Break my mind.

7

Come home to me, he says. Or demands.

There's a spike in your heart when your mind starts imagining possible outcomes. Coming home to König? Like a lover, running into his arms as he's wrapped in your blank walls. The unveiling of a green light you'd be stupidly offering to him -- to claim and have you.

What a stupid goddamn idea.

Yeah, insanely dense and so pretentious, too. Of course, it's so out of the question. The keys click, and the engine is piping. For no reason, you tell yourself. It's to drive to the police station, you promise yourself. Anywhere but home.

Your head is getting too loud with unknown hands pounding against the walls and foreign feet kicking in your doors. It's a symphony that spoils itself with dissonances and would put hypnotizing sirens in rage.

Doesn't matter since you'll turn on the radio and allow the blaring man to sing advertisements into your ear. You'll focus on how smoothly your car glides over the street and how comfortably you sink into the seat. Focus on anything but the route, only to realize that each turn is another step toward home. Jesus, there's nothing to fight against when your mind has already surrendered. It's laid a doormat for König to clean pretentiousness off his feet and enter a sacred space exclusive to your sickness. He's waiting for you to come into his, too - A willing dance to see who'll stumble first.

Come. Let us open the doors to our heads and infiltrate and claim each other.

A scary thought. Thinking has been dialed down for a few minutes now, your eyes too engaged in soaking in the silent world around you. How long has it been since your body's been this alert and alive? Life has been dull for too long, but with König, the walls breathe with newfound air.

You're driving by drunk and screaming men, teenagers sitting on a bench to smoke their lungs into the dirt, and cheating lovers kissing and fucking each other in hiding cars. Your head's working left and right, each detail seemingly scarce and requiring careful examination. Fascinating how destruction can be found in every corner and how violently it beams when you're feeling the same. The leaves carried by the wind, the fluttering shadows of fleeing birds, or the shrill sounds of awoken insects did not catch your attention. Nothing nature offered was holding you. It slipped past you like a fleeting promise.

But the people. The humans. They captivated you. You hang onto their every move, ready to pounce and feast on their ugly desires. Their self-destructive tendencies gnawed at your thoughts - going against nature, against self-preservation. Perhaps it has lost its meaning, or maybe this is human nature.

You assume it's because it feels good. There must be something about pain that got us chasing after it, right? Why is destruction so beautiful to look at? To read about and to fantasize about? Why is it so much more captivating than purity ever could be?

Whatever it is, you're heading straight towards it - self-destruction or human nature.

Your pick.

As the drive stretches, so does the faint calm washing over your body. Your spine should tingle, your hair should stand up, and your brain should be ringing the alarm bells. Yet the only emotion that's welling up and defying the calm is your excitement. It expands in your stomach and goes beyond simple butterflies. It's like the feeling you get in front of a high cliff. Look down, and your feet might plead for safety. But something keeps you anchored, right? The static in your stomach might seem nauseating - as if something has swallowed you whole and won't let go. Nonetheless, it's addicting, too. Jump, drive into the wall, pierce a knife into your chest.

L'appel du vide - 'The call of the void' is what they call this phenomenon.

"It's a tiny voice requesting self-induced destruction."