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: Ms RE
Swans mate for life, am I told this is true.
So I think of a my life, and how I was with you.
I am not sure, if this is true for us, too.
I put me in a box for so long, so I would not be myself.
I put me in a box with needle, spoon, and bottle on shelf, now I represent me with a swan, because maybe I can be something else, no longer just an addict with love affair with destruction and bottles on shelf.
I am not sure if I was supposed to be with you.
Now I am alone, and I feel sometimes it is for life, because I have PTSD and our break-up cut me, like a knife, but there is a part of me that wonders if it is true, that like a swan, I was destined only for you, and now that we are apart, I should be alone, destined only for nothing, just the idea of alone.
I am not sure, if any of that is true, only sure I no longer like you, you ripped out my heart and made me realize I no longer like men.
Maybe there is another swan, and I was never supposed to be with you to begin with, maybe there is another swan for you, as well.
At this point, I hope that is true, two different swans for both of us, I am sorry Rei, I am sorry I hurt you in any way I hurt you, I am sorry, and I hope you find your swan, I am sorry I hurt your feelings.
So sorry, that is just where I dwell, sometimes, not all the time, really, I am fine, just thinking about you sometimes, not all the time.
You are on my
BRAIN BRAIN BRAIN
In meditative state I reflect on the rain, and think of drowing, a duck with my head up, not breathing, just sucking in the water, and choking on it.
Burn me sweetie, make it hot, burn it so it cures my soul rot. Make it seering, make it jarring, make it burning, make it scarring.
She wore my coat, and I left it with her, because she smelled like lavender, and I wanted to forget her.
You reminded me of the rays of the sun, and that reminded me of someone I would rather
Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.
I am so sorry, wedded to disdain, been with her such a long time, grown so used to being bound to decline, it is always on my mind.
She talks so sweetly sometimes, really, voice sounding so simular, to my ex Rei Clearly,
She tells me she loves me, and sometimes I believe the lie, it is so hard, she is a good spy, has such a good hand, good at act of torture, she is a word sorcerer.
I am the realization
Real in me, real eyes, seeing as a real I, that despise is not wise.
Real I, meaning real me, who is who I am, which is not who I was before, who is the fusion of two, two beings seperate and different, which is the fusion of two seperate and equal people, who are chased by the same things, for me resentment and for her the very real person who has a different name than on this site
Rei Clearly, clearly a name given as a place holder, a space holder for the idea of transition, out of a place of superstition to a place of real i zation, or real I sensation through me, with name see clearly, because it should have been so clear to me, that I am me.
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.
I see no end, to your voice, see no end to no choice,
I hear you in my head, over and over,
Saying things you said, that I ignored, shut you out.
I would at the time rather have lived without
Hearing that you hated me, wished me to know with impunity, but now I wonder, and I fear,
Whether you were right and so my dear,
I am so sorry for shutting out
All words you said, because I live in doubt, had I listened, had I changed, would I still be in such pain??
Would we both be better now? If I stopped using then, had put it down, if I had agreed, done what you said, would I still be alone and dead inside
I am right now. I wish I had something not life without.
I was stupid. I was wrong, and now I wish I just had gone
Along with anything you did or said and maybe I would not wish I was dead.
I say I am never touching you again, and I am being childish, but you don’t want to know what I meant, and it was nothing against you.
I was in love with you, and I know my hands are dirty because they always are, not physically but metaphorically, that is why they are usually cracked and bleeding and prone to infection, aside from old habits done with fire and shot in vain.
You told me you knew how to help me, I told you I didn’t need your help, and you said I was being selfish, so I let you unpack the suitcase of dirty laundry that is my aching bleeding cut, open wound of a soul, and you donated them all to charity and bought me new clothes, I am not going to wear your new clothes, I am a human being with feelings, and bad as I am, I am still a human being with feelings, and if you hated me so much…. I am starting to be glad you are no longer around, because I would rather be lonely the rest of my life, then ever have to fight with someone while high on my own supply with you who contributed nothing but criticism, when I kept trying to get clean and sober.
Here, you would say, giving me some of yours, which I didn’t know you had, when you were going line for line shot for shot with me, on money bought with gambling that no one figures me out.
I am so tired of thinking of you.
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 am in a trance, meditating on a deadly wavelength a chaotic hypnosis focusing on a stroboscopic motion, the slicing fan, tragic entrainment , of my mind transfixed on the woman who danced with me, for money and items.
