Dark Challenge

Each word is an icy dagger, a shard that splinters straight into the heart, freezing blood as I twist it deeper. I am in a dangerous mood tonight, having just told W that I'm not going with him to 'graze with the rest of the herd'. I wield my blades again tonight, walking carelessly down the dark cobbled paths that lead to this dark mansion where candle flames flicker eerily through the shadows that greet me like old friends. Why should I fear anything? I have seen into the deepest recesses of the human heart, have observed first hand the darkness that flows out from the creatures of the damned, and witnessed Death in all His obscene glory. Nothing frightens me. It makes me that much more dangerous. I have ripped through my own safeguards, and now the night births me into my darkest incarnation yet. I am unafraid of the consequences, and each sure word that I fire off into the night rings with toxic truth. I know that when I finally stand in front of the glossy mirror that fascinates me so, I will wonder which demon has managed to mimic my form tonight. I have shot down each fiery arrow that lances towards me, and retaliated with icy blades doused in my own legendary toxins. Come morning, the crows will start cawing at me from the gates, and I will frantically be mixing up antidotes to salve the wounds that I myself have caused. But for tonight, let me careen on blindly through this destructive path that I've managed to land myself in. W, I blame you. And you too, MC, and you most of all LC. *raises middle finger in salute*

Dark Blood

My psychiatrists called me on my cellphone today. I have been seeing a whole team of them. Guess I'm too complex for just one to handle. I was quite surprised. Is it normal for them to do that? Call their patients to congratulate them for having made tiny improvements in their twisted lives? I'm feeling low tonight. The atmosphere here was lively, but it was tolerable only because I drew away from everyone else and stood alone and aloof with the winds and my darling cat.
Him.
I am a shadow in the house, the son of my father, afraid of the spell my creator has woven over me. I fear his touch, yet I resent the loss of it. It is a paradox, and it is driving me mad. I have left my pack of cigarettes at my Challen's shallow grave and now I regret my rash decision. I need a smoke badly. I need to get out of here and clear my mind. I need a drink. I need someone, anyone! But it's played out like this, and I know subconsciously, this was how I intended it to be. Me, alone against my father. This battle of wills is between us two, and I, the prodigal son, shall not bow before the man who once held my heart in the palm of his hand. Regardless, father, mentor, friend...lover. This twisted tale must end. No more. Even as the tears flow into my hands, sparkling in the pale moonlight, I tell myself again...no more. I am no longer that boy. I am a man, and these hands that collect the crystalline drops falling from my eyes are the hands of a man. But unlike the hands of the men who touched me and ripped my innocence from me, I will not sully myself by destroying their lives. No. When the sun rises, I will leave. I will do what they never could. I will leave this place, and I will leave no mark behind, visible or otherwise. I have been quietly passing my time here by listening to my music, and talking softly to my feline friends. I have not really spoken to anyone, and I don't know why. Being here just saps the strength from my soul. Again I damn the blood that runs through my veins, the same substance that connects me so intensely to the shadows that have veiled the world. I have lived a life of secrecy and lies, and now as I spread my torn wings, bathed in the moonlight, I long very much to be the boy with that sparkle in his eyes. I curse my ancestry, I damn my father, yet as I cry alone, I want very much to have his arms around me and hear him apologise for the torment he has put me through. It will never happen. I bear these scars and wounds as a reminder of the past. Yet it is my tainted blood that damns me the most. I glance upward at the heavens before turning away. I will never be free of the darkness. My psychiatrists can do their best, but the blood will still run through me, and as long as it does, I will always be lost.
The first gate has been opened, Gabriel.