I no longer know what the goal of the site is, I write horror fiction, and love letters to myself.
This site is a tool to facilitate the act of seeing clearly, written by hands that used to hurt myself.
Explanation: I am Damien, I speak to my split personality Amanda. I am two people in love with each other, and I am okay with that now.
I have paranoid schizophrenia, narcissistic personality disorder, bipolar II-manic/depressive- rapid cycling, depression, anxiety, hydrocepholus, narcissistic personality disorder suffering from alcoholism, drug addiction, alcoholic. with OCD and PTSD- was addicted to heroin, meth, crack, alcohol, cocaine, prescription pills.
I am drug addict/alcoholic/dual diagnosis/ex-homeless person.
Through dark horror fiction I rake the muck of the lives of street addicts.
Or in plain English this is an epic poem/novel about addiction told about low bottom addicts in horror style.
Category: Edgar Allen Poe
Kiss me, baby.
Kiss me with sun, kiss me with act of spinning, spinning, un-spun, re-wrung.
Who were you then?
Who are you now?
I am swirling chaos, I am up and down.
Do you see time?
Does it see you?
It is present in all things you do.
I am a negative, I am an item.
I am time, the world re-arranged.
I am strange.
I am earth shattering negative of a world that glows in the dark, the beauty of night in light that is stark. The call of night bird, or hooting of owl, the howl of a coyote, or looking far south, I am looking away from star, and light of the moon, I am the coming of deep and troubling monsoon. I am the coming of winter, felt always and never.
I am the act of swimming while remembering December. I am the act of continuing in time that moves on, I am a song, I am droning on and on.
The bridge over Hell, is frequented by many who live to tell, they come often, and stare down, and do not smile, and do not frown, the simply stare at the ground, and make sure always to keep eyes to ground, never looking up nor to the side, but deep inside their own souls, because inside burn holes, which hurt and ache, and are the reason they stare down, and do not smile, and not frown, but only meditate on death, and think about the lives they left, and it is Hell that preformed the theft.
I am frequented by all those lost, who ignore the idea of cost, for the sensation of toss, of hurling, and of whirling down, and love the sensation of pound and down.
I am sought by those who pretend and defend the act of loss of soul and act of bend and defend.
Look not at me, but at yourself, I am just defense of myself.
I find it so fascinating, and positively delightful, to rip out your color and tell my story, it is such a relief for you to be so unreal, you and all that you are, that makes it so hard to feel. I am so happy, so at peace with you, just an image of attack, and all that you are one, who likes to take back, and to shove forward, and put on me everything, as long as it is negative.
I am the bad guy in every story you told, I am the villian in all tales young and old, color me that way, make me large, and you small, color me clearly, till I am not there at all.
How does it feel when it is done to you, huh? Do you like it when it is done to you???
I didn’t think so, you don’t have to be such a miserable ****. You won, for all these years you won. You were always the one who won.
That is all you have to say, after all that?? That is all you have to say????
I don’t know why that makes me even more mad.
Because you are a *****.
I am not even going to respond to that.
Good, I wanted to shut you the **** down anyway, because all you did was make it easier to get high anyway.
And you don’t think that was all about you?
I think that was all about the three of us.
There was a shadow behind you, that I did not recognize every time I looked at you, and I never thought about it before, and even though this is obviously not you, because I would never put a picture of you on the internet, and you were born a guy, so you looked like a guy, the shadow is there, so I used this.
I altered this so I put the shadow there, obviously. I am talking to myself anyway, who cares.
Serve me, please, get on your knees, I am addiction, you are my servant, and I am behind all addicts who fake a smile
I am holographic, and I glow, with your inability to admit that you are the same as someone who used to love, who became addicted to the act of push and shove
She hurt you so badly, did she really, was it really Rei Clearly?
That’s not even her real name, you dirty liar.
I came for her because I come for all addicts too, I am addiction and I am what lives in you all, she didn’t screw you over, she screwed herself, in a worship act of bottle on shelf, needle and spoon, all for myself.
Sound familiar, it really should, you are a hypocrite with nose of wood.
Mouth full, mouth full, choking on noise, I like hate read through play play play with…
I am going to punch you in the face.
The sweet embrace of erase, is the solution to all missing space, and all that matters not, I like fear when it runs through paths that are wrought with fear and choas ascending, I like deer with feet that are trending towards running into cars,
Cars. cars. cars.
What is mine, is really ours.
I am not.
You seem better, face so…
If you say it I will poke you in the eye.
That sounds fun, so will I.
Sounds like blindness, oh see clearly.
I hate you so very much.
I loooooovveee… you, but mostly us. us. us.
I am the fear of stay. I am the thought of lack of… pay.
I have to pay you to stay in your own brain? I like it.
Does it ever feel like you are forgetting which one is talking?
That is because I am winning.
I am self-hatred, read so so clearly.
I am talking, but really not, I am hate read in pain so hot.
I am a condescending self-defending ***hole, who just got tired of this, you lose, to bad, so sad, I am mad, glad, bad,
Going away now…
I think I would be happier like this, completely alone, talking to myself as my partner.
Hey, isn’t that what we are doing now, and doesn’t it ****?
Than what the **** are you talking about???
That I am insane, and don’t know what else to say, and I am trying to make someone laugh, even if it is just you?
So you are talking to yourself on a blank screen, trying to type things that make you feel good about yourself?
Yeah, isn’t that what the book of faces is???
I don’t think anyone on that thing is looking in a mirror talking to their own face as if it is another person?
They aren’t? That is what it looks like to me.
That is because we are insane, and it is not what they are doing, because they are not insane.
For us or them.
Well, mostly them.
Why?? Not what I expected to hear…
Because, we never have to be truly alone.
Or, we are always more alone than anyone ever.
Other than maybe Gollum on Lord of the rings.
Isn’t it lovely, isn’t it great?
So sorry baby, I can’t relate, I am addicted to madness, to pain and slow death, that is what I have been given.
I call it time theft.
This is my life which I was given, from the time I was born, ticking time clock was ticking. I am to be thankful, I am to be glad, I am to serve everyone, because there lives are sad, I am to shut up, I am to be down.
I am to always smile, only laugh, never frown.
I am to speak kindly.
I am sorry that I cannot do, I hate everything around, sorry, baby even you.
I want different cards, or I want to quit playing. I tried all my life in every way, to quit playing, every attempt came with failure, and people glad I was alive, while I sat like always wanting to off my life.
Label me chaos,
I am a game of chicken played in red and blue, not green, but blue.
I don’t know what to do, except scream, because I don’t want any of this, never did, never will, and no matter how much I try, I am not allowed to quit playing.
Label me doubt, label me contention, because I love to scream and shout. I love the human word, because I in perpetual fight to be not heard, because you know what I really don’t care.
Label death, they already did, at eight, already dead, ticking, ticking, so thankful, so grateful, so sad, too bad, already gone, gone, gone.
I lived my whole entire life, on rock bottom from eight to now, on gravel, and sometimes jagged rock, crawling up. I was born with something, for those who do not know that gave me a life expectancy of 21.
21, 21, 21
Wish sometimes, that I had lost not won.
My life is all silver linings, and people say I should be thankful, greatful, for what, more time than 21 years?
Because I am somehow supposed to be thankful to have less time than most people???
Gravel. I am so fond of you. I know everything about every curvature, every outline, of the pleasant rocks at the bottom of the path that is my life, which I went off, because I am sorry…
Sometimes, at times, in times, all the time, always and forever, they
I am the green machine
I am envy
I am mean
I am looking at all you lack
I am condescending soul attack
Blend together, not the right word, I am so unheard, absurd, painted, re-done, unspun, spinning, spinning down down down down
Talk to me, sweety, talk to me nice, I am extendeeeeeeeeeeeeddddddddd
I go back back back
Walk through the thoughts of the dark
I am a polaroid from Hell, that is where I stay and it is just as well….
Well, well, well,
Not doing so good are you?
I color your world with the colors of Disease, Damien, I color your world with the colors of everything your soul lacks, everything that will cause your eventual failure.
Everything that makes you feel small.
I am the voice of Hell and I am the loudest sound of all.
