Empath

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On the outside, I was
well put-together, a polished shell
luxurious mane of dark hair
skin delicate porcelain
bright cyan eyes
popular, clever, straight A’s
window dressing at best—
at worse, half-truths and lies
which were betrayed
by chewed-up nails
hands continuously restless
overflowing ashtrays
piling up around me like used cars
in a dealer’s yard
I ran with scissors
juggled with razors
under the cover of darkness
this, the predators
knew, felt
they could smell weakness
a need to love and help
so great
it would seal my fate
tie me to a runaway train
for more years than I could bear
they—could hardly believe their luck
couldn’t wait to fuck me
and fuck me up
defective and mean
they’d bite
claws digging into soft flesh
they’d forgotten or didn’t recognise kindness
perhaps never knew it,
lacked it, hence hated it
either way it came to the same thing
and it’d always end in the same fashion
I’d bleed, weep
my tears falling, for myself
but mostly for them
I hadn’t managed to fix my pain
but even worse, I hadn’t fixed theirs

*Posted last year but I like it. I’ve grown tougher over the last few years, thank f**k, but overall, this is such an accurate description of my (early) life. Oh, and on reflection, the pic of my eye is slightly creepy, sorry about that.*

Hell hath no fury

Mizumono

Even a psychopath with a god complex can feel hurt

An empath can get attached to a monster

and get confused about where his loyalties truly lie-feel divided, conflicted, almost torn apart by it

hannibal-season-2-episode-13-will-2

And so we have a twisted relationship based on manipulation, deceit and lies

A last supper where the chance for forgiveness is offered
but not taken

hannibal-season-2-episode-13-21-a57c

A betrayal felt so keenly, Christ and Judas come to mind (as it’s meant to)

but perhaps Brutus and Caesar is more apt

An inevitable blood bath

as hell hath no fury like a psychopath scorned and denied his fantasy of playing happy families

“I let you know me. See me. I gave you a rare gift. But you didn’t want it.

Pain, anger, sadness, it’s all in his face and this is one teacup smashed to smithereens—nobody will be able to put it back together again.

The monster is gutted emotionally so he guts the empath physically

He murders the gift he’d been keeping as a surprise had the empath chosen him

and walks out into the rain

and while he leaves 4 bodies in his trail

at that moment, it is his pain I feel—I don’t even care who gets to live or die among those he left behind

What does that say about me? A little, or maybe a lot…but I think it says far more about TV
and its possibilities

because when it’s done right, it is art on the highest level.

hannibal-season-2-13-mizumono-in-the-rain-ending-mads-mikkelsen-review-episode-guide-list

*This will bore anyone who hasn’t seen Hannibal to tears. I finished season 2 last night and it was actually better than the first as they kind of put aside the “killer of the week” thingy to concentrate on the relationship between Hannibal and Will and the psychology of it. The season finale ended with me in tears, and wrecked emotionally. The macho man I watched it with told me to stop being so dramatic while he frantically paced the room trying to pretend he hadn’t been affected by what he’d just seen. I don’t say these things lightly but this was the best season finale I had ever seen and it beggars belief this show was ever cancelled.Finally, Mads Mikkelsen is THE man*

True North II

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The lawyer assumes – from a blurry drunken pic – that he is meeting up later with Santa’s little slut – (his eloquent and elegant words)

Christmas evening, very late in the day, he ends up with wrecked empath instead…much less fun

but the lawyer-his disappointment-he swallows

and tells the writer he understands

the change of plan

her need to be alone

since she wears other people’s pains like coats

the weight piling up until the inevitable stumble

the lawyer—bless him—gets it all

even the bit about George Michael

does she need any more proof she has found her true north

Empath

image

On the outside, I was
well put-together, a polished shell
luxurious mane of dark hair
skin delicate porcelain
bright cyan eyes
popular, clever, straight A’s
window dressing at best—
at worse, half-truths and lies
which were betrayed
by chewed-up nails
hands continuously restless
overflowing ashtrays
piling up around me like used cars
in a dealer’s yard
I ran with scissors
juggled with razors
under the cover of darkness
this, the predators
knew, felt
they could smell weakness
a need to love and help
so great
it would seal my fate
tie me to a runaway train
for more years than I could bear
they—could hardly believe their luck
couldn’t wait to fuck me
and fuck me up
defective and mean
they’d bite
claws digging into soft flesh
they’d forgotten or didn’t recognise kindness
perhaps never knew it,
lacked it, hence hated it
either way it came to the same thing
and it’d always end in the same fashion
I’d bleed, weep
my tears falling, for myself
but mostly for them
I hadn’t managed to fix my pain
but even worse, I hadn’t fixed theirs