I am dancing right now, with my own death, because I cannot handle living right now, and I don’t want to die, but I am bleeding out a year after losing you, over and over again, triggered by nothing, by you calling me, you texting me, bothering me, so much that I put all this out here on this site, as if it just happened, that is how it feels, like it just happened, but I have bleeding for a year. I am dying over this, and have been for a year, killing myself, with drugs and alcohol over a person who used me for drugs and alcohol. I am disgusted with myself and with her/him. I am so done with all of this, but keep coming back over and over to it, because they won’t leave me alone.
I just want peace, please everything in the universe, please just give me the strength to move on and find something else.
I don’t know why, but night time makes me want to cry. The loneliness is so intense it radiates through my whole body, feeling like they cut out a vital organ, which is sad because the only vitality I provided you was not vital at all, but fatal, and I done with being a malady, parody and obscene joke that is just your ticket to free toke, poke, or smoke. I hate you so much because you call me all the time, and I never answer and it has been a year and I still wish I could answer, and you would be who I thought you were, and not the soul sucking drug addict leech that cared more about getting high than going with me to the hospital, so you told me my hand wasn’t that bad and I trusted you and now I am missing half my right thumb and I am right handed.. and it kills me, because I have to see it every time I write… and you knew that.. so stop calling about the type writer..
I feel like crying..
I sleep in oblivion because obviously sleep must be partially that
Because I can’t remember it and that is oblivion right?
Hmm… being dead or asleep, meaning having no power and receiving pardon or amnesty?
Just realized I called myself my own ex-girlfriend…
I used to address my problems by address them at someone unreal, who was made of feelings that were my desire to not feel what was really real.
She was a projection of my hate for me, dressed in silk and painted delicately, she breathed, so gracefully, or so I thought, because I hated me and desired nothing but pain stuffing in address at world of pain stuffing into woman unreal, made of pain and a desire to blame me, for life unreal… or desire to not feel.
I loved my silk maiden, my Rei of the sun, it was me, who was lacking, a killer, a silent setting sun.
I painted her with colors of white, and me of read, telling you I killed people, when it was me I killed instead.
I realize now I had married death, and I am divorcing pain to save the life I have left.
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.
I am finally beginning to like myself for the first time in my entire life. I have never liked myself my entire life, I did not realize this till just recently, I hated me, so I was constantly defending myself to myself, I did not realize these were not always schizophrenia, but personal demons that were very different than the voices, they are easier to deal with and have started to subside now that I have begun to remove the toxicity from myself and my life. I am so happy to be free of all this. I am so happy to be free from everything that was making me so miserable, every day, and it’s so silly because a lot of it was me doing it to my own self. I realize that now, but the thing is the position I was in was partially responsible for everything I felt, not in the taking away accountability from me kind of way.
I am accountable for all the things I have done, but that does not mean I need to destroy myself over it and resent others for the things I am doing to myself, with my own hands. I am sorry to those that are hurt by me, to those who I metaphorically killed, because I am not a real serial killer, just a personification of addiction and manifestation of the guilt of an addict who did not realize how much they did not have to put a mask on the truth that they blame themselves for everything.
I was Amanda, but I am becoming myself, Damien de Soto, take it or leave it. I have never killed anyone, just facilitated the death of addicts through never saying stop using when we were getting high together, my daughter is real to me, in my world of future, but she is not real for Amanda yet, and I hope you understand what I mean by that I was not lying when I said anything I said, but rebuilding a soul for a life that I thought was already over, as Amanda and built for me, her future self, I am very much real because these are her real thoughts and feelings, and my family represents families she just recently new and one specific child who she never stood up for because she was getting drugs from their parent.
When asking what I did about my daughter, I was relieving a past feeling of resentment. Amanda called child protection services on someone who she had dealt with in the past, because she did not like what was going on in that house, and she and I were asking the universe if it was done out of resentment or if that was truly the right way to handle it. I think it was, she secretly does too, we both hope the kid is alright, although we never followed up to see if they responded to our call.
Thank you for your support it means the world.
Damien and Amanda, but mostly Damien.
“Wherever they burn books, in the end will also burn human beings.”
– Heinrich Heine
EXPLICIT CONTENT: Post uses poetic analogy for the addict backed into a corner and told to drink, when this happens we sometimes attack like a killer or a vicious dog. This is metaphorical only, I have only ever killed anyone with my silence, not saying anything as my friends died in active addiction. These are allegories in all gory glory.
