𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 | dazai osamu *EDITING

self abuse

edited: ✓ | 5/19/2020

trigger warnings: PTSD, mature themes.

This is yet again another personal one. Oops.

On the bright side, I'm really happy with the level of improvement in my perception of Dazai! :)

—

Open up. / Open up. / Burn the corpses / away from the torii. / You lie behind it, / a creature trying to be holy, / dreaming of a world / engulfed by fire; / burn on, burn on; / the lines of / holy and mundane / blur when it comes / to you. / How the torii / becomes soft and weak / as if delighted by / your sadness / in your quiet death.

—

You don't like opening up.

It is very common for people not to.

You've been dissected—torn apart, split open like a soft peach in the blazing summer heat, pulled open for others to see and sink their teeth into. Tongue the hard pit at the centre. Ignore the bruises pushed into the flesh. A frog pried open; skin pinned back with shiny organs glinting like plastic under the harsh light.

I, I, I....

Who was this I anyways?

I, I, I...

The I had perished like a moth to a forest fire. Delicate, paper-yellow wings crumbling, singeing away with the edges blackening, stiffening, and then turning into dust, to be forgotten amongst the bones of the mammals; the dewy, softened amber dripping down the tree as though it was honey to a wound.

Speaking of it...

makes you want to die. The mere implication that you had gone through a different lifestyle than your friends triggers a violent lurch in your limbs. Had you gotten what you wanted, you would have simply bathed in gasoline, bent over, and set fire to your feet, and become swallowed by the flames; you would be nothing but the vague shadow of a woman amongst the blaze, with an inferno of scarlet flames washing over the vicinity of your childhood home.

Chain your ****!!!!XXXX to the wall and burn it all down.

The fire would sweep over your face. A glimmer of (eye colour), torturously loving; a burst of pain, a splash of blood—all in the name of love. (Was it though? He had brought out a wolf from the folds. An unnatural reaction to ******hood from a child.)

Dazai holds you. You have not been held like this before. Motherly hands, ripped away from the blanket in which you were born unto, replaced with rough hands with a parasitical wedding ring on them. How you yearned to kill him too, just sometimes, just to feel that diminutive triumph in death, but you would be unable to body the grief that would follow. Man is scary in the sense that man can unpredictably find the light switch in the darkness of their mind and unleash the horrors of their cruelty to the world. A cesspit of beasts behind their placid smile. Give them a mask and they will unveil the writhing shadows of their monstrous desires to you.

Dazai Osamu is no different. The honey of an acorn, the budding pigment of a blooming flower, the lingering softness of holding someone's hands. Man is equal. How he shared your sentiment, knowing the sensitive nature of heart, pulverized and crushed in the darkness of Mori's smiles, unable to handle the thought that someone could have the power to hold it ever again.