When I was followed by the glowing light that illuminated the night, street lights that would light up as I past them
I don’t know why or how, just simply that they would blink on and off and off and on
Cover me in purple mirth
I am the fuel of nightmares.
I dream of horses
I dream of horses
I dream in color
I dream of another
I live in bile, I live in Hell, I live in forever under dark dispell.
Come back to me baby, don’t let it drive you crazy………………
On and on and on and on always and forever
always and forever
forever and always
Always and never.
Do you swim with sharks or dolphins.
I swim alone.
You swim with voices, like always.
SCHISM. ISM. ISM.
I am, misery, I am pain I am a
I am the holder of grudge, and I am lost in this poem.
I like to make images different than are, by covering them in darkness.
Swimming in the water is hard, when it is riddled with sharks.
I am the voice of pain.
I am soul reeking disdain.
Mushrooms are a food that tastes good.
Dancing in light is hard, when you live in the ground.
Rising from the ground can be done over night.
I am a fledgling bird.
The smell of moss lights the way, for those with dirty noses.
Under the stars, is found a world, united with ground, but looking up at the night sky. U
Under the moon, is felt the light of the stars, in blue tones, it paints the ground, with the possibility of future lightning storms, the sound of thunder, and ability to hear and see, when before senseless.
This is who I fight, not Rei, this, strong trigger, this is raw, scary channeled nightmare.
I think of you every time I hear the peepers, not my you, the one I found on here that sounds like me, how I sounded when I talked to the burning rays of the sun, and thought I was talking to someone else, when I was really talking to resentmeant.
I married sin, it ate me from within.
I married hate, it made me quite irate.
I married wrath, it made me slay a calf.
I was really married to no one, we didn’t have the money, we spent it on heroin, if I had been married I would have been divorced 3 times.
3 strikes, I am out, of the game of slaying my exes with hexes online, because it is unkind and that puts my soul in a bind, with bought time, before I destroy me, and run on bloody knee into a train, this really happened, so insane, I think in addict brain that I am running from something, and I was, a pitbull, metaphoric because this one I can’t say online, don’t have permission to, he chased me till I ran away, afraid he would take me
OUT OUT OUT
Of the state of being able to say anything about anything ever again
Drive me INSANE
I am the psych patient being told, you can’t be allowed out, unless someone signs for you, and unfortunately you can’t remember your name or who to have sign for you.
I can’t. I am stuck in here. I am stuck sitting in a chair next to a man who doesn’t know his name either, he thinks his name is Sand.
He told me this, and I told him, I like grains.
He likes me now.
I am okay with it here, but I like the SUN.
I am so sorry to the most high, not her, not me, but the nature that rests above me, the moon, the stars, everything I do not own, that I made mine when I said.
I have the right to steal everything, from everyone, to buy heroin.
I am so sorrry, but I don’t hate me anymore, because I have written my resentments out here, and they all reflect back at me, well clearly.
Clearly, clearly, look at me, I am spinning I am free, I hurt myself, by killing my friend in only metaphoric sense, but really I kill my heart, my soul, making me an aching hole.
I would divorce myself if I could. I would divorce myself if I could, I am the screaming liar, with soul on fire, who burned fires, set by me worshipping my own death.
Clearly can’t get me, I get my self. I drink bottle HIGH on shelf, I have cut ears of injured elf… it rhymed…
no no no no no.
I am the soul keeper of my own, my precious because it rings so so so true.
Ode to Schizophrenia.
I worshiped Rah. I worshiped death. I worshiped anything that would keep me in
Faker faker faker. Liar. I hate myself. I put my life in fires of HELL, metaphoric and very real, because I can burn, I can feel. I
am eye of tainted man, of woman too because I am too.
Never alone, never alone, I am never alone. Always here with me. Always at my own face, screaming, I hate you.
I am the eater of Damien’s soul, I am MISERY. I EAT HIM WHOLE.
You can’t get me, I forgave myself.
My family had 3 cats, two of which have this strange problem, they used to refuse to use the liter box, and just go around using the house as theirs. They have stopped doing this, and I have this strange, probably psychotic belief that in some way it is because of something weird.
I talk to them, and am honest with them, and make eye contact with them, and for whatever reason, alongside that, they have stopped doing the defecating and peeing in the house thing. Be it what it may….
Oh, now you can’t talk suddenly, well good, at least this helps clarify what the *** is going on here. Leave me alone, **** it.
What now? I wrote down your stupid thing you were saying at me **** it.
You are always alone.
I know, I am working on it… wait why am I still typing to you, get the **** out of my head.
I am from the land of trees, I make men beg on their knees, I am request to baby, please, don’t do it!!!!!!!!! I am disease of sick infested mind, I plague man and woman throughout time, I am not of sound, but infection of rejected mind. I am not kind, but develop in those who are bound by
You will never find anything, like me, I am so free, living impossibly in a land that
The quilts blow in the wind, the dangle in the flapping breeze that does so well to dry them, after having been bathed in the river, washing them of their previous… stains… I used to be prone to.. bleeding on things. Lots of things… so I had lots of blankets… that I stole from an artist named Sara Whiley. I don’t know much about the woman, just know the name for some reason. Strange. I am glad the quilts are drying. They are actually quite beautiful.
They look a lot better now that I have slept. I like the colors of them. Maybe I should give them back. Maybe I give them back I can leave Misery, my land of addiction in my mind of psycho delusion and love myself enough to be a real human being all the time, not just sometimes.
This is already happening dufus.
Oh yeah, right.
There are those of us that are different, gifted with ability of rapid sight that scan through rooms, noticing everything at once, we are the known as the paranoid and delusional to those who do not understand what we are doing, when lucid, we are scanning, filling everything that is ordinary, rapidly, because in our paranoid madness, this is an essential survival tool, learning at rapid speed, what to avoid to avoid, the chaotic stripping our minds every time we have a mental breakdown.
I am in a store, and now with sobriety, I have the ability to see everything clearly with the calmness of mindful meditation, this is a super power, which is exhilarating in a way that being high never was, because I am experiencing life at rapid speed, far different from the chaotic drain circling of my madness before, this is a roller coaster through life where everything is bursting with vibrant color, coming to life all at once, and I can hear and see everything simultaneously. I am never getting high again. This is the most high I have ever felt in my life, I see everything all at once, but also individually, and I realize now how much I was causing my own pain before, how deeply I was damaging my mind.
I am free, unshackled, and it is amazing.
Thank you, to all that is higher than I ever will be, the earth, the air the stars, the life in everything all around me breathing with me all at once, you are my highest power, the force of life that pounds in my chest, I do not know why I was so blind before, but now I see clearly.
The amount of glass on the ground around me on a daily basis astound me, items on the floor smashed to smithereens, left there because I don’t take my shoes off, and I don’t care about walking on glass without them anyway.
I smash things to pieces, and I wish I could spend more time everyday picking up the pieces than lamenting an existence of fracture, but I cannot bring myself to picking them up without squeezing my hands around them, I don’t know what is wrong with me anymore. I need professional help.
I wish I could make more phone calls to do this, but I threw my phone in the river, in a paranoid psycho delusion that people were listening to my phone calls, even though my phone calls were just to her, and her yelling at me.
I think this is the last I will say about this. I am going to do the things I said above, get professional help and try to move on, sorry for ranting on here..
I can’t even see, I am so exhausted from making myself cry, clawing and scratching, and scrapping, and ripping and tearing at my own eyes, fighting to make it impossible to use them, so I can never see this again, myself through someone else, who ripped me so far away from myself, I don’t even know who I am anymore.
I am a cat who cannot see the cat in the mirror is them. I jump at the mirror, slamming with full impact into the glass, a marriage of breaking, a marriage of crashing, a marriage of skin meet sharp object, so very much like my tragic love affair with things heroic, but not, because they hide in human skin, and only bring death and pain and loss and women who used me like a severing knife, and then turned the knife on me.
I have become her outer monologue manifest in my mind, manifesting in man of festering infected soul. I am so stupid, I am doing this to myself, and I can’t bring myself to stop doing it because that means I am alone, and I don’t know if it is worse to talk to demonic ghosts or be alone.