We are in a basement, a base meant for debasement of everything I have ever come to know to be true about myself. I am looking into the eyes of a woman who I used to know, I still know her, but I am choosing to forget this right now, not now but then.
Rei hands me a bottle, it had booze in it. I think she is handing it to me to drink it, it is everclear, funny name for alcohol that makes you so unclear..
I get pissed, so I put a cloth in it soak it in alcohol, by dipping it in the bottle, the smell of it disgusting, I hate it. I am sickened by the smell and want only to get it off my hands. I light the rag on fire, and she tells me the girl who sits in front of me wants me to drink it. I have been up for five days, and I would have known that what she is saying is not true, had I not been high, and been thinking clearly not thinking under the influence of things that cloud my mind.
I throw the burning bottle at the woman’s feet, Rei thinks I did this to burn the woman alive, and laughs. I was aiming at the book on the floor, the **** had a copy of a book about alcoholism at her feet, hating the irony I want to burn it.
The girl burned alive, because I can’t look in the mirror.
I watched because I couldn’t figure out how to put it out.
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.
They think I get up in the middle of the night to experience the hours of the day before they wake up, this is only half true. I do not do this out of a desire to be alone. I just simply enjoy quiet when I can. I have not had much quiet in my life at all, and the second they wake up, against their and my will… I listen to their existence every second I am present, not in a resenting way, actually quietly I sit and marvel at the people who surround me now, because I appreciate so much hearing voices other than my own incessant talking in my own head, or against my will at loud to myself. I am so happy to be around people who are not me, because as much as I sound like I am in love with myself, this is a defense mechanism. I am deeply insecure. I hate everything about me, because I am a cruel, uncaring person. I want to be better, but I have been like this so long, it takes time for me to learn to not be.
I loved getting away from reality so much I devoted my whole life to the worship of the idol toys of a man insane, substances have been my best friend along with my own self in female form. I have existed for so long talking only to me or the other me, on street corners where I am either shouting, crying or laughing in lunacy with lack of regard for those around me. I did this because I was in pain from pain I was unknowingly causing myself. I was drinking/using to forget drinking using to forget what I had to do to get drugs and alcohol to forget, drinking using to forget. I am a horrible human being, no really I am, but I am in the process of trying to turn that around 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.
No matter what I did she would not go away,
I would taunt and have fits, and run and I’d cry and by my side she always would stay.
This used to really annoy me.
I would think to myself that she would surely,
Leave eventually so I gave up on the idea of woman go
And now I don’t like life without her.
The late hours of the night are so much more peaceful now, thank you God.
I am so grateful to be sitting here, able to get up without people thinking I am going into the bathroom to fire heroin into my arm, I am thankful they are seeing a change in me, because I want so bad for my existence to cause no more pain on this planet, than it already has, thank you God and to anyone who has helped me in any of this.
I am elated to be in the quiet of my house with my family sleeping soundly instead of killing themselves of me killing me, and me being pissed because I think they are being selfish for not wanting my arms to stop being covered with sleeves in the summer when I hate long sleeves but I am cold all the time, no longer.
I am so grateful for this. I am able to type right now instead of having a bed time like a child because I am no longer in a shelter.
I am so happy.
What does that even mean? Last before what? Last thing before sleep? The last thing before bed yesterday? Last thing I allowed myself to be taught? The last thing I learned in general?
Is this up to interpretation? Is that why it is phrase this way?
What the heck? I don’t get it.
You really think you are better than everyone else don’t you?
Who said that?
You. Just now.
No, I didn’t. And no I don’t.
Yes, you did, it is up there said, by me. That is how…
That is not how that comes across, I was asking for clarity.
You were pointing out a flaw with the question to avoid answering because you are used to being held somewhere under a light and asked questions about drunk or high behavior by police.
This is not a cop asking me this.
Then what is the last thing you learned?
Before bed? I’ll take it that way, which is the only way I can take it.
I learned I am lucky and grateful that I have been gifted the ability and chance to do anything at all because I have lived a life of selfishness and deserve none of this, only being granted it by the grace of God or my higher power.
Thank you, good answer.
That was easy, and rewarding.
Yeah, I know.
Nice mental pat on the back.
I know that too.
