Sometimes it comes in, a dark figure that stands tall over me, like something that thinks it’s above the rest. It doesn’t hurt me, but it took away my speech, due to the noxious gas it emits from his mouth. My legs and arms are tied together by the strings it says are created with it’s love, and my neck is loosely caught in a noose it says well cradle me when I’m down.
It promises that it will never leave and that it will always comfort me. It makes me feel safe, but also captured. It tortures me, but also cares for me in a way that no one ever has. I hate it with a deep passion, while at the same time, feeling like I need its embrace. Maybe it tortures me because of the lifestyle I chose. It seems the most probable, I mean it is only its nature.
I love what it does to me. I love its caress, and its way of teaching me things. However, I hate how it’s so commonly hurting me. It makes me see the truth, but maybe I don’t want to know the truth. It tells me what I’m doing, and shoves it in my face like some kind of sick bastard who gets pleasure out of my suffering. I hate it! No, no, no I love it. I can’t damn decide!
That’s why now, staring down at the blood filled bathtub that contains my wife, and the knife that still lay silent in her chest, I will take it down with me. I can both love it and hate it, but if it comes down with me, all I’ll be able to see is the loveable side. My conscience will follow me into the dark.
Here's a micro-pasta for you Moist. Anyways, I got bored and decided that I would write a pasta, this is what happened. I'm trying really hard to focus more on the creepy ambience of my pastas because that's something I really need to work on. So, if you could please tell me in the comments if you thought this was creepy it would be much obliged! I hope you enjoyed!
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