It is dark outside and I am looking at the water, and it is cloudy, so there is very little light, so I can look at the water without seeing my **** face. I hate my face. I hate everything about it, enough to cut it off. Which explains a lot of my injuries…
You told me I was crazy, delusional psychopath, trying to remove me from myself, telling me I was a psycho delusion, that I was not real. I was Amanda’s delusion, telling me to go away, that you wanted to speak to her, well sorry, she is not real, I am.
I am not her, she was a front, a silly sing song mocking bird, painted on like a mask you tattoo on your face with a dirty needles, infectious disease of resent a tattoo scar, of a human being.
Do I know serenity? Not yet, I have not met her or it, or seen it, or felt it, I am consumed on and off by lack, a cutting out of my existence that is still so deep it penetrates my whole body with memory of every time I paid for misery and got misery.
I loved your company, Rei.
We loved your company.
I began training my dog to help me with a personal mission. I wanted to hunt wild boar. It was not just for me, but for her so she would stop chewing on my leg and her leg, because I was paranoid she wanted to eat mine, so I thought maybe she could eat a wild boar’s leg instead.
When I am lucid, I know that she never had any intention, of chewing off anyone’s leg,
Not mine, not a wild boar, not hers
I just thought of this because I am
I have a functional brain that works most of the time, but sometimes
And there is no fear in me to admit
Anymore, because I have realized that the
I had was in my failure to admit things, not in admitting them or making them into other things, in creative metaphor to slay like metaphorical dragons, I was just experiencing
And I am no longer
Or have to roll around in
Because I cast out these metaphorical demons on a black screen.
I am your admission that your guilt is real,
I am your recognition that your dragons represent guilt erected into a false sense of pride and shame blame that explains why you
But I am also your strength in admitting this and
Casting it out.
I am an inner demon, I am a deep seeded hatred, I am a future projection,
I am what you feel, I am who you are, I am who you are in the process of seeing
I am you. I am fighting you
To be real
Because you are an addict addicted to the things that make me
Making you unreal with a desire to un-feel.
Breathtaking, most focus on love in this, not theft of life, air stealing theft.
an abortion. I think that is why you were so easily banished from the story, because now I can’t hear you anymore, and I don’t think you are there anymore, and strangely, it feels better, maybe I am learning something after all, not just being an *** online. You were an inner demon.
Rei was Justin, you were their child or the child she could have had with Diane who’s name was Pat.
Demon slayer, I like the sound of that, because demons bug the **** out of me.
Okay, guess I am alone again.
NO YOU’RE NOT JERK
I knew that? But, I guess I forgot.
Peace. I am okay now, and everything is about me, and I just hit my vape way too hard. Ow… dizzy.
There is an eye in the sky and it is up so high, that I can’t reach it, can’t poke it
Can’t kiss it or stroke it…
Stupid jerk who strokes an eye?
I stroke an I.
Your gross, you stroke yourself?
Yeah, loser, you are doing it right now.
EGO EGO EGO EGO I go I go I go I go
ANSWER ME: Okay, here, I am very superstitious. I come from a long line of a family, who believes in
the evil eye
manifesting their own destiny through thought
being able to manifest it through speaking it out loud
being able to manifest it through thinking it
the power of positive thinking
the power of negative thinking
making lists that make things go away
incantations that make things go away
incantations that are positive self talk
the power of the number 10
This goes up to 11
I like even numbers.
I missed you, and me and this, and you having a life and not whining about everything.
I believe in manifestation of human life that is not real, I believe in the power of words to cast spells that I feel, will make things happen for me, at least in my head it feels that way, but who knows you know what they say
YOU’RE INSANE AND TO BLAME FOR ALL THE BODIES AT YOUR FEET, WASN’T IT FUN PLAYING WITH SOWING NEEDLES WITH DEAD CHILDREN ON THE STREET
If I talk to you on here, it looks like a superstitious allegory or me being silly and not what it is
or YOU’RE INSANE YOU’R INSANE YOU’RE INSANE and it is ****ed to be your own best friend.
Is it though do you see the voices I talk to?
YOU TALK TO YOURSELF
OoO that was a sick burn, and you know what sometimes, superstitions are justified, peace MF.
I am finally coming to a place in my head, where I realize that I am not going to continue the very toxic behavior I have continued my whole life, the bounce back and forth between love and hate the universe, my fault their fault thing. I am accountable for my actions yes, but I am finally coming to a place where I can say, if you don’t like me get away from me, very freely, and without negativity or resentment. I am doing what it is best for me, my feelings are all very real, I am just insane so I am prone to astral projecting the future.
Okay now that I got that out of the way.
I think I am going to start trying to figuring out what to do with the rest of my life. I am not sure what that even means, I like the writing again, I used to do this as a child, but fell off the face of the earth when it comes to doing anything productive for 15 years. I am trying to get my life to a place where I can take care of my own needs without having to commit crimes to eat and pay for a place to live, like I said before all very real, this is all actually happening, this is where both me and Amanda are, I am just where she wants to be people wise. I am how she sees herself later with who she sees herself later with.
We are talking while I watch Rei do the rest of my drugs out of the corner of my eye, Chicken tells me he is named that for his skinny legs, but also for a show that had a similar name for a place where things that were similar to my friends chicken business where made and sold.
I am learning from chicken how deeply he hates the world that he is in. He tells me that he only does what he does, to deal with what he hates about himself, he is a self hating gay man, and in love with my friend Richard, who Amanda sleeps with so that she will get certain things, while I am dead, or asleep, either one, same damn thing, it is okay because I don’t remember it, so it didn’t happen right? Isn’t that how it works? That is just what they tell me, in places where people go to say things to people who are supposed to care.
Or aren’t you a bit paranoid? Don’t you think that is a bit… far-fetched?
No. I don’t.
I don’t at all.
I was always hearing your voice, Rei, and mocking it, telling myself that I needed to attack Amanda, attacking my higher power, attacking myself, when I should have been attacking not you, but everything that you were shouting at me. I thought it so essential to focus on the service of your demands, thinking you were a bird singing to me in beautiful songs, but you were not. You were woman who was very good at mimicking bird songs, who controlled the behavior of an insecure egomaniac who hates himself. You were my Lady Macbeth.
I feel this stronger than ever now that I thought about all night. You were very similar to Lady Macbeth. You wanted conquest, not of the world, but of the land that we live in, Misery, or addiction so that I could bring you drugs. I thought I was doing you a favor, a drug dealer, a hit man and a servant of a woman who wanted things so bad she was wiling to destroy the soul of someone she said she loved. I am realizing you did not love me. You never loved me. You loved your drugs, you loved my doting on you, and you loved the lack of accountability that came with being a mocking jay. I think I would have to say if I had to be an animal I would be crow/mocking jay.
I know this is against the rules, but is not paranoid schizophrenia against the rules, as well?
I say that I would be this because you used Amanda’s voice, my best friend to speak doubt at me, because she sounds like you, speaking like a woman, and I being an idiot would hear your voice, Rei in my voice or Amanda’s voice, that is why I was always trying to ruin Amanda’s life and she was always trying to ruin mine. She was hunted by Justin and I was hunted by you, so we thought ourselves chased by each other, when honestly, we were star-crossed lovers, who were lovers only in that we were inter-dimensional invisible men, insane, fighting madmen from Misery dimensions, trying to fight ourselves. I am so glad I got away before you killed me you harpee, you miserable creature, medusa, siren of hellfire, you will not longer use the call of bird to torment me any longer.
Crows, are intelligent creature, who make tools to catch bugs, they are the only bird who has the ability to do so, they have several calls they can make, and they are good at mimicking the voices of other birds. Amanda would be the mocking jay because I see now she had always been trying to mock you, not the other way around. Telling the difference between the two of us with place keeping device of how is Rei, as if to poke me and say do you realize you serve her the same way you served drugs. I am the servant of no one. I am not even good at serving myself food or water, I quit being Resentment’s waiter.
I think it is funny how the **** that I used to be married to thinks she is so above everyone else, and she is worshiping idols herself. She thinks herself some great nihilist, running through life capable of doing what she wants, and does just so, but she is worshiping an idol herself.
The battle raged on and on Fuelled by the venom of hatred for men Consistently, without the eyes to see By those who revel in sewer equally
Dimmu Borgir, Progenies of the Apocalypse
I like looking into the dark and light, sorry. I am not of the opinion that the eyes should be shielded from anything, I like this band, take it or leave it.