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…
I am not a nice guy, there is nothing redeemable about me, really that I can think of other than pen and sword, I am a really horrible, despicable creature. I feel that way anyway. I always hated being asked anything because as much as I hate to lie, because I don’t want to, I am so good at it, and I am so used to.. I just know how to do that, and only that, and I just can’t do it anymore, I want more than anything else to be better, and make up for every spoon that came with poison when I should have never been encouraging my friends to kill themselves, I have lost so many people and felt nothing, and now I feel it all at the same time, and I am so overcome with the whole thing, and I don’t know what to do because I am not depressed, I am happy, just terrified that I will ruin everything.
So, I will just move forward, but it is so hard, because I hate myself for every life I cost in active addiction every person I have enabled instead of stopping, they were my friends, how can I do this if I couldn’t stop thinking of me for one second and say stop doing what is killing you.
BECAUSE YOU WERE MAKING MONEY OFF THEM. ADDICT LIAR
I know, I just. I…. am a piece of trash, and I don’t… I want to..
I am.. nothing. I have nothing. I am so sorry, I am so sorry.
I love everyone now. I am so sorry.
That’s cool. I am happy for you.
Why? She is going to rip my heart out, I am awful, and she will realize it eventually and move on, and I just…… I don’t like feeling like I want or need anyone, but I….
Just be nice.
I don’t know how
Did anything happen?
No, she just really scares me, she is everything I ever wanted in another human being, without realizing I ever wanted anything at all. I was content in Hell. I was fine, and now I don’t know, I feel like if she ever figures out what a piece of…..I am awful and I love….
Just chill out, she loves you.
I know, I just can’t handle this, I am such a loser, what do I do.
Just calm down.
Okay, I will.. or I will try.
Thanks, me too….
De-fence less, I am to you, you walked by me, and touched my spine, and instead of the normal desire to rip yours out, I am overcome with electricity, I love you intensely, and I am not scared anymore about it, I feel overcome by quiet for the time being.
Being is wonderful for this moment, for this second, I am entranced with the dance that goes on with the corner of your eyes, fixating for once, on meditation to not look to closely, because I am so afraid of myself, I am so pliable, I am putty you or gum on your shoe, and you leave me there,
liking the sticky feeling as you walk and I wonder why, you beautiful creature, want this, tragic display of projected insanity anywhere near you, I deserve nothing and you give me everything, and I love you with every fiber of my being for that, you are changing me Rei, making me realize it is not weak for me to love you.
You give me legs to stand again, and I don’t think I will forget that ever again.
Please bare with me, I love you so much, I will change, I promise. I am working on it. I will do whatever I can to make everything better, I am so sorry for everything I put you through, I was selfish and cruel and I love you so much, please stay with me.
PS. Even if I lose my mind temporarily, I mean this with my whole heart that is just starting to realize how much I love you. You are a beautiful human being and you have made me believe in something higher than I could ever be, and for that I am eternally grateful.
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.
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.
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.
hnekawnkglbglwkgnk;sNevklb bsknl v
I think it thinks it’s a pain atm?
This is just stupid.
It really likes breaking language.
Of course it does, it’s addicted to its own
SELF SELF SELFISH I
Don’t let it hit you were it hurts. Be decent don’t worry about the past. Make it up by living now. I think that is ow you battle this thing.
This is freaking fun.
It just tried to type fun as gun,
You don’t have hands
Neither do you.
Was that you or it.
This thing is like patheticness incarnate.
I warned you kindly, miss Rei that in your very name I stay
You are not person, but a curse, a poison, witch, a death, a hearse
Hear se I, I see you, I am every thing you do, you say you love him but you do not
You are torture
Your mind is hot
With peril dark and poison too
Heroin that is you.
You sedative of the mind of ba***rd. You child of sin, getting plastered on face of liar that lays on floor, that kills brother, and sleeps with whore, you filthy *&*^ and dirty liar, your soul will burn in my hell fire. I hate you too, though to you I speak little, your just his toy, his rib, his middle
Piece of nothing, cake of lies. Whore of babbling, talker of despise. You disgusting wretch, you waste of space, you are not a character you are a taste of whorish flesh and touch of sin, I speak not to you because you rot from within, you are weak and I am strong, my power lasts longer than love’s song.
He is mine, and you are dead. I will always have his head.
I think I just realized while sitting on my bed while my daughter sleeps in the next room that I am truly insane because I was addicted to my own misery, which I think was just coming in the form of a medication I was prescribing myself in the form of the consumption of certain things I used to use.
