By Zac Deluge “She was a fucking psycho”. I heard you. You’ve heard it. I’ve said it and spread it. It takes one to know one. It takes one to fuck one. It takes one to get arrested in underwear on the main road of your low income postcode for trying to prevent one from diving in front of cars when you betrayed one. Sick is the mind that’s poisoned by the heart. It becomes a teething black blob that grows and grows until it swells over your brain and its claws won’t let go… but it takes two to tango. Never again.
I was young. I saw the honesty in her anger and the pain behind her silence. My anger found a partner in violence. We would drink stolen booze and fuck on suburban curbs. She would say it how it is and I’d lie to her. She moved in and tattooed her name on my shoulder. We barely spoke but understood each other. It was all I ever wanted and all she could give. In a couple of years it was over because we wanted to live. She wrote me saying that no one would ever understand her the way that I do and she could never love anyone again. She told me that she’s sorry and she’ll do what it takes to make a mends. She told me that we’re soul mates and that there’s no one else for her. Can you imagine the kind of pressure in those words? Who the fuck has time for that when you can snatch some validation with some strange tinder chat or selfie snaps? I never wrote back. That poor sick girl and her misplaced affections. I truly hope she sorts herself out in the end. What a fucking psycho. Never again.
I met someone. It’s strange. I think about her every day. Her scent mutates me into an ape-slave and I want to beat my chest in that Space Odyssey way. My dreams are laced with her display. I come before I wake. I crave her taste and the thoughts in her brain. I want to fly her ship while she navigates the stars. I want to both worship and tear her apart. I want to eat her out because it’s the closest I’ll get to God. I’d scull her sweat and blood. She’s a pearl in the mud. I want to bite her and fuck her from behind but I just kiss her all night. She’s the love of my life. She’s my bride. The mother of my future child. I’m the glass, she’s the rare wine picked from the same stressed vine. She’s fucking divine. Do I surrender and place her this high? Will she believe I’ll never reach and any wings I build won’t fly? I want her so bad she makes me rhyme. Jesus fucking Christ! When the fuck did I cross this line? Now she goes quiet when I speak my mind but there’s no silence for the unrequited kind. I’m getting left behind. Have I gone blind?
It feels like dying. It’s been six years now so am I wasting my time trying?
Could it be the only difference between psycho love and a mutual love is that the latter is a product of two equally psychotic beings with similar ratios of logic and emotion? The sick perfect mix of chemicals to stay in sync. If one being is slightly disillusioned or less of a romantic; if the percentages aren’t perfect it can leave them wild and burning. A frantic panic of yearning that disturbs the balance of the fine line. One tumbles from the tight rope up high. It takes a while to heal that twisted spine. I guess there are different shades of grey and grades of crazy in our design. A compatible heart and mind is rare to find. We’re all “fucking psychos” in time.