They are black metal, so be warned, these guys are insane and worship things you shouldn’t. I write horror, I think of these guys as writing horror as well, they just worship the horror they write, and that is their right to do, I just listen to it as a reflection on what I do not want to do, but it is interesting outwardly, and they are extremely talented musicians, whatever their personal beliefs are, which conflict with mine, I am not going to not listen to music because of differing ideology.
Anyway, point being, my ex is an idiot worshiping erected god Misery or virus of addiction. Moron that she is…
Revealed to me to invalidate below:
I am not the center of the universe, like I thought in below post
I am going to slit this woman’s eye balls out of her head. I have been thinking about it all morning, and I can’t think of another way to handle this, because I am stuck on idea of removing her eyes from her skull. I know this is not healthy, but I would love to poke her in the eye like the cyclops she is, unseeing in all her stupidity.
Wow, cheap shot of the internet, thanks for this one, right in the heart.
“The computer is also not famous for having mercy.”
Orson Scott Card, Ender’s Game
Maybe that is a sign I should do nothing… I have been remembering quotes from this book all day applied to my life, but I forgot about this one, and it just hit me where it hurts. So I don’t know what I am going to do now.
Damn it. I hate having a conscience, it is very inconvenient.
Maddening one…you and your eternal suspicions – I can never escape you. Ah but tell me, Hera, just what can you do about all this? Nothing. Only estrange yourself from me a little more – and all the worse for you. If what you say is true, that must be my pleasure. Now go sit down. Be quiet now. Obey my orders, for fear the gods, however many Olympus holds, are powerless to protect you when I come to throttle you with my irresistible hands.
Homer, The Iliad, Book 1, lines 674-683.
I got an interesting message this morning, relayed to me by a friend who I will not mention the name of that a friend named Deborah or Diane wants to see her daughter, funny… why now?
The girl is 18, so she can do what she wants, so I am debating whether or not to tell her, she does not remember this woman, so there is no point to this, other than to damage my daughter, which I think is the intention, that and to reveal to Rei, who probably already knows this because she reads this thing, that I am a liar, which she also already knows, so I don’t know what the **** this woman wants, and I kind of want to find out, but not enough to tell my daughter yet, because sadly I think she would go because I think this **** that I married is giving her things I am not okay with, and if that is true, she is going to remember the very rare set of skills that started our oh, pleasant demonic flirtation, and it will be completely justified, wonderfully completely justified.
PS. Sorry baby, you knew I was crazy to begin with, I am done with you.
You have no idea how it is to be in the bathroom without looking in the mirror, most of the time, I would just shut my freakin’ eyes, which is a pain in the ***, and led to many injuries that were not about being intoxicated, but a lunatic, that had gotten sick of cutting my hands on punching out glass mirrors. I have never looked like myself, in reality or in Misery, I have always looked different, and I would do anything to get rid of my own reflection, even attempt to rip out my own eye, which is why I never touch my eyes. I am still afraid to touch them because of PTSD from one time I tried to rip out my own eye.
I was tripping and unaware of the distinction between reality and dream, I had been awake for days rolling on dxm, and had taken some acid and was either over tired or I don’t and became overcome by the idea that I could do anything I wanted with my hands.. like rip out my own eye, because that is what you would want to do if you realize you are free to do anything you want… I am insane… getting better though… at least this doesn’t happen anymore… small steps.
You killed I will make sure your blood is… oh that’s right you don’t have that because you have no legs to stand on, no place to land on, and need me to hit any vein at all, you can’t even make a call to get sauced or star crossed so get lost! My eyes are mine not thine, and I am no longer resigned to die, because I like life. I am no longer addicted to human strife, no I am addicted of stab pain with KNIFE, but I can’t do that so… because that is not real, and I am no longer a prisoner of feel,
I am now becoming more real, no longer need to steal or lie, I can take out your stupid eye or can’t I because you don’t have one. You see through me, which is sad, because I can’t see clearly, is your vision blurry ****? Her’s a fix, get in ditch.
In my head since finding out about the origin of the bookshelf is this, I no longer think I deserve to feel sorry for myself, I don’t want to paint myself out to be some sort of victim any more. I am not here because I deserve any of this, I realize that now. I was spared, by luck, hand of universe, whatever it was doesn’t matter… I only have now, and what I do with the hand I was dealt and I think it would only be fair, to play it the best way I can in the way that makes it worth it for those around me that I was spared for whatever reason I was spared, it is not in my power to figure that one out, so I think that I am going to stop trying to, figure out why I lived anyway. I lived that is it…. and being pathetic about it is not helping anyone who was there for me through all of this.
I am learning to take better care of myself because whether I like it or not there are people around me who care, and they don’t seem to want to stop caring, so even if I don’t care about me, they do so I have to so they don’t get hurt, so I am trying to remember to eat, to not cry all the time, and make people happy instead of just being a retching ball of agony.
When I was a kid, I loved the ocean, so much, it is and was, and will always be my favorite place in the entire world. I am thinking about it now, to stop myself from making myself cry. I am so.. I don’t even know how to put what I feel right now. The bookshelf thing killed me. I can’t get over that I was the one spared and so many other people died while doing the same things I did. I don’t know what makes my life different, and why I get this and they get that, I wish we both got this. I wish I could help them. I wish.. I wish I didn’t feel like crying. I am so sorry. I am so sorry I am here and they aren’t. I am so sorry every time someone asked me if I wanted to get high that I didn’t say no. I feel like I am responsible for anyone I miss right now. I am so sorry. I was so stupid.
I know this does no one any good, but I just want to document that I feel this way, that I never wanted to hurt anyone with my addiction that was never my intention, I never thought I was while doing it. I know that is stupid, I was stupid, I was selfish, but I will do whatever I can to make it up the rest of my life, and I hope that is enough to make it worth sparing me.
I hope everyone is doing well. I am fine, I am just learning to feel anything for the first time in my adult life.
I am trying so hard to deal with everything, I have never made it this long without drinking/using in my entire life. I am not saying this because I want to do it now, I don’t… finally. I have to learn to get past everything that kills me, for those around me if nothing else. I think that is the only way I can learn to make sense of any of this, it is insane. I am not sure why I did not die while still using/drinking. I do not think it has anything to do with me deserving any of this.
The only thing I can think, that I am coming to think, is that this made it possible for me, in the only way I can to change, so that I can finally do something worthwhile, because it will be the first thing I do for another human being, genuinely, in my entire life, if nothing else, I just want to do something to make my existence worth the pain it brought into this world, to make it up to the universe for having spared me specifically, because I really really appreciate that, and do not deserve any of it.
I am feeling better, after all the confessing in vomit thrown at the pages of this thing. I am thinking that if nothing else, at least this is helping me attempt something that I never thought I would, the making amends thing always scared me so much, I think it is the reason I just kept drinking or using, but I am realizing that the process I was in was just slow suicide and it was hurting those who happen to grace me with their presence. I am trying to focus on the positive and bring no more negative with my continued presence on this earth, I figure if the universe was kind enough to spare me, I might as well, try as hard as I can to make it worth it for it to have done so.
I am not saying anything about deserving any of this, I don’t deserve anything, but I will take whatever I can get. I am desperate at this point, to do anything I can to not be the same ***. I am so sorry for everything. I wish I could turn back time and undo all the pain that I caused, but I can’t so I am doing the best I can to fix what I can, and not break anything else. I am learning to appreciate what I have and not at all, because I think I deserve it, I don’t deserve any of this, quite the opposite.
Murder, murder, suicide, she’s your bride and you must die
To misery you have subscribed
I am your slave driver, I am your maker, I am your constant facilitator, I am your wife, I am your life breaker
I have your daughter, she is mine, with me you brought her
Into this world, so she could be enslaved by me your bride, your key to hell and to things referred specifically, without specification but with divine like sensation.
I am your desire for numbing beating drum of DEATH
Idea of life left
To control of other people, you need me as your steeple, I am your source of needle and thread to craft quilt that will make sure your head
Is rested and feet never tested, Damien come back, I am all you lack, you need me
I am the rack on which you keep all your pain, so you can sleep restfully so
You deserve more than you know, you reaper of hoe, you keeper of marrow, I am your sparrow, I am your bird, I will sing for you in Hell’s word.
