The day I was entering the world was the same day I was suppose to leave it. The doctor, my mother, even my grandmother knew it. I was suffocating on my way out of the womb and I was going to die right then and there. But of course, my mother decided to force me out, but I shouldn't place all the blame on her . . It's partially my fault as well.There were two doors placed in front of me, one offered sanctuary, the other, damnation. The door of sanctuary was empyreal, ivory light seemed to radiate around it, even pooling from the cracks it provided. The door of damnation as well was runic, but in an eerie, sinister fashion. Left & right, up and down, all around. . I was swarmed with nothing but demands, commands, and reprimanding voices telling me to decide. How could you ask an unborn infant to decide on how they want their death to be? In the end I chose neither, I chose to live in the world of living. To this day, I sincerely believe it is the biggest mistake I have ever made. I am indeed grateful for the long life I've had, yet in a way I can't help but feel as though I don't deserve it. Is my life really mine? Am I an imposter that escaped from the other side and decided to be the new host of the body that I claim to be mine?
I don't think I'll ever know the truth of my existence, before I was exposed to the American way of living, my mind was warped, set in a time I've never truly been apart of. . That time being the Renaissance, or the Rebirth as most would call it. At one point in my life, I remember being able to recall having a normal life there, serving my country alongside men I've never met, having a jolly good time with women in local taverns, and then finally being the laughing stock of that small town by the nobles, just for falling in love with one. So vividly I remember these things, being madly in love with a fair lady. A lady I'd treated with care until a horrid bastard decided to rip her away from me. Once I entered the modern day world, I was exposed to classic tales such as Romeo & Juliet, The Pit & The Pendulum, The Tell Tale Heart and most importantly, it was at that point in my life I was introduced to the most empyreal poet ever, Edgar Allan Poe.
I had only read his poems, never his biography and I was surprised at how much I knew about him just by reading his endless sea of tales. It started with Annabel Lee, it was then that I was able to see the heartache he went through, what led him to bitter days & nights, a loss so profound. . It was petrifying. Sarah's father rejected Poe, and it reminded me of my own sadness, my own loss. My sublime Kaylarina Santiago was gone, as was his beloved Sarah. But Sarah wasn't Poe's only love, and Rina may have been my first, but she wasn't my only. Poe had also lost Virginia to a horrid illness, I had lost my two friends of mine to suicide and Rina to the hands of my adversary. The darkness we pour onto the canvas that is paper, it allows us to cope. It brings us joy knowing our words will never be easily erased, well not unless you write with pencil. Kaylarina was a beautiful lass, hair a crimson flame, eyes a playful blue green and skin as white as snow. She would always be dressed in ostentatious clothing, from silk dresses to satin lingerie. Beautiful, mesmerizing times. Times that can't be forgotten.
I often thought Rina was a succubus, I even made her out to be one. I then created James, my middle name is Jasmine, I became Jamie from that name. I then decided to shed that personality to create my beautifully cursed hybrid. I often wrote poetry from his point of view, I believe that is why I enjoy the male perspective more than a female's. I made James as perfect as King Arthur yet imperfect as Beelzebub. James is a struggling narcissist, a conflicted soul that tries his hardest to do the right thing, to become the sponge that absorbs the negativity of those he interacts with. He is who I was or still am, I don't know anymore. I still struggle with my narcissism, which is probably why I prefer insults. I believe it is also why I cause mischief and poison the minds of others, it's because I'm deeply insane, obsessed with myself, thinking that maybe I'm better than everyone else. I know I'm not. Besides, why am I so special? Is it because I was able to tear away from God & his former Angel? Most people have been beyond & back and are willing to tell the tale. It's been like that for centuries on end, I'm not special. I'm not wishing I was, I'm wishing I was dead, just so that I can't cause people anymore problems. Is that selfish? Maybe.. I don't know. Would it be for the better? Probably.