Pretty Hatemachine

Intro (Derived from 'Strange Attraction' by The Cure with bits & pieces of the 'Wild Mood Swing') It began with a flutter, like the wings of a butterfly. A tiny book, faded red, arrived on my doorstep. Inside, delicate pages spelled my name in ink that shimmered like secrets. “Lost in admiration,” it began. “Forever yours.” Her words were soft, flowing, obsessive. Letters followed, each one a thread weaving her into my life. “I need to see you,” she wrote. “To feel you.” Her voice was a whisper I couldn’t ignore. We met under a nervous sky. Her smile was a question, her lips painted crimson. “Can I use some of your lipstick?” she asked, and I laughed, charmed by her audacity. She was poetry in motion, a strange attraction I couldn’t resist. For a moment, it felt real—her arms, her warmth, the way she pulled me into her orbit. But seasons change. Her letters stopped. My birthday came, and with it, a final note. “Blame infatuation,” she wrote. “Reality has destroys the dreams.” The book of butterflies became a relic of old goodbyes. Strange how the smallest things—a word, a glance—can alter everything. Years later, I saw her by the sea. She followed me, her eyes reflecting the stars. “Is this how it happens?” she asked, her voice like the tide. I tried to explain—attraction, gravity, the pull of something inevitable. But she smiled, a moth drawn to a flame, and melted into the night. The comet crashed, leaving only bruises. She drifted away, back to the sound of the sea. And I was left wondering if stars ever really fall, or if they simply fade, like the wings of a butterfly.