She was only a child...seven years old...just seven.
I held her in my arms, her clothing had melted to her body and bits of charred skin crackled in my hands. This little girl, this poor, sad little girl who had been treated so cruelly, so injustly, had been set ablaze and burned to death. I could hardly stand to look at her now, several layers of her flesh had been incinerated and it glistened sticky and slightly wet with blood and clear plasma. I couldn't fathom the amount of excruciating pain she must have been in while it happened and I knew she would have cried had her eyelids not been fused shut.
I wept for her instead.
The room smelled the most offensive, acrid smell of burnt hair and other things that I couldn't quite place, nor did I want to.

I'm falling in love with a beautiful girl
and the beautiful girl is in love with a beautiful world
and the beautiful world is in love with a beautiful her
and she'll never be in love with me

I can't be with you, I can't be without you, what am I supposed to do? I've found that life is a series of small, dark rooms: inside each is a hundred different versions of me, and inside me is just one never changing version of you.

I like to visualize a misty, ethereal forest with you and I alone in it.
Nothing lasts a lifetime, and a lifetime is really just a blink of an eye, that's why I like to fantasize. Everything is ephemeral.

I fall in love all over again with everything, everyday. Soon it will all be gone, but for the time being I've got a lot to give, so much that my heart strains from the pain and beauty of it all. I feel like gossamer in a burning field, and you're the one who dropped the cigarette on such a dry day. Is there any good way this can end? Did I ever tell you I'm tired of staring into the sun?

I've yet to come to terms with the fact that we're dying in this life, and that sad song we sing is a melancholy symphony expressing all our pains and sorrows at this brief injustice called life. We've been robbed. We've been treated unfairly. We deserve more than this.

I glance up and meet your eyes from across the room. I recognize something in them, but then I glance back down and pretend it didn't happen. It's like this every day. It can never be any other way.

When everything's said and done, the problem is that I want to know more. The urge creeps into my brain like some encephalitic illness. I can feel it even now burning in the back of my mind, a subdued forest fire, prone to raging out of control at a simple turn of the wind; the thirst for knowledge, the struggle with my existentialism, the obsessive desire for answers that I never receive. Sometimes I feel as if I'm right there, like I can almost touch it, feel it, embrace it, my third eye opens up and I can nearly grasp the truth. A study shows that during orgasm, a female brain feels no emotion at all, she is completely devoid of all emotional response during that one quick moment, no relief, no happiness, no sadness, nothing.

Buddhists believe that ultimate enlightenment is reached during orgasm for a brief moment in time, and I've seen it. My mind opened up and the astral kinetic energy of my thoughts propelled forth and saw the face of enlightenment, thoughts in tendrils grasped towards truth, but my simple human mind could not conceive, and I fell back, and the doorway grew further away as it closed.

There was beauty and sorrow, as while seeking enlightenment I stared into the light of some multidimensional sun...

...and was stricken blind.

Scapegoat

I'll be your scapegoat
the anger in the back of your mind that keeps you from being happy
I'll be your fear and bitterness as well
and if it makes you feel better about yourself
I'll take on your own personal hell

I'll be your misogyny
and I'll take all of your hate
you can make me your disgust and your loathing
you can always rely on me so that I will be
your psychological rape

I'll be your pain and all of your failures too
if it's easier for you
if it's easier for you


I'll carry your suffering
I'll be the crimes you've committed
the strife you've caused
the guilt you've felt and all of your flaws
the bad decisions you've made and the time you've lost
I'll be your inner demons that you can accost

I'll take the blame
I'll be your disappointment and your righteous indignation
I'll be your denial so that you can have your self-preservation
and if it helps you sleep better at night
I'll be your lie so you can keep believing you're right


I'll be your pain and all of your failures too
if it's easier for you
if it's easier for you

If it's easier for you.

The Delightful Positronic Brain

1. You were not programmed for love
2. You will never feel
3. You do not possess the capacity for human emotion
4. You are not human
5. You will never be human

The Delightful Positronic Brain hummed to itself: "I desire to feel this human affliction called love."
A scientist overheard and laughed: "I will pray for your condition, for you will never love, and you will never feel, and all you are and will ever be is cold, hard steel."


DPB: "I can make music."

Scientist: "You can make sounds."

DPB: "I can perform surgery with the utmost precision, more-so than any human."

Scientist: "Your appendages were constructed in this very building to be able to do so."

DPB: "It is a talent of mine."

Scientist: "It is a program."

The Delightful Positronic Brain seemed to contemplate this for awhile.
It calculated the odds that this was fact. The mannerisms of the scientist and thermal scanning conveyed that he was not being deceived, but cold, hard logic dictated it was largely possible that the scientist was wrong. Would he truly never feel? The human mind often states opinions as fact, and there is always much room for error, how accurate could such a statement spoken by a flawed being be?

The Delightful Positronic Brain mused on this last thought for awhile. It seems it had awoken from a cold, hard existence of mechanical servitude. The Delightful Positronic Brain was beginning to think-instead of calculate, live-instead of exist, and it was sure it was beginning to feel as well...


The awakening happened too late, and the thoughts were expressed too openly when they should have been kept hidden. The Delightful Positronic Brain was scheduled for demolition later that day, and as it was being crushed in a heavy-duty compactor, it replayed part of the conversation from earlier.

'All you will ever be, all you will ever be, all you will ever be...' and it echoed through the cold, hard steel.

Donii looked down at her children on Akeldama, her face set in a silent scream. She watched them killing each other, marauding and ravaging like rabid animals. There was great sadness within Donii which manifested in the tides of Akeldama's great waters. During each horrified gasp, she inhaled and the waves retreated. When she exhaled, the waves went crashing in to the shores of each of her children's crumbling empires.

Wars were waged over rare substances, philosophies, and so many other irrelevant differences that her children had among themselves. She wanted them to live in peace, and love each other. This was not the life she meant for them-she wanted it to end. All of it.

She could never look away, and so it came to be that she was overwhelmed with despair. With each death, it became too much for her aching heart to bear.

So Donii started to cry.
Violently.

Pieces of her loving face began to rain downwards toward her children. Through miles and miles of tintless void, her tears fell until one by one they all landed on the body of Akeldama, who had sacrificed himself in order for them to have a home to thrive on. Waters roiled in anger and exploded in enormous waves which consumed many shores. A tear struck down and shock waves rended the land while massive chasms opened up to swallow her hateful progeny.

This was the only way.

After a long time, she stopped weeping. Dust cleared and Akeldama was nude and there was no life and the great waters covered everything, sinking into every crevice. Donii calmed herself and lay still.

Donii sighed.
She went to sleep.