lingered participles of time

What kind of a sick joke is this?
Unknown forces are messing with my mental state.
The angels I thought as my guardians are evil spirits of my ego, thirsty for a bloodshed and pneumatic massacre.
Love, passion, strength
have to be altered by
fury, apathy, fragility.
I hate emotions. I want to feel no more. I hate polarity.
I want to escape, smash that pendulum.




I'll never have you now, will I?
Feel you, touch your adonic lips
But you are the part of mine I love the most.
I hate the rest.
I want to die
and live through you
your body veins...
coursing like tears of exulting gem.
My life is drained.
I fade away like a candle
in Altars of misery.
Cauterized, my arms make efforts to reach you.
I whip them savagely... blaspheming their material.
Hunter of fate I must not be.

I'm tired of faking my whole existence.
A loving mother, a faithful friend, a virtuous resident.
Visions of blades lunged on my physical organs...and it is righteous.
It's relieving.
If it's decreed, I shall eagerly retreat.

A slavish dance with a hypothesis around some lingered participles of time is my animation.
Yet, highlightings of this tidal sorcery of yours are dawned in my conception.
No matter what, they are always welcome.