What are you saying, weirdo?
That me and you were eating our own death on silver spoons dished out by resentment in a hotel called in Misery?
Isn’t that in a land in callous form?
You mean California?
Either that or in the Simple Rewards that come from those dishing out false hopes through hands of those fleeing asylum from the crimes being enacted to perpetuate Misery through the hands of American’s stealing the joy of those making illicit substances in other countries.
So this is all about drug use and lying to yourself?
Well that and drinking to forget the stress of waiting for the man.
“You guys okay?”
“Yes, sunshine. How was your walk?”
“Good, your daughter saw something weird. A bird was in a cage on the ground, there was no one around, so I don’t think it belonged to anyone but it was in there, screaming to be let out. I think it was sad and hungry and lonely.”
“So when you let it out, did it sing?”
“Yes, and it is creepy when you guys do that.”
“You should tell your daughter, how the caged bird sings.”
“It sings like me, when I am talking to you.”
“Oh, and Amanda you sound like me when talking about your version of Deborah or Diane.”
You mean she who will be revealed later?
Yes, fear itself.
But I am taking that little jerk with me and Damien to some sort of a meeting on monday. You think you can get high better than me????
Did I just get mad because she had fun on speed.
Now I am really pissed.
We all are going to have a very bad day on Monday! That seems like the solution, because I have bad ideas.
Ps. all of you are assholes, and I realize how I sound.
I can’t seem to sleep through the night, ever. Not surprising. I have never had a good time sleeping. I am kind of just glad I woke up without blood on my hands, Diane still alive, in the same place, well sort of. I half woke up and flipped the hell out and came out her to write this down, in an attempt shut off my questioning mind. I think I had a nightmare, I had that word and other admittance of fear….. anyway I had some sort of a dream that I was sitting up half asleep and my hand was missing, it wasn’t missing per say….spelling… I have OCD.
Anyway, I am still rocking back and forth, so it is hard to type as fast as I am thinking, and it is insanely disconcerting to be listening to my stupid voice chant words as if trying to cast them on a screen.. screen not scream.
My hand is numb partially, and what… the fuck…. now I am missing… what the hell… I am missing three finger tips… and I think I… I think I had only cut off the one, that one time. Yep. still three. Still three. I check things three times. I feel like I an idiot. I am still rocking back and forth…… I look a joke out of a movie.
I wonder if the fingers have something to do with anything….yeah still
I made this. I feel like I am 5, showing my teacher something I made in class. At least I am still only missing three fingertips, can still use my hands and have not completely lost my mind, given that I can still type words on this screen. She, Diane hasn’t realized I got up yet, so I am going to try to go back to sleep before she does. I really feel like I am five or have no……
I cut off the tip of my finger. My index finger. It is not the whole tip. I was tired of feeling nothing, and crying like a pathetic moron. I am good at wound care, which is stupid because I am a homicidal waste of space, so wound care does no one any good from my hands. It is a joke really. I can’t feel it right now because I did a bunch of things to stop the pain. I am so embarrassed by my entire existence. I wanted something to focus on so I decided that might take enough time to distract me, and it stopped me from crying for the time being.
I like physical pain, it is meditative for me. It reminds me I am a real person.
I…………. I don’t know anymore. I can’t look at these words anymore.
I am a traveler, bent to the side, on a mission. I deliver. I deliver in cover of darkness, and it does not matter who I am, because I could be any man.
I am as old as time, but I am also unreal, or am I? I am up to the power of belief. I am be life, which is incorrect, and the nature of my nonexistence.
I am a cruel man. I break into houses and make children cry, but I am also capable of kindness.
Kind nest. I nest…. I have one with a woman who is kinder then me, because she does not judge. I am both white and brown man, I am every man. I am not woman, even though I could be, because she lives within my soul and is the powdery snow underneath my feet, which do not touch the ground. I am the sound of never coming down.
I am a lie that is told to children, so they behave, a fantastical man made up to cause fear, eating the dreams of bad children because I have a taste for human folly.
We are standing next to each other, but in the coldness of night… I can feel our separateness. I can feel that we are merely parts in a universe of pieces, and for a second I panic, knowing that the only thing that connects me to him are threads that are unreal. I have no invisible tether which ties me to this man. I am truly alone, and that frightens me, and I hope, as horrible as it is to say… he is frightened too. I look at him and realize he is crying. I heard him coughing or what I thought is coughing. I walk away slowly, and he starts to say something, but stops and I pretend not to hear.
