Bathory Resurrection

Wait, concentrate and try to remember: what did you feel at your birthday when being a child?.. I just wonder, how the magic is fading away with years. I don't mean the age: there's nothing more relative and occasional than this. I mean different - why I'm starting to hate every day that is giving the others a possibility to congratulate? The anniversary of being sent into this world. World of struggle, world of sellout, of nothingness. For the right to survive being yourself. Is that the general meaning?

These people surrounding me are simply happy knowing that "it's my day". They really do celebrate it, while I myself don't give a damn of what is happening. They used to behaving so at their own birthdays and they think that everyone should feel like that. But celebrating the anniversary while every day becomes the turning point - isn't it senseless in its deepest form? And instead of partying and accepting motley packages I started that day in style of countess Bathory. Lying in the bath, where water is painted crimson, is quite relaxing: knowing that you're alive and healthy, depressed and seemingly calm, and watching this red liquid on your skin - like someone had just cut his veins... Someone, not you. It's like a rebirth through mental death. Pretty weird, I know. Perverted even. But it gives at least a feeling of indifference and some calming effect. Relax, you're dead. Something like that.

I haven't felt jubilant. It was more like a funeral of something inside of me. Very deep inside... I guess, if it goes like that any further, there will be my personal cemetery, with no crosses, no memorials and no memory itself.