For quite a while, I've felt old. For about 2-3 years now, I feel older than anyone I could possibly know or see. Why?

Innocence has become something that I scoff at to something that I absolutely abhor.

Innocence in all of its delicate, intricate, and even most juvenile forms.

Why? Because I see these people to which it applies, and I hate them. Because they never will have to go through what I went through, or see what I saw, or feel what I've felt.

And the punchline to the joke is that they turn out to be decent people. Their parents made up some silly rules guided by meaningless intent.

"Don't do this and you will get this."

"Okay."

But where's the sincerity or meaning in that? They don't mean what they do or say, because they were TRAINED to behave as so.

Sincerity. Another thing that makes me feel old.

No one is sincere anymore. No one has the decency to look into anyone's eyes anymore. The eyes tell everything.

Or, people are sincere but still innocent. So very easy to be manipulated.

"I manipulate you all because its for the better of you, so you will learn a lesson, and for the best for me, so I can smile and enjoy the last bit of fleeting life that bleeds out of you."

But...all of you, each and every one of you...."mortals," if you will, still continue to bleed. There's no end.

I can have my fill from any of you and keep on and on and on, and you'll eventually spring back up.

A good advantage for me, but nonetheless...nostalgic.

You all go on to live life towards opportunity, striving towards your goal.

I do it to do it, to have something to do. No passion needed or available.

Solitude, one of my strengths.

There I can think about how old I am, there I can purposely slow down my heart rate as well as the rest of the world. There I can converse with the only people worth talking to...the ones inside my mind, from memories, from the past, and some from out of the black.

I think about others... No. They don't exist. I am the only thing that exists, pretending to be something greater and more full of life, yet a cheap imitation of it.

Please don't tell me that there's actual living thinking things. They aren't real. It's all an illusion. The real me hates the living, hates everything that can metabolize. I want to just continuously fade into black, yet I never stop fading, because there's always something more to fade. I diminish forever but never go out of existence. Like decay.

In the dark, I sit and I appear to have fallen asleep. In my sleep all I want to do is fall asleep, and in that sleep I want to fall asleep. Snuff out all the consciousness in my existence.

Laying on the dirt concrete, my heart slowed to almost nothing, my mind dying, and my body separated from my thoughts, I grow cold. Then I feel stinging and strange sensations.

Flies, ants, and various insects are trying to eat me! They all think I'm dead!

Thank you, my loves. Thank you for not confusing me with the confused, pointless, careless, and destructive bunch called the living.

The physical me hears barking, and chirping, knowing that all nonhuman lifeforms are the least pointless or parasitic. Respond to stimuli. Reflex.

No, please, don't come near me. You're alive, I want you dead. I want to smell your sweet crimson salty iron blood and paint it all over my body. I want to taste it.

ALL OF YOU! You're nothing but sacks of blood, sex, ecstasy and energy to me! Do you think I care about your mediocre problems?

I am only meant to use the pointless feelings of love towards those who slightly get me, those who love and live to manipulate others for the better of themselves, or those who understand that reality is not a set thing, or those who can look me in their eyes, admit they're frightened, yet still walk with me, hoping to one day learn. Or those who have followed a rule that has left them with nothing countless times, or those who accept others for they know they cannot see what others have seen...

...And yet. Anyone who thinks they know me say "Hey that's Mikey. She likes everyone, she's friendly towards everyone."

Or

"That girl is a bit dark but she just has a different sense of humor."

Is my smile, a smile of happiness? Is my laugh a laugh of a light heart? My smile is twisted, my laugh is in strong desire that someone be hurt. I know you'd think my true thinking is disastrous, so really, it's better to laugh than to be grave and solemn. Who survives with that?

Who gets by with that?

No one knows me. Really. Ask them, and I will beg to differ. It's not about opening up, or anything like that. It's about the fact that your mind won't be able to process a small amount of the things that run through my head, or the things you think are sick or twisted.

I come across as eccentric, sexually perverse, outgoing...There's always a reason. Especially for the middle one. Maybe I was brought up to be that way, or even worse, maybe I need to be to survive in this world.

All my counterfeit emotions and reactions are due to a fact that I can't get anywhere really showing what I'm really feeling. I want to die known as a happy sadist who loves chaos as opposed to a sad, gloomy person who never got the chance to manipulate others and destroy order.

I would deeply admire a person who would see order in all the chaos that I do and hope to bring. As well as those who live with it, or those who see it in a new color.

Look at me in the eyes. Do you see passion? Do you see reflecting old age? No.

I am ancient. However, I am not the sun or the sea.

I can not possibly be the sea because I am not full of life, nor continuously moving, nor depended upon for survival.

Neither can I be the sun, because I am not burning with fury, nor any form of passion positive or negative. I do not cause things to grow, and I do not overlook life.

However, maybe I am something as common and useless as the moon.

I am a great, lifeless thing that is completely uninterested in all living and nonliving things. My pulse has slowed to nothing, and I just sit, in the way of all possible opportunity. Things around me grow and change, and yet I just stay the same as ever. I am cold, distant, and people do not see through me.

They think I at least shine upon them? No. I'm as dark as nothing, I am nothing in a physical form. It is the SUN that shines upon you! Not I! The sun shines behind me and it is a perfect opportunity to trick you all into thinking I will be your sentinel when the night falls.

When in reality, I AM the night! It is the stars who do not deceive you. I possibly could have been like that once, undergoing the circle of things, burning with love and passion and rage, but now...All I want to do is rest.

Just listen to whatever sounds I can, of my own heart beating, feeling my veins give and take blood back in forth, a pointless rowboat journey of a lame excuse for living...

Don't even worry about letting me down. As something that isn't alive, what can I possibly depend or recognize any of you for? I am not concerned with your movements, your goals, your dreams, your hopes.

You probably won't even think this over.

And then those who quote books and movies and imaginative ideas...I hate you the most. You are some of the loveliest people...But you're all so impossible. Reaching out for a dream that isn't even yours will lead you to disappoint others, and most of all, yourself.

Please learn to see the beauty in your own selfishness and other selfish people, and when you find someone, explore each other's dreams, because if you belong to each other, so do your dreams, and thus is born a new kind of brilliant, sincere, idea.