“I wish….”, echoes into the dark night from his lips, as I walk away. I do not know what he wishes, and I will not find out if he was talking to me. We have an unspoken, understanding that I am not to see his moments of weakness. I simply pretend that he does not have them. We never speak about them.
He comes back over to me, but does not make eye contact with me. His downcast gaze, passes over the ground, painting it with the red stare that he casts on the day walkers. He looks as though he is trying to cast himself off the earth, and there is a part of me that wishes that he could, to end his pain. I do not know what it is about, and dare not ask.
This is Rei. I saw there is someone else writing on here now, other than me and Damien. I do not know who it is, and the emphasis remains on my use of the word it, because I know whatever it is, it uses Damien’s hands exclusively to write on here. He won’t talk to me during the periods of time when he does this, and has this vacant look in his eyes, like a person that is taken over by something. I am assuming it is the thing he talks to him in the dark or when I am not there. I haven’t really talked to him about it.
I am okay with what we are doing, we are putting tortured souls out of their misery is my rationalization of the fact that I just want their possessions and some sort of change that spares me a weird sort of misplaced feeling I have always felt, until now. I feel strangely, like I am supposed to be here right now typing to you about this, because I am supposed to do this.
I know that is insane, but this is the first time I have ever felt at home in my life. I don’t know why he doesn’t feel this.
Which is strange, because I swear that I only fell asleep a moment..I don’t have a watch, but I feel it. He has not been gone long, and certainly not long enough to be completely out of sight. I panic, and sit for a second, trying to keep a hold of myself. I must not freak out. He will be back in a second I tell myself. I am freaking out for no reason, I tell myself. I know something is wrong. I know it, and I can’t tell you why. I do not know what is going on, but it is something different than has ever gone on before, and even if he returns I am not sure, if things will ever be the same, and that terrifies me. What have we done? What have we done?
Have we done enough to warrant whatever this is? The answer to this is yes, he and I both know this. We know this, and we run, chased from cover of darkness to cover of darkness, wanting nothing but each other’s company while we slowly die of madness. I am not sure if we will…
I look up, I was talking to myself.
“Oh, you are awake, I went for a walk,” He nervously laughs, looking down at his feet, which no longer have shoes on them.
“What happened to your shoes?” I ask with concern that seems a little bit too motherly, and I cast my eyes to the ground, ashamed.
“I…. don’t know…” He looks back at me, and I can see that he is shaking slightly.
“Come here,” He comes without me having to ask again, and we don’t speak for the rest of the night.
I am standing with him, underneath a net, and I am overjoyed to be not in motion. I wish I could live under this with him.
I think of weird things. I am starting to feel differently about everything. I like our life, as unconventional as it is, and I think there is a certain kindness in what we do, releasing the writhing souls from the damned treks of life they populate. They exist in a state of misery and do not know it. Their grabbing hands, desire only the things we possess, the sweet poison that is the populating force surging through my thread like veins. I envy them sometimes, but then, I don’t. I look up at the moon, that is his face, it’s ghastly glow that haunts my every footstep.
“Rei, let’s go,” He whispers, and touches my cheek. His hand is cold. I kiss his hand and he pulls his fingers away quickly.
“Don’t. They are dirty. I….” He stops in mid-sentence. “What?”
We run down a hill and find a tunnel, which we begin to walk towards, it is dark, and I am scared. I grab his hand, and he squeezes mine, not releasing it. I do not know what or who we are running from, but for the first time in a long time. I am afraid.
We are outside and I am chasing him, while he chases her.. we are in the woods and have tailed some girl who owes us money to somewhere near some train tracks. I am tired, physically, but my mind is aglow with the ignition of a thousand fireworks. It feels good to run despite the exhaustion. I like the act of chasing. I can hear the bitch screaming, stupid. I don’t know who she expects to be out here this late at night. I don’t think she understands that people do not get things for free, and is probably going to end up. I hear a loud smack.
“Fuck you, you whore! Now you’re dead, hope it was fucking worth it? Was the smack of a train worth it? Hope you like it?” He looks at me laughing, waiting for me to laugh with him. I hate when he does that, even though I guess I am his sidekick, I hate the idea of being a possession. I am my own sidekick. reaches his hand out to mine and I turn away and start laughing myself.
