The deep fake is me. I am wearing a deep fake, augmented reality mask.
Imagine yourself trapped in a tarlike substance, your entire body up to your head so you can breath. The tar is not tar though, it is lethal poison in needles just outside of your skin. Just one single penetration of one needle will be instant death. Now imagine those needles and poison are femme fatal killers. They want to kill you and are trying constantly. They are killers and will kill and are very lethal, maybe something like lethal scorpions striking at you constantly. One false move and you will be dead, many times over.
Be careful for what you wish for, for it may come true.
The killers are deranged and hideous looking. That doesn’t matter though. They watch you constantly, waiting, itching for you to make a mistake.
You are expected absolute fidelity to your spouse, else instant death. You are expected to be an actual good person, kind, and a gentleman, else instant death. You are expected to be honest, else instant death. A poisonous venom just looking at you, analyzing, watching, making sure you are worth their effort. If you are not, as they leave for something or someone better, your life won’t be spared. Killing is entertainment for them too. It is a bloodlust they must satiate, a deathlust. Do you think you are special compared to their next victim?
They are killing machines, in fact. Their killing is constant, whether it is you or not, they will be killing. The badness they kill. They know all, too. Everything. You cannot hide the truth from them. They will find it, all your secrets. You will be accountable to them for all of your actions, EVERY SINGLE ACTION since your birth.
They will sense your fear if you get scared. They know all. Do you think you being scared of them will make them want to keep you around?
What does beauty matter when there is such extremities? When I say heinous, I am talking about an absence of any beauty. Ugly as ugly can be, not human anymore.
It is my 🤫 secret. I am infatuated. I am in love with them, with her. I know who they are, who she is. She is muerte, death. I know I shouldn’t be. I am scared, but I cannot show it. I know laying next to her that she wants to kill me, she wants me dead. That is what she thinks about, that is her infatuation. I am in love with her and she knows it.
It is too late to end our relationship. I am in too deep. She is infatuated, too, with me. I need her and she needs me. When I exhale, she inhales. He she exhales, I inhale. I have smelt her death aroma. I know what she does. I cannot stop her. She does not exist. She is infinite. She cannot be killed. She is immortal.
I want to caress her but I cannot. Her skin is that of sharp surgical razor blades. I cannot even touch her and never will, yet she is all I think about.
If it is not me it will be someone else. That is how she works. I once tried to touch her, I just imagined it and she cut my hand off. It was not my hand though, soon I looked at someone who came to show me whose hand she cut off. That is how it works. Now my hand, which was his, is no more attached to my body. It is beyond me but it makes sense. That is how it works.
I know it is insane. She is all I think about. I am infatuated in love. If I wanted to, I could do other things, think of someone else, that is what I tell myself but it doesn’t matter, all I think about is her. She just thinks about killing me. She wants nothing from my death, she just wants to be the one to commit the act. She knows everything, she knows I love her, that I need her and want her.
I infatuate over her all day, she is all I think about. What do I want from her? I contemplate. Really, what do I want from her? Nothing. I want her to be happy and have all of her needs and wants met and feel beautiful and loved and important and I want to be there for her always, no matter what whenever she needs of wants me. That is all. She doesn’t even have to know that. I just love her. Even if she chooses another man over me, I do not care. I want her to be happy. That is all that matters.
Though, why would I give so much? My death is what will make her happy. Her killing me will make her happy. I must not fully know this is actually true…
She knows. She found it, my secret that I’ve been hiding (that I’m in love with her). The tar of her poison surrounds my body. It is a warm venom I feel through my veins as she doesn’t allow me even one more breath. It closes around my head and my body starts to go cold. Even then, all I thought of is how much I love her. In my last moments of life I wonder if she will be there or let me see her or finally touch her, but she isn’t there, she already left, onto her next victim.