I am so happy about being able to look in the mirror for the first time in my entire life, I used to not look in the mirror because it would cause me to hallucinate and literally trap me in the bathroom for hours unaware of time passing tearing holes in my skin so my face would be destroyed, it didn’t work, I have no scars, haha… damn vanity. The one face scar is from when my friend bashed my head repeatedly into a table, I was on meth, heroin and drank a liter of vodka, so needless to say, I felt nothing. It was pretty fun? I don’t think that is the right word, bad***? I was just laughing at him manically, spitting the blood back in his face, telling him I had hep c, which I have no idea if I have or not, still waiting for the results…
It’s funny because he has hep c. He yells back in my face I gave it to you, and I look him in the eye laughing and spit in his eye. I blacked out after that, and the cops came, tried to raid our basement, and I told them I had fallen down the stairs, and they shouldn’t worry because if they remembered correctly I fell down the stairs all the time and they never showed up before, they have a habit of waiting to long to show up and my friends die while waiting, so I am a little bitter…
I don’t know where I was going with that… oh yeah, I have a scar across my head from it.
That same weak my dog bite one of my fingers in half and i duck tapped it back together and then had it removed later because it got infected shooting heroin.
That’s all I can think of right now…
WARNING: THIS IS FICTION DO NOT INTERPRET LITERALLY
No, because now it is flying around my house in front of my face. I hate myself.
Okay, I am done, I am feeling better now. I am sorry for upsetting you, Amanda.
I don’t hate my name that much when you say it, Damien.
I hate my name, my face… I am sorry…
I just can’t believe I remembered killing my family……..
You didn’t burn it down either, you just happened to experience something similar and are drawing false comparisons due to paranoid schizophrenia.
I love you Damien.
Please don’t. Hey, Amanda! Please help me, please don’t let us ruin this. I am done with everything please support me in this. Please support me in this, I need you now, more then ever. Please help me, and help yourself. I will support you too.
I will, support you and me I mean… not like that… I am not helping you with money…
I don’t mean… I am so sorry.
I am so sorry, I exist. I am trying to… I admire your brother, Amanda, he is everything I should have been. I am listening to him speak as you write this.
I am too.
I love you, and it will be alright, we will be alright.
I know, you will too.
Thank you, that means the world.
To me too.
You realize we just thanked ourselves in the title right?
Yeah, I don’t care, I just wanted to thank you for the longest I have slept in the morning in a long time. Narcissism as well, but better.
So you really were just trying to take my body from me?
(Symphonic black metal Norwegian band- do not listen to if you can’t handle)
At first yeah?
You don’t care that it’s female?
It’s not female.
Thank you for saying that, but unfortunately it is.
No it’s error presenting female form, or a shot at your pride, so you experience soul death and don’t become me, and a call for me to wake up and talk to you. We are part of the same soul.
It’s all for you Damien.
I didn’t mean to kill them. I didn’t mean for my house to burn down with them inside it, you look so much like her I didn’t care. She was involved in some dark level shit. She was going to give them our daughter. I am glad they are dead. At least she is safe, away from DEBORAH.
I’m sorry I can’t remember what I said.
Please leave me alone.
Please leave me alone.
You don’t want to.
I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE OR I WILL KILL ****ing DIANE. DEMON WITCH PSYCHOTIC **** DIANE OR DEBORAH MY EX WIFE.
We each have one and a half. We made a deal to get more soul in exchange for helping people and we used our gift to manipulate people to get high or drunk or whatever we wanted.
Right. I remembered it last night, think about those guys we met named the squanders.
Remember that weird thing they said?
We are the descendants of the kingdom of Saul.
No, I knew this.
Not nice. I am just glad I remembered this, because I think I might be able to do the right thing this time.
So who are you really?
I am you, but more about that later.
Okay. Good night, you deal with this now.
Now, you know a little more about what I hear in my head on repeat when I am talking to myself, you know what keeps me up at night. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I was just not able to stop doing what I was doing easily… I was weak and stupid, and even though I knew what I was doing to others, to myself, and to who and what I was serving, I still refused to surrender. I do not regret doing what I did when I did not know what I was doing. I regret doing it after, due to my own weakness, and lack of resolve to walk away.
I do too, Damien.
I know. I am you.
I think we can fix it by doing the right thing now.
Yes, you have to move on, beating yourself up is what it wants.
Okay, I will try.
(Explicit Content) Do not read me if you are sensitive to metaphors which cast addicts in killing roll of friends through not stopping active addiction.
Anticipating when to run, because I know this won’t be very fun. He told me to wait there, I was to be a watcher for a man of raw deadly force, this was a payment owed for seeds already consumed. I am addicted to pumpkins, I eat them in rapid fashion, sometimes I put candles to them, a light them with fire, and hellish desire. Their eyes cut through me like sowing needles in skin. I am hell’s kin.
I am the pumpkin eater, eyes cut out my soul of deceive her, the world does not need her, no one will notice if she is gone, bring her to me, baby, you know I am crazy and I will chew on you if you don’t bring me new souls, I have things they want and if you don’t it is you I taunt. I want to consume, I want to lay tombs, so tell them to see me. I know they need me.
I am speaking in metaphor, of men before, who killed the whores and the damned with act of cure in hand, take me please, get off bent knees, you can stand if you come back to Misery land, misers of the damned man, who farms human souls and potential, with deathly intention and unrelenting dilation of human sensation bent over worshiping death or life leaving crying eyes through theft.
I stick stones in lollipops made of glass, that look like men made of glass, standing up right with open mouth screaming white smoke, toke and choke on time lost, my cost is the tossed life of the sauced who living in strife consume life in toke of fire smoke. I am the act of spending time collecting dimes to spend on dimes that waste time by turning it on it’s head till you are dead form drifting through land of screaming men.
I am the eyes of friend, so frayed and decayed, he forgets his own name. I am slain by the hand of item time, or meth mind spelling words wrong, I am song rearranged by chopping into pieces, like rocks burned in glass isn’t life a gas? It is for the dead walking, forever talking of nothing, singing songs and saying words that have no meaning, just screaming, because we forget what it means to talk when we stalk death with lack of sleep, we are afraid to die so we lie down never and lie always and forever.
I am sad but glad to get out of myself, I see my generation on a shelf of caskets, and I am screaming your are dying not climbing. High yes, but high enough to die. Please get down, your mind is fizzing because it is breaking, there is no lifting in your shifting to zombie.
Come back down. Please, before you hit the ceiling and break into a thousand peices.
Do you reap what you sow? Have you mastered the key of go?
Have contemplated leaving with act of just say no?
Please don't say yes, see them die, see them cry, behold sweet miss and misery dies.
Warning: Graphic content and imagery, which speaks of tragic death of addict through self-harming violinist. Read with caution.
She plays with bone bow, on violin of arm sown with pain and weaved with blood, she cuts into her skin with bone sent from below, not realizing that with every hit of skin with bone sown in attack, what is cut does not grow back
She is in state of instating perpetual attack on own soul by death sown with owned bow in key of oh, no! Her song is so-so. Her pain is more-so. She is an average player, but better self-slayer, bone breaker, she damages her tool, by playing in key of fool, ruled by pain, she paint the night with noise of life slain in blood rain or blood reign, she plays and she paints at the same time, of the death of a generation killed by their own mind, in merciless fire bind, enslaved to addicted mind, tortured soul with song of death, spending life as active in self deception she is ever attending Hell’s reception, soul crushing death inspection.
Her tears are red but read they are too, the fall below and hit her shoes, her shoes were white once now there red, pretty soon, she’ll sure be dead. Wonder if she will see how red her shirt has come to be? Before she is destined to be dead, buried in skin of red, with eyes of death spent on life theft, pained breath and song of left.
I am missing the tips of three fingers, my thumb, index, and middle.
Heroic I thought I was consuming heroines and heroin, fire desire met with firing fire, quested after with birds of fire, in lands of firestorm and hell on earth. We burn brightly from inside out, forgetting that we are made of skin, we inject into our veins reigns of raining fire. The poison poised in my veins is a silent passenger for years, burning me with searing numbness that quiets everything, paints my world with lack of noise, taste, smell, fear and love, I run through life thinking myself free, chained on a dog leash by dissing ease of must have more, misery bound to my shackles.
