The Dark Side
Forgive me father, for I have sinned.
It’s been two years, and yet another. Why? Hmm, not even I could answer that.
I’ve told you then, that: it suits me sometimes, this so called “casual“ life. I don’t have to get involved. I can be intimate without being tied down (Figuratively speaking). You thank the Lord a thousand times for making them a pain in somebody else’s ass. And yet, you feel lonely all the same. There’s no room for you in the exchange. It’s about the needs, and nothing but the needs. We all just want to be received, and you and I (We’re good at that, arent we?) Receiving pain upon pain.
Now don’t look appaled. I’m doing a service here, every bit as effective as yours. The only difference is, yours is sanctioned, while mine is scorned. But I’m not here to argue or convince you of anything. I just want somebody to talk to, someone who’ll listen to my story and not wanna judge me five minutes later.
The problem with me is, women are drawn to me the way people are drawn to a car crash: a beautiful old-wreck on the side of the road (because misery is both a lure and a trap): Interesting to fuck but hell to live with. I was thinking that I’m never gonna be a good husband, but I know I’m just lying to myself. Truth is, I hate being alone. I hate being dirty little secret, the tasty side dish, the little weekend masochist for the lovers. So why do I persist in doing (And being) the very thing I hate? I don’t supposed you have anything to say to that (And I’m gonna make sure you don’t by continuing to talk talk talk into your big ear).
But at some point, I’m stuck in a situation where all the changes for the good things I made mean nothing to the society, who’d make their life more interesting talking ’bout other people’s sins and failures. Sin’s stubborn isn’t it? It’s all it takes to throw away everything you made for years. That’s it’s ugliest, most merciless face, is what casts us into the deepest, coldest circle of hell.