​Five Favorite Movies

Five favorite movies. “Chasing Amy.” I love it for how absolutely depressing the ending is. And how real. Love and relationships… they’ve been written in poetry and stars since man walked the earth. Life, though… it has a way of dampening a young man’s visions of the heart. “Romeo and Juliet?” A classic. Spoiler, they die. “Hellraiser” is closer to most of my relationships than “Say Anything.” Cusack is an icon though. The healthiest relationship I ever saw was in “The Conjuring.” I guess I have a feel for black romance. Especially when they go horribly wrong. Like the one I’m currently dealing with. Since we’re talking movies, let me break it down in acts.

Act 1

There she was. Tall, dark, and fucking gorgeous. The night we met, she did naked pirouettes to show me how skilled she was at ballet. She showed me other skills as well. She was in medical school. She modeled “when I have time for it.” She was better than me at Call of Duty when we were piss drunk and stank of bodily fluids. I would have been superior if sober. Her hair was wild and kinky and she smelled like chocolate covered strawberries and weed. I would have killed for that woman, the night we met. I prayed to God she would ask me to.

Act 2

Well…. she eventually DID ask. The taste of her and the siren-sound of her whispers pushed me to do things I’d regret. She said, “I want to see you fight.” And so off we went to the club. She was half-naked; a wild nymph wandering the dance floor. So many fuck-boy idiots approached, so many she laughed off. But one guy… tall. Gave the impression of a man whom women fawned over. He stepped behind her on the dance floor. Put his hands on her hips and swayed to the rythmic thumping of the beat. She glanced at me, and I knew he was the one. Up I walked. “Get your fucking hands off of my woman.” He responded in kind. My right hand flew, the cartilege in his nose soon followed. I remember the bass, thumping into my chest and I swear I could feel her hot breath on my neck. I punched him and felt her in me until I wasn’t entirely sure which or whose bodily fluid my hand was drenched in.

Intermission

These were the roles we played. I danced to her songs, and she lit a fire in me I never imagined. She pushed me farther and farther. A good woman can make a good man great. And an evil one can make a bad man worse.

Act 3

She spoke of murder. Told me how turned on the thought made her. She pushed me with an intoxicating blend of sex and drugs and alcohol to a place I guess I always wanted to go to. We hatched a plan. We tied him up. We cut him apart. She laughed and laughed and laughed and then we had a blood-covered fuck while his pieces watched.

Epilogue

I’m in a mental hospital. I have access to a laptop every now and again if I’m cautious and don’t draw attention. I’m posting this because…. they tell me she isn’t real. Never was. Apparently, I’m just a fucking lunatic. Apparently, I’m “schizophrenic” and “deeply traumatized.”

But I can feel her lips on my neck, and her breath in my lungs. I know she’s out there. Creating her next monster and victim. They’re both the same.