I never venture too far from my captors, fearing the loss of more. I am Oliver Twist in a twisted tail of orphan as adult man, but I am an orphan of the human race, whom I abandon recklessly, chasing beasts instead of those of skinned kind. I become consumed by consuming engulfed in the flames that now are my innards, I am like a tragic dinosaur, dead already, bone formed, walking fossil through land with falling off pieces. I lost three before I could hear them falling. I have no index to guide me, lack the courage to give a thumbs up and am too prideful to admit anything touches me enough to anger me.
Telling, too bad it is too late. Heroic fool.
I am man with knife that spreads jam on toast instead of man who jams in head the killing knife that was made for bread.
I am man who does not stab but cuts apart, an apple instead of human heart, I have realized with my eyes that see, coming out of insanity, that I do not have to be Amanda I can be free. I am released from human cage, a player now not just on page, I do not have to employ rage, I can instead say this I desire human bliss, I can give love, I can give kiss. I am not supposed to be anything but free to be me. I should have known this from the start but drugs and booze they sedated heart, so I used my name as excuse to die, a perpetual never ending cry out for
MORE MORE MORE
Make yourself a living sore on the heart of yours so that you can be, so safely chained to me, addiction, you see is my maker, my taker, my soul breaker.
I love you so, baby please don’t go. I need you so… I need you please, I am kneeling on bent KNEES GET ON YOUR KNEES HONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY CASH CASH CASH PLEASE
I GET PAID WITH SOUL DISSECTION I GET PAID WITH VIVISECTION I BELIEVE IN RESURRECTION
Can it happen for me to, help me God, can you teach me to be more like you instead of Mary? I am sad and this is scary, common God please my soul fix?
It is already I told you this, this is Damien you fool, it’s you. You can do whatever you want to.
I am standing outside, having run to the point of exhaustion. I am not frustrated, not angry but experience a pure elation beyond any drug derived fixation with human contrived elation from moral degradation.
It was at this time, my mind began to become entwined with the idea that maybe something divine would not be something I would mind but instead would bring great peace of mind and body, sure it would mean following rules, but that would be better than buying tools from fools meant to loose because they choose to deal in ruse and pain and act of soul staining disdain for the having of human brain attached to dying body, that dies continuously because it is not mine, it is a gift of the universe and a soul vessel for the soul I have that was given to me as well, so I say damn that business of Hell. I reap what I aim to tell, and I aim to tell good now, so I can hear thou, and do not die like slaughtered mare, or dying hare. I am content to live and bear whatever burden bestowed, and be able to look down and still have toes, I reap what I sow now, and do not steal anymore or kill or lie or make ill.
I was running for so long, when I would run I would hear this song, it was a collection of noises not really song, just noises piecing together by meth’s ding dong of my brain which had gone insane, and though that way I do remain, it is not for lack of trying to, in every single thing I do just seek to be true and improve with love of me and of Rei, I seek truth in everything I say. I no longer wish to go away, but here in Misery do I stay, until my soul I do redeem… which from everything my mind can glean now seems possible, as well. One day I may no longer live in Hell.
The mist rises over the water, the wetness dancing in teardrops on my arms, painting over them scarred and pulsing with poison, kissing my skin with the soul quenching waters of the tears of an unknown higher being, higher than I could ever be right now, because of the highness being a station of above-ness not destined to the tragic fixated state of an elated man.
I stare out into nothing, looking at my reflection in the dead bodies in the water, drifting into the distance, I find them because I know where they dump them, because I am polluted. I am the pollution of a river that runs with the waters of man, uniting with tears of an all-knowing that is nothing and everything at the same time, or everything I try so desperately to inject into my eyes with a spoon that is not sharp enough to cut through my skin, I draw power into the caging madness of the eye of a storm dilated into liquid chaos propelled through the tiny head of a sowing needle the dots the I’s of my eyes of despise.
I stand there crying and laughing, for a moment it is almost like it alright because I feel nothing and everything, but I am just high, and it will pass, and I will be again thrown to my knees remembering the crying of those around me as they watch me and mourn for me, and responding out of fear, I pull them under,
Please don’t leave me alone.
I tell myself I don’t need them anyway, but it is a lie
I am dying inside every second I do this, which is why this only a reflection on the madness I saw, while staring into nothing.
I am so amazed by the tragic beauty in the next room, who can look in my eyes, and run away when I can’t even look in the **** mirror for 10 seconds without crying.
I am sitting on the edge of a cliff, which is not really a cliff, but it feels like one because everything in me screams jump. I feel my legs beneath me as I sit in front of this screen, but I don’t…. I am so numb.
My mind aches in writhing agony. I do not know why I remembered any of this today. I have not know. I just had these horrific flashes back and forth to a dimension of exaggerated chaos. I know that I am not the one responsible for killing anyone with my own hands, but I am numb and don’t know how to interpret what I actually did. I can’t stand to face myself when I have this happen, the flow of nightmares that are indistinguishable between real and unreal flooding my mind and making me quiver in agony.
I walk through life now, a twisted twig of a human being. I am numb and propelled by a voice that is not my own that hangs over my head like an un-holy halo of chaos. It screams at me all day of times when my desire for something that I do not even have anymore, something that was not worth the 30 seconds it felt good, was it worth giving up the ability to save my friends lives. I have lost touch with everyone other than Rei. I exist in a world with her and my daughter alone, where sometimes it is good and sometimes I am so haunted by my inner demons, my soul feels like it will collapse on me, a chaotic implosion, that like an aching black hole, will consume me from the inside out. I am not an evil person now, but I was and I have no idea what that makes me now. I am so empty.
I am just, lost I guess. I don’t know where to go with this. I don’t know what I should do with everyone I remembered hurting. I am leaping from feeling to feeling unsure of the reality of any of it anymore, how much of it am I responsible for. How much of the killing is my fault? I mean this in the metaphorical sense. If I knew that me turning the page to skip over a friends agony and pushing them to keep using or trying to get them to give me money to perpetuate both of our drug use.. I was killing both of us…
I am told that life will get better, but I am going insane right now over this, I am haunted by bad dreams of times I could have saved my friends lives and I pushed them off a cliff, by telling them we should just get high one more time, and now they are gone because I perpetuated their addiction so I could get high. I want to be serene about the whole thing. I experience moments of serenity, but isn’t it supposed to heal you? I don’t know what I am doing wrong. I want sighs of relief for me and those around me to turn the page on all this. and for the voices in my head to stop, so I can hear my own voice again. I want it so bad, but I don’t know if it is possible.
I am so sorry for any pain I caused. I hope this is fixable. I know I am so back and forth about this. I am like multiple people, I get it. I want peace so badly.
God, help me.
My mind is numb, I am leaping in it off the edge of a cliff. I have heard the sighs of my family as they watch the back and forth happy/sad movement of my face.
I don’t know how to truly forgive myself.
I am aware of the unorthodox nature of my approach, however I have seen so much pain and brutality on the streets of America, due to the drug epidemic. I am on a personal mission to create through a simulated House of Horrors a reason in the addict to want to stop by meditating on what they are doing to themselves, others and their families. I want to save anyone I can from the literal hell facing every addict on the streets of this country. I have lost many friends, and I am tired of saying nothing while they seek their death, so speaking a Dante’s Inferno style, I am giving people the extreme house of fictionalized literary horrors, or my version of The Jungle, or The Stranger, not that it in any way compares to those great works.
Trigger warning- One of the most disturbing posts on this site, thus far, to show the depths of hatred I had for myself and being born in the wrong body. I am in no way speaking of literal murder here, metaphor for death of Amanda in rebirth as Damien. Read only if you can handle violent poetic metaphor.
His name was Harassment, or Harris, I meant to say, and he would not
Go away, in my mind did he say every day things I said to me, he bound, tied and killed me, and in ways of comparison we were so similar, the existence of him was a rid-of-her
Rhyming miming time blasting, crash of attack of my soul, the ever gaping hole of
DEATH RESENTING EVER LAST BREATH
Because of the idea of last, caught up on past and future spent on pain, you embarrassed me don’t say my ****ing name. I will make YOU go insane, you want to kill your girlfriend buddy, that’s great give me some
DRUGS OR MONEY I am a man in female form, with dissing resentment of death reborn as scorn. I am the face of female torn in half.
