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Vengeance Only in Thought



My heart blackens as days go by after my downfall. It became stone as it ceased to take blood and when blood eventually left it. Better if it be removed from my chest and be locked up in a box and be thrown into the sea and let it sink down to the depths, farthest from any capacity of man’s reach so that it will never be found again. All has become too pointless, too confusing, that this heart that causes life be also the cause of severe pain, that it deserves to be hid from all of eternity. Cursed and petrified, for it chose to wander towards joys that are not eternal and mistake them to be ideal, yet the false hopes is tearing it apart. Let it be cut brutally, torn asunder, perpetually detached from my body, Huitzilopochtli!  Let it be for the sun that will help grow a thousand crops rather than being useless to follow useless passions that thrives in contingency. Let this dead heart be useful for higher passions and or pleasures rather than to foolishly blind itself with wonders that moth and dust corrupts, let it be aimed at finding problems and solutions regarding human progress rather than tainted, futile and volatile love. Let its passion be fused towards the ends of science, arts, world domination and focus in giving a thought in having a place in history where all can remember than between lovers to which are only two. Compared to glory recognized by the multitude, to the mob; it has to be selfless not to a bureaucrat but to the masses. Let this heart not give devotion to a single divinity but towards brotherhood and humanity at large. I follow the hearts of my ancestry and that cannot be stolen, those footsteps toward progress rather than love, futile. She killed this heart, gave death, death to which it is where the soul is released, relieved from corruptibility towards an eternity of perfect existence. My heart shall serve to masters not to a master, and if it is only one, it would be better and best that is it is no form of a lover. Have that in my decadent phase in my existence be crucified. Nailed and speared and let the blood rush out until every drop is laid unto the thirsty dry sand, that this corpse will serve a higher ordeal by being reunited with nature. Curse the love, curse the ecstasy, the euphoria. Let me start again, new, powerful and cold, devoted to the supremacy of reason.

You are crucified, and before you are laid, you are tortured, seventy-seven times seven of our Lord’s endeavor so that you shall be beyond human recognition, that you shall carry no human resemblance and when you are at last laid, decay, be corrupted and never like the Lord shall you rejoice in triumphant reborn, but your soul stuck to your body and slowly annihilates with it through time. Be ye cursed, forever damned, bereft of my forgiveness, let death be your toll towards an eternity of more, slow, painful deaths. Usurper.

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