Any Knife
wonder if my attraction to slashers is born from the notion that if I can love a monster than maybe I myself am lovable. Surely life has proven otherwise or else I would not be so lonely.
Sure people have loved me, but i don't think I have ever been loved comfortably. Maybe by loving a monster I can appreciate what it feels like to love me. Maybe then I can love me like I love them? A fraught acceptance is better than an indulging resistance.
To me there is a sensuality in violence, at least in movies. A knife edge traced along your skin, but still your skin is touched. The cool blade exposes your heated blood and desperate hunger to be held and comforted from pain. Teeth gnash and tug and devour your life away, but you were told it was never your life to begin with, so what's the rush? Enjoy your meal. I will not run from you my shoes have long been too tight and my legs were stolen years ago. Devour me in your uncontrolled misery. For your stomach will reflect me far better than any mirror.
The feeling of eyes watching me in the night. Has anyone ever really watched me before? With honest anger and obsession. Prey to hunt. Learning every move with eyes and ears open for a stutter that lets you in? To watch me until the essence of my soul leeches through my skin. I wait for them to find me. No matter where I run I am caught.
To love a monster is to admit yourself a monster. But at least I am somewhere I am craved instead of ghostly. This lack of touch is far more painful than any blade could be.