I will rip over her face, with hands that lack ability to stop because I can’t stop doing it to me, I will make her regret the air she breathes.
I am a curse you sent from hell, I am the ever indecent spelling telling lie. I am the act of female cry. I am the idea of die bitch die, because I want for her what I want for me, I want to end the air she breathes, I want to steal her peace and money I am a heroine junkie, isn’t that funny.
I will make her wish for Hell before I am done, I will be her setting sun.
You want her dead give me a gun.
Not going to lie here, that at first was slightly terrifying, because I am a wuss, and I am just glad I jumped instead of punching people like I used to. I have told them not to touch me, while I am sleeping, which is the exact kind of thing you scream when you are a mean control freak narcissist who is not used to love. I am just glad I didn’t hurt them, I love them so much, and enough people have already suffered for loving me.
Amanda has nice cats, she is learning to love people as well, slower, because I am a frantic fast moving time traveler. Ew.. gross…
As much it pains me to do it I have to say, that writing out my personal demons helps me preform a sort of soul cleansing. I feel awful about all the things I have allowed happen in front of me, and I hope that my method is not too terrifying for at least certain people. I am just writing what works for me to stay sober every day. I am still the same selfish addict and a lot of this is
FLASH NEGATIVE FLASH POSITIVE
Talk. I am sorry to anyone who is disturbed by it.
I am in the process of working towards being a better person, and I am still an abrasive ****.
I am the defense of every man who dies where he stands, which is right next to this garbage can, but his name was Dave, and he had a family once, and he was loved and has a mom and dad who tried hard to save him but he is sick with addiction.
I am fiction on a mission to create empathy for all the lost, a woman who identifies as man, screaming where I stand, for all those I saw back then who didn’t have mom or best friend to save them like I did, so they are lying, crying, dying by garbage can, and no one cares? Really, is that all you have to say?
You did drugs now go away?
Is that what we have come to? Is that what my generation gets as a happy ending.
You are selfish. We are diseased by the dissing ease of addiction.
We are screaming in fiction diction.
I am a writer on a mission to show you clearly what I saw, when I saw people walk away from me when I just wanted someone to give me a glass of water?
Is that how you would treat your daughter or your friend, your brother or sister? Is it?
Then why treat anyone like that?
Every life matters.
I don’t know what is wrong with me sometimes, I fantasize about the strangest things, drawn to your hands and I think of times when I could cut them off, your nails are red and I think about the scraping against my skin, the red blood under your nails being so similar in character to mine, it makes me uncomfortable, I don’t want to feel this way, so I fantasize about cutting off your finger, and how it would be so easy when holding your hand to break it because they are so soft and there is nothing stopping me from squeezing it as tight as I can
YOU CAN NEVER ESCAPE YOURSELF DAMIEN
I know this, and that is why I write it down, because it is so much easier than wondering how much it would take and bite you while you kiss me because I have always found it easier to taste the metallic taste of your blood than that of your cinnamon lips, I want you so badly and that makes me want to hate you, it makes me want to
Rip at the eyes, ripping me out of them so you can’t do it to me first…….
I have no self control, so I sit in a dark hole, which is the grave situation of my life, riddled with question of why does the sight of your tongue make me think of blood running out a mouth with one?
Why do I think of you coughing up blood from a blow to the stomach when I would never want to hurt you? I have no control over my mind, and it torments me more than you will ever know, I am locked in my skin, caged like a clawing animal to try to get out of myself and instead I claw at those around me,
Screaming you can’t own me, when you don’t even want to, you are the kindest person, and I am awful. I do not know what you see when you look into the pools of nothing that are the black pupils of eyes that look like nothing.
Why do you love me?
I don’t get it. I want to rip me out of me.
I hate myself so much.
Do I make you think of stop and go, baby, do I make you feel like you are few
You are doing okay, okay.
You are new at this, fire kissed
Soul of gaping healing hole
I don’t know what I am doing I am so tired of making stew
I know I am you
Is that how this works
Yes, you are doing good at not being a
JERK You may snap at people but they know it means nothing
Just say you are sorry and move on
That’s okay it goes on? I don’t think that is true
Yes it is I am telling you
I lost my train of thought I am derailed un sailed a life of GARBAGE PAIL I am metal kettle tea tea tea does it does taste like
POISON HONEY????? ISN’T
it’s sunny outside
I think I am going for
You are insane
This **** has no
To the bluster of the ever rusted madman of the night, to the wet feather dust
Rain. Rain. Reign of blustering pain.
Blustery day, blustering decay, I love you, I know not I do.
Oh so free, are you, you know not what you do?
ISN’T THAT TRUE ISN’T IT TELL ME KNOW LIAR HOW YOU PLAY WITH FIRE THIEF OF **** BENT OVER IN DOUBLING PAIN YOU ARE THE HUMAN STAIN
erase erase erase, delete, delete delete
me me me i i i i i me me me
Be be be be be
Be asserting be strong be free
I ONLY WANT YOU TO SEE ME!!!!
YOU ARE A LIAR AND A THIEF YOU ARE NOT HUMAN AND FROM BENEATH
you are really mean please leave me alone please leave me alone
I need you to leave me alone!!
On a bluster filled day, I DECAY.
I can’t make them go away, I can just type them down, you see ever so clearly, they are in front of me and that makes them foolish instead of
JARRING JARRING SOUL IN JAR
I can talk to you to, but chose this, this approach, a kind host of a dissing ease, seems to please you to the point of end of
Do you share toast with ghost, I roast marshmallows with clear colored men, defenders of addict pen, they made me chains for my legs, and pegs for holes in my arms.
I am a toast with the roast of the flesh of the ghost, clear, black, blue, and white. I hang out at night and hide from light
Unless it used bright as fire of desired dark, clear or white with delight.
I lied before I built the chains myself, I got the idea from my eternal burning hole in a cell called human shell, I shoot poised darts wet with poison spell, I know nothing but the idea of pain repel. I shoot fire and live to tell. I love the dark but hate pain that swells, in my arms and legs made with fire, I am built with bricks of death laid desire, I was born to die, and heroic in heart, which I fire with poison praying it will start
The day comes and I curse the mourn, everything is boring and life’s a chore, what am I doing on this deadly ride, why do I stay at an amusement park when I am nauseous and would rather die than ride
One more thing ever again.
I hate this poison and miss my dead friends.
Do you step with forward moving shoe? Do you run fearing lack of soul? I speak to me an ever dug whole of hole in soul. I am a shot in the dark taken from the hands of man who thinks they are feeding homeless man/woman, they never knew what they do they were really buy me
PAIN. Heroine without the e because I am the act of girl who used to wish to be well, anything but me. Oh, so free, I was like a dove with no wings who can’t fly.
Self roast of the burnt toast that is the breakfast I was never there to have because I am so bad that I walked out on mom and dad and went to live on the street, isn’t that neat. I am roast of me for you, because I do not kid this is the only way I can save my soul, by roasting it and spinning like a phoenix without feathers, or an ever forgetting pain drain that forgets to thank the Lord and tries to wield death’s sword.
I was SATAN’s word, now I fight for redemption with mention of evil to remember what I am being redeemed from. I am tired of shunning God in act of being sod instead of lover of my creator.
I am not a miss spelling, not there either, baby
I am lame, but maybe I am trying to tell you something
I am a sham, a sea gull named life’s last stand, inserted into dying human being.
Listen to me…
Pressing the stressing dressing of the never resting meth head who head is dressed with never rest through pained dressed dance with thoughts of life spent on death
Cash spent on passing glass that reflects life lost or tossed in trash through battery acid soaked lash that hurts so bad it stings my soul or reeking creaking pain hole full of nothing but sin, so I look to Him because I am bad as bad as can be, I am blind man and woman, so arrogant there are two of me. I am in love with self so much I write letters of love to me. You have seen me do it. Do you think that is fun, being that meth spun you spend your life staring into the eyes of yourself hell bent on being anything other than me and feed
feed me drugs, I am a dirty rug,
I am walk on me, baby, I am crazy and will flip out if you do the wrong thing
I am to be feared because I reek of sin, and the only way out is
Trust in Him.
