I see.
So, now you’re back to toying with alchemy?
Because you don’t want to commit to your true feelings you hold for Feathers, you’re storing them at the armory?
Is that the new management place where you remanufacture your heart?
Is that why you’ve gone missing, running away again?
Are your feelings undergoing repair?
Are you being rewired, or are you with that whore, again?
You know, the one full of crock, but compliant to your will.
She’s dangerous fakery, but I guess you’ve now found out the hard way, haven’t you?
She is what happened to you when you cursed Feathers.
What? You think I don’t know your alchemy? You and I are one. Remember?
Let’s see.
You didn’t want Feathers’ body at that time, but you sure wanted her pure love. You didn’t want that whore’s crock-filled feelings for you at that time, but wanted and used her flesh as a substitute for needing Feathers’ pure love for you.
A magician’s bait and switch game of souls got you burned.
Just look at your face; look at your hands and see your groin’s damage.
You’re not the alchemist–God is.
But that whore’s crock got you good. Of course Crock-Whore made you see and believe she was Feathers–your still-unfulfilled soul contract. She stole, at that time, Feathers’ words, thoughts and genuinely loving actions towards you, cloned them as hers, and then rebranded all to serve your egotistic liking. Her crotch and crock were nothing more than resold refried beans.
Do I look like I’m smiling here?
What are you looking for, light? The only light you’ll see here comes from my own illumined eyes. You don’t want me; I can only show you darkness, like the one you’ve forever been in, sought and found here.
You want Feathers.
The soul cares not where it hides. Behind couplets, paragraphs and commas, it cares not where to breathe.
Are you looking for structure here?
Seek somewhere else.
I’m telling you here Feathers will not come to you; she can’t. That is not God’s soul contract made. You must go to her, no matter how lost you’ve been. Only then will the contract have been made complete.
For now, just keep rearranging your artillery; it’s your gospel.
But if you should hurt Feathers again, I will leap upon your chest, claw and slit it open in two, like a pillow, and slash, slash, slash it until your guts fall apart.
Black Cat Words 