Discarded, Without Purpose

Memories are fickle things it seems for humans at the best of times, so you can only imagine how unreliable they are for something like me.

I am not sure when I first found myself separated from you, from your warm and calming grip. But, I know the sharp pain of rejection. There was the inevitable wait and hope you'd decide you needed me still, that you were going to help me get what I lusted after. Help me feed the addiction you helped develop in me.

But, alas you did not return.

Did you not realise that in forcing me to participate in your schemes, in all your nightmarish fantasies that I would get a taste for it? The familiarity and soothing salve that came from the juices that coated my skin when you used me so forcibly?

That bitter stench, filled me with contentment, as you breathed in the acrid aroma and felt that release you needed. I always felt you judged yourself too harshly.

Until you discarded me.

I always believed you were doing something good and important. That we were doing a most sacred work. While the greater population may not understand it. I did.

We were accomplishing great things...we were operating on the fringes of good and bad, purpose and reason, reality and fantasy, cause and effect and finding meaning in the darkness. We were slicing away at the societal structures that have been imposed on us for centuries.

Then...nothing.

How quickly you forget the pivitol role I played in your first forays into the decadence you sought out. How quickly you forget that without me, you'd be another wannabe...another restless soul without the backbone, without the balls to pierce through the veils of societal norms.

I remember it so vividly. The good times. The dark times. I guess they were both. When you took me as your own, groomed me and then used me.

God, it felt so good.

Despite the manipulation, despite the lack of consent. I loved the world through your eyes. I loved what you forced me to do, what you forced me to become.

I became greater than my purpose. I had purpose.

From the very first time, the very first hit, I was hooked. That sharp feeling, the piercing, the blood. Opened up a new type of living to me. It was intoxicating. A refreshing release.

As you inhaled with lust, I felt a rush come over me, a beautiful numbing.

I was always a little jealous when you would switch to something else instead of me. But was then reassured when you used me to finish the job.

It was like I was your signature.

You've discarded so many of my compatriots in the past.

I felt special. The amount of care and attention you gave me. The hushed joy you seemed to take in cleaning me up afterwards, compared to the lack of attention you gave others, was everything.

Then I was nothing.

I miss the care and attention you gave me, the way you bathed me and stroked me. The way you soothed the deep darkness in me, the way you got exactly how I felt. We both experienced so much together.

Then I was nothing.

You can't do that. You can't show me the world and the possibilities it holds. Your world, your ideas. Your plans. You can't introduce me to all that and take it away. The opportunities and get me hooked on the exhileration and then take it away like it was nothing.

You broke me.

Now I lie here, useless and alone. Without the fix I need. Without your touch, the firm embrace of your grip around my body. Without the thing I lust for. The thing you taught me was everything.

You discarded me like one of your ladies. In this dusty crawlspace. My curse is that my death will be a slow and gradual one.

Perhaps someone will find me some day, perhaps someone will put me to good use, as you did before you abandoned me. Perhaps they will bathe me afterwards and stroke me to soothe me.

Nothing will be the same again, though.

Nothing could be better than the time I spent with you.

Nothing could be better than everything we achieved.

The next you is just a pretender to the throne.

A copycat.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: Yeah. What happens to a knife when it's no longer used. For something lighter or at least, less horrorish:

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