Well, Hello Beautiful

Well, Hello Beautiful

"Some men aren't looking for anything logical...”

There's something beautiful in the thought of a world without reason, without rules, without logic. It's an untamed sort of beauty that can't be captured, only unleashed; a fiery brand of passion that courses unbridled and wild throughout the world.

And maybe, somewhere along the line, he is beautiful---in a dark and sinister form of the word. Then again, beauty has never truly had a specific shape, because one has never been able to personify it a form to that of its true value. So, perhaps such a darkened décor is only but another class of beauty...

But there's something about the rabid insanity that he wields that has me mesmerized. It's a vividly personifying aura; the mere vertigo of it could be enough to kill a man.  It makes you think---and think, and think, and think.

There are nights where I am unable to sleep, where it eludes me and questions without answers pester my mind.

”They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with...”

He's a monster, a face-painted menace with a smile slashed red and eyes as dark as the pits of Hell. They're soulless, the eyes of a nightmare you will never wake up from, that can never be erased. And yet, there's some sort of raw, primal beauty to it. I can't deny it.

It's fearsome, but I can't deny the attraction. It's electric, and despite the fact there is such a distinguishable hate between us, the lunacy draws me closer with each move I make.

He calls himself the Joker. A name so simple and yet it spikes fear into the hearts of thousands, maybe even millions and I find that kind of power I've always found quite---fetching. It's something I can relate to, side for the numerous differences between us.

“Some men just want to watch the world burn...”

My name---the Batman---so many mixed reactions. It can instill relief or happiness, but there are times where my name consumes others in fear. Something about a figure by the night, stalking and preying over the streets disturbs them; and I suppose, if I were one of them, I might think the same...

But not him, I know he's not put off by the mask; he's more so curious as he licks his lips, pushing strands of rather discolored, almost green-highlighted hair from his eyes---those dark, empty eyes. And he laughs, laughs, every time he sees me.

This quirky smile of his that spreads across yellowed teeth, as patches of white face-powder either mesh together or blend away when his forehead creases, patches of skin showing through. It's almost a relief to see it, as if being able to see the pale flesh peeking out proves he's actually human, and not the monstrosity he demeans himself as.

”You're just a freak...like me.”

A freak.

A freak he calls me.

Calls himself.

Calls us.

And yet, just the way he says it, like it's...beautiful. And the more it rounds about in my head, the more it stands out, the bolder it becomes---the beauty is unnatural, but it's there. And I'm drawn to him; he's the first puzzle I can find no matching pieces to.

“Some men just want to watch the world burn...”

There's something about him I can't seem to decipher, something that keeps me tailing him with just as much passion as he does for those he deems next for his wrath. It's crazy, it's insane, and it's exactly what he wants and I know it. He's just as curious about me as I am him, only his mind holds nothing but a desire to watching everything fall to shambles at his feet.

Again, the passion; another eccentric beauty that is part of him. He never lets up, never stops with what he's started. I fear, at points, that to stop him, his death may be the only way---and I've come close to it, oh so close. But there's...something about him that halts me in my tracks every time the urge comes up.

“Well, hellooo beautiful.”

Maybe it's the fact I do know that I am a freak, and that means he's right. And that makes me wonder, what else could he be right about?

Or maybe it's the fact that, no matter how unalike we are, we are so similar, it's rather frightening in its self. The passion, the drive, the beauty...it's a unification between us, a yin-yang sort of symbol. We're so completely opposite, we attract each other.

And maybe, just maybe, I have no idea at all; on what I'm saying, on what I'm thinking, or on what I'm doing. That could be it too. Perhaps I'm just wrapping myself up in the devilish beauty he's created in himself, the enrapturing lunacy he's warped his brain in.

Perhaps, it's just that.

Beauty has no one form, it has no one shape, but I'm pretty damn sure, that I'm real close to seeing what it's supposed to be.