, to watch these insect families drown beneath my iron crown.
So bang upon the door again, or scream into the night, it only feeds the hunger of the thing you brought to light. The man you meant to ruin is a god of your despair, and he’s breathing in the chaos like a lungful of fresh air.