by
SpiritStream17
Dedication: For Weasel, always being there, always lending a hand, and always handing the cheese -- literally. For Weasel, never denying me my daily ventings, never pushing me away, and never hiding my ice tea. For Weasel, the bestest friend I shall ever have. Thank you so much, the only words I can say to such a wonderful human being in my life. If it wasn't for you, and even Seph, I don't know where I would be right now. This story is dedicated to you, my friend. May you enjoy it with all your heart... and weasel companions.
And Shakespeare said it best: Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
The courses of true love never did run smooth.
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I swear, William Shakespeare was Albert Einstein's past life. He was a purified genius of the literary novels. His passages, sayings, and quotes are all too true for my tastes. I mean, love is such a fickle thing. When you feel you have this connection to someone, you feel alive, joyous, and extremely satisfied knowing that you have become one with this person. This person you might have just met, or known your entire life. Yet, it's such a downfall, a mesmorizing feeling to know that once you have given this person your mind, body, and spirit, it all crashes down upon you. Falling, screaming, breaking, cracking... all teared away in one small sweep of a motion by malevolent, cruel hands of your lover. Your dreams, fanatises, and desires -- shattered. All of them scattered around like broken mirror shards, trying to pick up each piece little by little, and still you can't fit the pieces back together to form the once majestic, beautiful mirror that held together you and your lover. And that reality shatters the only thing left... your mind.
That's how I feel, really. I feel broken, shattered, so torn and scattered that there can't be anyone in the world to put me back together. No one can, and that makes me feel so... vicious. Terrible. Horrible. Vile. Wicked. Vengeful. Ambitious. Devious. I feel like a living, breathing... nightmare. A demon spawn walking on two legs. An angel fallen from Heaven with clipped wings, gazing up with hopefuly eyes that God could reconsider and hand me a second chance. Yet, he leaves me in the pits of hell instead of the welcoming hearth of Providence, knowing that I am nothing more than Satan's child, and have no right to be in his presense once again. Ever again. Never again. I am the demon, and God... was my everything. God was... nothing. God was... something and anything. God was... my lover. My one and only. Mine... mine... all mine! And God used me! ME! He isn't all "hoiler than thou" and all that shit. He used me, and he won in the end.
True love never does run smooth.
Because in real life, love isn't a mystic journey of passion.
Love is a son of a bitch that bites you in the ass when you least expect it.
A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.
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So answer me this, why did she leave me? I worshiped the ground she walked on, I loved who she was, I adored her personality and her charming innocence, I respected her way and style of wrestling in the ring, I cherished the time and love we had together, I appreciated her, I treasured her, I wanted her, I needed her... she was me... and in the end, I found out I wasn't her. To find out that is was a hoax, a complete illusion, a facade of veracity in which she blinded my infatuated eyes of admiration, it was earth-shattering, a devastating astonishment to my lovestruck heart and soul. Her corrupted betrayal towards destoryed whatever love I had deep inside that innocent heart I once had. Love is only a simple word, a common noun, meaning an emotion towards another person, deeply affectionate, passionate, and desired with all of someone's heart and soul. There is no love left in my heart. That emotion is gone from within the confines of my heart.
Now all I have is my bravery, my pride, the only single, solitary thing she couldn't take away from me. I'll stand up on my own two feet, shout out to the world that you can torture me, beat me, and give me the taste of death on my parched lips of sorrow, and still you will never, without a shadow of a doubt, damage my pride. I may be bleeding, limping, and crying out for the sweet sensation of unbearable pain, yet in my family, pain is an enlightenment. Pain is within our bloods. It feeds within us. Feed us pain, and it makes us stronger, wiser, and harder to beat. I am the outcast, the runt, yet you can never hold me back. Once I get irate, livid, and just plain pissed off to the brim of my sanity, I will be give no mercy, whatesoever. That's all I have left with me... anger, bravery, and my mind. The only shards left of the mirror of my life.
Love is meaningless, bravery and anger are significance.
And that broken mirror of mine won't be broken for very long.
Just call it -- temporarily unstable.
Love is mearly madness...
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For me and Molly, it was a journey of happiness.
Which utterly turn into the chaotic world of madness I once dwelled in.
And I, Spike Dudley, will never again be lost in the marvelous humanity of lunacy evermore.
There is no evil angel but Love.
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