Mutilation

 

Walking on red-hot pieces of coal is no mean feat. Especially if you don't know how to do it. For some time now, however, I've had the impression that these embers don't burn me at all; on the contrary, I feel good walking on them. Perhaps it's a strange feeling, considering how I feel in a situation where any normal person would be terrified of my reaction. However, I'm neither afraid nor surprised. I'm comfortable with what these glowing embers are doing to me.

When the knife blade pierced the palm of my hand, I thought it was a miracle. A pleasant shiver ran down my spine, proving the pleasure I experienced was real. Surprisingly, not much blood was shed. Moreover, the warm red liquid stirred even greater euphoria in my mind. Taking out the knife, I felt even greater pleasure in the fact that I could mutilate my easily corrupted body.

A hammer. Commonly used for driving nails into various objects. I wonder how that relates to the human body. A nail pressed against the elbow. Ouch! Sweet pain. Pain? Pleasure, rather. An indescribable thrill of self-satisfaction. Some say you can't mutilate yourself. Not true, I say. Of course you can. Hell! It can even bring great pleasure. Like it did to me. Pincers. That's what you use to strip the body of unnecessary elements.

And now the heart. How should I approach it? Perhaps with a knife? A nail? I don't know. What can I do to hurt it as much as possible, to make it feel bad, and thus give me great pleasure. A damned pleasure, by the way. I'm devising a grand plan. It's simple as pie. I'll attack it unexpectedly. Like guerrillas. I'll inflict on it the greatest pain imaginable. It doesn't even expect it. It beats rhythmically, oblivious to what might happen next. Love...