matt young productions; i'd rather be hated for who i am, than loved for what i'm not.

Which cast on me a spell that I could never tame.
Its cry in me soars like, from the torture chamber,
The song that convicts sing to alleviate their pain.
Never could your love be master of this hatred-
Nor of the stiffened mask on his face, the lover.
The lover did not break his dungeon of silence.
Or else your flight would have burnt its wings on that stove.
Pride protects this firm rock better than would a lance.
The forbidden standard streams in the wind of love,
But my scorn on me shuts a dungeon of silence
Once unleashed, your love would, remain without response.
As a response to love hatred is the language.
All I loved as yet is to me grief and folly
So that now, to untie the bewitchment of age
I have no tool, nor to break my captivity.
Of my poisons I make a more subtle usage
Than if I would indulge your foolish entreaty.
Your entreaty, allowed, would have been a torture.
Your soul would have gone there where thrive poisonous weeds
And regretted for long that its vow could mature.
Thus, the hateful Medea drenched in poison the Fleece
And the vessel carried for a longer torture
Him who thought that Fate could comply with his motives.
The motives were to you strange and unwise matters
For this endless struggle in which we're persisting:
A guest in me abides, shapeless, without features
Whose death would be my death and yet we are so keen
On hitting restlessly this strange brother of ours,
To make of his clamours a shape, we are groping.
Groping, we fathom out the fathomless strange face
And each cry issued forth makes us quake and shudder.
A wrestler arises from the depths of past age.
His breath I often heard, listened to his murmur,
But never does the sun illuminate the face
Of the guest, nor the fierce hatred both of us bear.
Like a vessel whose flank a mine suddenly hits,
I sail to a harbour which is out of my reach,
And I feel how my holds with every night loose weight,
And how the fuel runs out for piston and for breech
And how death lies in wait and my soul inhabits
To blow out my sense and put an end to my search -
Or like a castle struck by a hail of bullets,
I see the rebels climb with torches up the tower
And I can't conceal from the assailing kinglet
The well that's running dry, the outgoing hearth-fire,
For though my walls are tall and defy the bullets,
A traitor will this fiend soon help to seize the power)
Both of us to one shape mingle with each other.
This panting struggle keeps our two minds so intent
That we perceive neither dawn nor morning warbler.
And I founded a realm that's called my detriment.
No one shall enter there who does not resemble
The one whom to destroy is my sole commitment.
My sole commitment is to serve well my hatred.
If your loveliness would some day visit my hell,
You'd be the nude martyr who is chained to the stake,
Whom the glowing brands claw, whom the iron tongs peel,
For you would then have reached the forge of my hatred-
And yet no other guest could be to me so dear.
So dear -for you could cause to fade away the face
Of the unknown guest who holds me and follows me.
And when I cast away the rags my spirit wears
His tatters will at last rise from the night, maybe;
My tenderness will then perceive the other face
Of the stubborn wrestler who haunted me nightly.

a ciggarette was clenched between both of my fingers. a bottle of wine in
the other hand. i struggled to make my way over to the phone, i
stumbled as i finally reached my destanation. i gentially put down the
bottle of wine, and then took a puff out of my cigarette, i smirked and
then paid attention to the ringing phone, which echoed in the house.

matt young: ''whoever this is, matt young can not answer your call right now.. soo fuck off.''

i chuckled, as the i became more drunk. i brought the ciggarette closer
to my moistrized lips, and took another puff. the smoke vanished as i
tipped down the nicotine, which landed exactly on my new vans.

robbie black: what the fuck are you doing matt?! your obviously in because this isn't voice mail. are you drunk again. cause if you are, i'm coming over! nothing you can do about it.

