My Demon Heart

Cliché love story; but it’s not. Just wait.

It’s hard to say why I fell in love with her. She is attractive, and sexy, interesting and else, all the common things and regular crap you may ask for, but, there is something special, deep within the realms of unappreciated, delicate, and almost irrelevant things.

First, in the morning, with an impossible to understand grace, she slips her hand under the sheets, and grabs mine, as if she knew, there are only 5 minutes left until the alarm clock starts nagging.

After she turns over, I am left alone with her back, which I don’t have to touch to know it’s perfectly soft, somehow, she has the power to do that. When her lazy hand turns the “beep” off, she rolls over and looks at me. I love it when she looks at me, knowing, it’s the preview to an orchestrated, but still natural, turn of events.

She touches my face in the most gentle of manners, and leans over to give me the kiss that says it all, the kiss that has no purpose but to tell me how much she loves me. I’d like to die in that instant, only to know I’ll go to hell with a smile on my face.

Then, I open my eyes, while she -almost like seducing me- walks across the room, to take her morning bath. I love her legs, I love what they remind me of, an attraction that is hard to describe, something I want to get, sexually of course, but at the end, only to try again and again to consume my soul in that perfect instant.

I stay still, and the most beautiful song starts to acquire volume. She is not singing my favorite song, but like a siren, enchanting me. A quick trip to my favorite place, her.

After my quick 10min nap, I wake up, I see her in front of the mirror, concentrated in every inch of her skin, poring creams, doing silly faces. Her hair is wet, messy in a way that makes sense, appealing to her wild side.

I have to kill her… she is too perfect. No other woman has a place in my mind. It drives me crazy, girls walking by, short skirts, long legs, all that which men adore, and… I don’t care. I love Juliette, I have a woman, I can’t look at the high heels, nor the dresses, I can not understand why they flirt, why they play with the noble nature of the dick-headed men. So wile, so… inexplicably contradictory. Was mother Teresa an undercover whore? I would suspect they do that kind of stuff, just to distract us.

Juliette, she is different, she is special, she makes my anger go away. She knows my every thought, but this darkness, the monster that slowly -in a trench warfare way- acquires every bit of reality and goodness I have, he’s unknown to her, invisible, unimaginable.

I dream at night, nightmares of that that I don’t want to think about, the truth I know, but I rather hide, accepting it would be killing any chance of happiness and normality. Should I kill my wife? Should I cut her hair and wear it? “If you drink her blood, you will become her.” The demon says.

Yes, I am a monster, I love her, I love her so much I have to save her from myself, I will end up drawing all her happiness, all her will, I need to kill her now that she is the happiest. I will fuck other women, girls with flaws, girls that don’t smile; they show me that which feeds the unspoken darkness of my soul, the muted evil inherent to my nature.

I’ve seen her wings, I’ve tasted her feathers, I’ve even tried her blood while sleeping, I slowly absorb her soul, I slowly kill her in a manner which can not be comprehended, she has no end, she does not die, where does this non finite goodness and love come from?

Demons have never loved, nor fallen in love, they’ve never held a clockwork muscle between their chest, nor felt the rush of an orgasm. Bloodstream made of other peoples blood, as we lack the skill of creating our own. Parasites, killing to feed the dark hole that was granted to us, not even light could ever come across it’s infinite profundity.

I would strangle her, but her neck is way too pretty. I am an expert on slow killing, but doing it instantly is not -and gives me no- satisfactory. I would have to be blind, to not be distracted by her beauty, if only she were always with me, the generic good she creates would always be present.

She comes to me naked, she’s on top, she starts and lures me into a utopian world of pleasures and senses, something I only understand in that instant. I’m elevated, I feel the dry but still wet touch of clouds in my face, I rapidly approach the light of heaven, the peace of eternal perfection. Would you kill me now? Would you let me stay? Do you really love me?

I know I will descend back to my doom, the hard ground will give me another black spot, I will feel asphyxiated by the paradox you have become, I will want to kill you, I will eventually do so. Will I not? Can we delay the devilish task, as you’re now faith, can you try bursting my heart again, as finally I’ve realized, you’ve become thee.