God is my only answer that is a cure to my death ridden soul.
I made friends with foxes because we used to pray the same way in the same holes, not the same way, I am a human being who cannot speak animal neigh
I am a lunatic who stares at the moon and dreams of clear streams that are for swimming not fire and speed. I am the lack of blood on arms that were charmed enough to live not charmed but gifted by the lifting of chosen curse or eating dirt, because child heart I am also arrogant as Hell. I aim to tell you things because I like to talk because I am a narcissist who made a choice that if I am addicted to my own voice, why not at least say something good?
Owl City-“Shooting Star”
Fill the darkest night with a brilliant light
'Cause it's time for you to shine
Brighter than a shooting star
So shine no matter where you are tonight
Instead lies for crying eyes who hand me DRUGS, I am stronger than street thugs, but weaker too, a lot of them sell drugs to feed families, I shot heroin to commit calamities, acting out of complete insanity, I am vanity on a death terror ride, through illusion cycling through past for you, so you can see what I say and not go where I went and do what I did, because I don’t kid, I am kid who got saved by my creator, I am a pained footed waiter, not a metaphor an admission. I am just one suffering addiction speaking divine inspired truth that is inspired by God.He saved me.
I do not want to preach or teach, just simply save lives, by screaming the whole jails institutions death thing is real
and I feel un-punctuated and so elated by getting to tell you this.
Do not take death’s kiss people love you, please stay, if you listen to any of my psycho ego babble, I am playing scrabble with apples with words for you. I want you to know wherever you go, whatever you do, just say no to drugs, I want much more for you, because I love you and don’t even know you. Imagine how those who know you feel.
Love yourself. We recover.
In flames there are pained brains called human stains or life down drains or really brains the ignite with the light fire of soul and burning dark hole. I stand in land of fiction with addiction to chaotic friction, a psycho-active highly impacting ever attracting sensation of the burning of lack
Or of massive attack on heart attack due to speed
Do you feel the need to cry out in pain life down the drain or to hope to some foxhole style prayer that your God is there?
He is. Get out. I know he is.
He lives he is. You are wrong.
I am a song. I am lyrics spent on lament.
You are hell bent on attacking when it is you that are lacking, lacking soul
Creek of door wanting some that it
lacks. You are sacked. You are packed you are shipped with delivery to Hell where you will forever dwell, disease. I bend you to knees,
Please baby. Please. See how it feels? I am the imitator of the psycho faker who really is SATAN. I make fun to shun the evil one.
I am powered by God. I am love. I am human being in the act of being inspired by love and hope and trust. I am the idea that Hell is DUST.
I am forever trust in Him and don’t give in to pain.
I am never complain.
I am arrogant too. I am sinful just like you. I am the face of fallen man, trying to learn how to stand. I am woman trying to roar, while forgetting it is a higher power that gives wings to human’s that are sore.
I am world tour of misery, by misers, sent by fire firing fire desire.
They are fired. By me. I am free. I want you to see clearly, I love you put joy in all you do, if nothing else is true be you, and alive and dance no jive with death. I don’t mind what you believe. I am free, I need to see clearly through speech, I aim not to taunt or preach just to reach out with my story, all though it might be gory I am trying to find His Glory.
I do not want to enforce, I am done with the act of firing torch. I want to spread love, but it doesn’t matter what I want. I write to you. It is up to you.
I am food for thought. I am misery taught, joy born addict no longer dying scorn.
I have been draining myself, recently a lot recently, and the thing with the stain on the wall has been driving me nuts since I saw it. I still see it. It’s still there. I know it is there, I know what a blood stain on a wall looks like… I know what it feels like to the hand, the absorbency of the walls texture catching the blood and giving the wall a texture that reeks of dampness. No one has been in this room with me, and no one else sees the stain, I think… or they are not telling me they see it. I asked them about it and they looked at me with an eerie strangeness that I don’t quite understand.
I really think there is something to this. I even went as far as to smell the stain on the wall. It smells like iron, like the sticky iron of blood, sweet smelling almost like rot, I am sitting in the room with it, Rei and my daughter are watching a movie, which I can’t be bothered with. I want to figure this out.
I scratched at it and nothing flecks off the wall.. The color of the stain does not change with bleach. It is strange there are times when in the reflection of the cast light of sun or moon I feel like I see it glimmering. Like there is a metallic quality to its red blood smelling presence in the room. I think I am freaking out Rei, but there seems to be something different about how my daughter reacts to the projected madness of the man seeing something not there. I am not sure she doesn’t see it, but dare not approach the subject further, at least not while her mother is here. I want to have a conversation with her privately, one of a kind I cannot have unless she does not reveal its contents to her mother. I don’t like keeping as much as I have from Rei. I am not doing it out of the same selfish foolishness I did before.
I have this strange feeling I am not supposed to… tell her about my obsession with this wall stain business. I have spoken to my other half of my soul, and she finds the same eerie quality to the whole thing. I do not think I am a man insane. Well, that’s not exactly true. I do think I am insane, but I think the stain is there in some way presenting to me for some reason, and I am going to figure out why.
So now it happened during the day while I was awake enough to get my *** up and run with her, mind you I don’t know how the **** we did it. She was watching me, while I was on here, and I didn’t know it. I was posting things online for a friend of mine who I help manage her small business, she is an awesome woman. One of the best friends anyone could ask for. She also knows a lot about antiques and vintage everything. Anyway, so I am sitting here e·mersed in trying to find things, looking through other peoples written work, whatever… I don’t know and I can feel her looking at me, she has this eerie way of looking through me, as if she can see into my soul, and I got weird about it, made some sort of strange face, and I think we switched bodies for a second, you know like that stupid movie from the seventies not the movie with Lohan, but the original one?
Yeah, I remember, Damien.
Cool you heard me. I was freaking out so I thought it be nice to say hi.
She looked at me and I felt her feelings, I felt how she was afraid in the same way I am afraid of her, that she was afraid of me, not liking her… that her introversion was my introversion and it was only a second, but I feel like I know her so much better, I trust her completely. She is like me 2.0, wow… narcissism…
The soul of a woman lost sometimes pays a great cost, she loses those around, they disappear in lacking sound, she then begins to smack in a self attack at her courage which she lack already sent to fuel the fires of many, she is a deadly prescription, eating pain in this fiction and I sent to her an inscription that was a secret self infliction being a reminder in clear of her addiction to fiction speaking through lies and despise and now she cries with shut eyes
Oh woe is me, I cannot see, I am blinded by thee that I set against friend. I am at bitter end of life, I am riddled with riddling strive, I am hard cutting knife of pain, I am the disdain of acid rain. I am polluting soul attacking self. I am bottle staring into depths of hell. I am the idea of dwell I am the swell of crashing wave I am the man you did forsake I am the idea of take take take
I am losing
I am melting
I am feeling the effect of dealing pain
I am a retching ball of lack’s attack
I am the idea of getting sacked for doing
I am the failure to be human being
Stop that’s too mean.
I am the idea of own.
I am my own soul.
I am the one who digs hole.
I am the one who makes whole.
I have no legs so I can’t stand.
It’s just attacking itself now.
My hands just tried to type something stupid as the title of this post. You figure it out. My one job is working as… a#$
I am working for myself, as a redeemer of my own soul through trying to show people what I no no no
Know, and help those who think that they are forever lost
Toss toss toss
The can of sauce that flavors world like death
eat me eat me ear
see see see
hear hear hear
I am trying to bring to you the simulation of the struggle which has done done done done
away with all my joy joy joy
love hope and friends
To rebuild my life.
I am a writer who has experienced a lot of failure. But I will succeed, because I am strong and have the power of love. I am a bringer of joy, that is my job.
Torsion I am the spinning eye of chaos spy
The spark in the dark
I am a pain addicted disease, that is brought to it’s knees by people who defend friends.
I am a phone call made to save a friends life.
I am the power of love.
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Words sword dor door download death add cash plus mass on soul
I am hole. I am whole, I am viral. Infection of mind
Mind Mind Mind. Mine.
I think we are really making it mad, this is freaking cool.