Love has died . I have been the killer , but I think it died long ago, although I haven’t noticed until tonight. Maybe it’s been dying for all this time, in a slow and cruel agony.
Yesterday, it ended as it began, with good words and good wishes which proved false , with empty flattery and false promises , only this time I did know it was a lie . I was quickly dispatched and what never was anything remained just that , nothing. I didn’t matter , but this time I did not care either. Because all that mattered to me was just for you . You took what was important. And I know that once it would have meant something, but now all is empty. Anything that comes into my heart will leave it indifferent , because it is depleted of be wasted in vain feelings and false hopes, is tired of drowning in his own torment, baring his soul and show everything that is inside with the bitter illusion that someone will approache and buy, like those girls who sold themselves into the night. But the price is never cheap enough, and the quality of the material never seems as good as it should, because no one comes near , not even appreciate it. Before, they left their marks, but now can pass without trace, disappearing forever in the darkness of the times, the cruelty of indifference , that monster, without changing anything in it.
Love died last night , I saw it with these eyes, I nailed on it one of his own knives with these hands. I did not want to, because I’m in love with it , but it could be considered that it was self-defense. As I sank the dagger in its core essence , it looked at me surprised and with a piercing pain, and my eyes were filled of tears. Then, when wounded, it couldn’t hold anymore , I took it in my arms and rocked him, crying while my heart was breaking again . And it was fading away slowly, his mouth grotesquely deformed, begging for help, but I wouldn’t be the one who would do so . I let it bleed out until finally died in my arms , with a red rose in its chest. Then a strange cold began installing in my body. In the distance I heard music which poetry and notes stuck in my soul. An epic requiem for the highest of passions , the noblest of feelings. Love died tonight. We were the killers.