i dropped the phone to the ground, and then stomped on it. not caring what my brother had to say. i jumped on the couch. and then once again, went back to my old habits, i snatched the bottle of wine off of the table i placed it on, and then gulped down the cold moistrizer, which slivered down my throart. i released the bottle of wine, which a moment ago i had just finished. the bottle, smashed on the floor. the glass shining towards me. i smirked, and then took another puff from my cigarette. the smoke once again vanishing in the air, i grabbed the remote control which was besides me.i switched on the television, flicking threw the hundreds of channels. i stopped once i got to sky sports. i droped the remote, my tired eyes concentrated on the sixty inch plama tv in front of me.i flickered one more channel down to sky sports three. as i did. i comfortably layed my head on the soft pillow next to me. i hit the select button. my eyes lit up as i saw 'world turmoil federation written. i pressed back up. and then tok another puff out of my cigarette, i accidenally inhaled the smoke. i coughed a couple of times, but then looked back up at the screen infront of me.

chuck jones: ''hello ladies and gentlemen, its your man chuck jones here. and your watching, wtf review of the week. this week its been a mixture of good and bad. firstly the trifecta tournament got under way! with matt young once again in the management, who is doing some excellent work for the company. and last night of thursday night beatdown. the board of director's, john hyde wasin the builiding. ignition wasn't to bad either. lets take you back to trifecta, where chris walker took on tyrone james.''

as i heard those men name get called out. i immediately switched off the
television. literally couldn't be bothered to watch the rest of the
show. i sat down of the seven hundred dollar sofa. wondering whether i
should quit wrestling all together. my thoughts twirling around my head.

matt young: ''fuck wrestling, fuck world turmoil federation, fuck insurgency wrestling federation... fuck life actually...

my thoughts vanished as the door bell rang. i stood up, shivering about
who it might be. i approached the door, and then shouted 'who is it'.
the man didn't reply. i then opened the door nice and slowly. robbie
black, my brother, stormed in obviously ferious that i had been smoking
and drinking.

robbie black: ''chris, matt whatever you want to be called. your going back to your old habits, you need to stop this. you need help mate.''

matt young:''isn't it ironic how you finally care about me as soon as i get myself into drinking and smoking. listen little brother, you can't tell me
what to do. i can do whatever i want to do. i'm a free man.

i took one last puff of my cigarette, and breathed it out right in my
brothers face. he coughed, i led him over to the kitchen where i grabbed
another bottle of wine. i opened it, and then poured some for him in a
cup.

matt young: ''here this is for you. not fancy wine, but its alright i guess.''

robbie black:''i don't give a fuck about your shitty drinks. the point i'm trying to get, is why are you doing this. your only abusing yourself man. do you want to be depressed. cause when you get bored of drinking, and smoking. you'll get yourself into drugs!''

matt young: ''you could call it depression i guess. all you could just call it a suicidal attempt from i. i have no purpose anymore little brother. life's a
bitch. you'll learn once you get to my age.''

robbie black:''suicidal! fuck me, mate when need to get you help straight away. remember last year when you felt like this? and what helped you through this was wrestling. come on matt. do it for me. come on. you may not need me, but i need you matt.

i looked at my bottle of wine in my hand, i smirked as i placed it down to the table besides me. robbie, snatched the bottle of wine, and then threw it in the bin. directly landing in. i stumbled, but robbie was there to help me back up.

matt young:''listen, i appreciate you trying to help me and all that. but it's to late. i have already passed the stage of depression. life has treated melike shit, hence the reason why i am mainly in here. jammin. with a
cigarette in between my fingers. and the tune of nirvana song echoing in
my ear. life is bull crap for me. just go home robbie.''

robbie black:''fine. i'll go home, but before i leave, let me remind you you got three kids. that are dying to see you everyday, but you barely even
write them a letter. just remember that.''

robbie looked at me, and nodded his head. he walked out the kitched, and then reached the door. the door slammed, i shivered as the wind blew in. i sniffed and then exited the kitchen. i looked over at the pictured on the wall. all of my kids were in the photo. a tear was in the corner of my eye, i rubbed my tears away. and then ran up stairs, over to my bedroom..

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