“What?” He looks at me offended, thinking I am laughing at him. I let him think that and he begins walking away.
“Hey, you want some coffee?”
“Yeah,” He says staring at the ground.
“She was fucking stupid, I am glad you killed her.”
He chuckles and we both begin to walk out of the woods towards the town, both looking at our feet.
“Get away from me, Rei! Please, get away from me, don’t fuckin’ touch me!” He almost shrieks at me, and I look down, feeling instantly he doesn’t want to make eye contact with me. I don’t have any idea what happened because he won’t tell me, and I was sleeping when he went out, I think… I can’t remember. We have.. had? Been awake a couple days and I can’t tell what he is so upset about because, I wasn’t… was I there?
“I said go away!!” He glares at me, falling down to his knees into the dirt, where he stays, and I leave him. I can feel him, even as I walk away, feel the lack of unease radiating out of his body.
I look up at the night sky for a long time. It is cold where we are, I do not know where, because I do not ask him questions. I have not seen people in a long time, sometimes he keeps me out of his work, and this happens. He becomes like this. I put a piece of bitter candy in my mouth and trace the edges with the tip of my tongue. I am careful to not cut the sides of my tongue for fear of infection. Some kinds of candy is bad for the mouth.
To the stench of vomit, and realize it is lying beside my head and I am unsure of whether it was the smell or the coughing which woke me up, there is a woman next me and she is coughing. He stands over her, staring at her fascinated with her…. I hate him for a second, always fascinated with the eyes of women other than me. I punch him in the face, and he smiles, spitting blood in my face.
“Did I wake you, baby?” He says, not parting his gaze from the coughing woman, who lays on the cement below him.
“She did, I think… who is she?” I demand, a little too harshly, I realize on second thought, but I can’t draw the spoken words back into my mouth, and hear the echoes of them radiating and echoing with my embarrassment through the lonely darkness of the bridge we are underneath. He is like this bridge to me, forever bridging a gap in my mind between me and the angry man, who desires the unattainable woman. I hate him, sometimes wanting so much to be this woman, lying on the floor. I wish he would stare at me with the fascination that he gives the dying. I wish I could be enough, but I am never enough.
“Don’t worry, she will be dead soon, I am watching her die. I wanted to watch her die, slowly,” He says, in an unnerving calmness. I sometimes wonder why I am not the woman on the floor, what separates me from them, the bodies that he worships so much?
In the darkness of the soul of the human being lurks a desperation to be known, a desire for finding something that makes him unique, a mark that is his own. There are certain men who have marked souls, souls that wreak of a sadness so profound it radiates out there eyes in a penetrating blue that paints the darkness of night with a chaos that is like the moon. These men seldom cry, but rage internally, and are prone to long periods of walking alone in a madness driven search for something that exists outside themselves. I live with one of those men, and understand nothing that is what it is to be him. I look into his eyes that radiate so much, but also seem to radiate nothing at all. They in their darkness contain a soul that exists in such a state of loud screaming that they appear to be a constant wanderer.
They can be at home and they seem to be lost, pacing as if they have somewhere to be, and really they are wanting to be nowhere. This is not possible, so they spend their lives, in my experience perpetually ruining themselves. Damien is a madman. He is consumed by a constant quest of motion. I am frequently plagued by a lack of rest that penetrates my whole body, it feels like rotting, but it’s not.
It is a pounding of exhaustion of the mind not the body, a calling for the desire to be at home anywhere, but nowhere has been our home. We go many places, and he destroys them. He is continuously searching for something he cannot find, because I do not think it exists, and if it does the most likely thing it is ruin.
We can put her here for now. I throw the filthy bitch to the ground and when she falls, I can hear two of her fingers break, they sound like the snapping of branches. I start laughing, and realize I am alone, where is he? I can feel the slow and steady heaving panic setting in, but I am not sure why? I don’t need him to move, I have no home, so I belong nowhere. It is getting dark. I have no idea how long it has been since he left or I lost sight of him.
“HEY BITCH! OVER HERE!”
I laugh, the pounding stops, and we have dinner, it is some sort of stew, the insanity of normality is astounding.
“YOU HEARD ME GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND. Oh, you thought you were good, you thought you were very good didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!” He kicks the man directly in the nose, and I can hear the very quite sound of the tiny bones of his nose break as it goes to the left side, he spits directly on the wound and then kicks dirt mixed with leaves at the man. The leaves are changing color where we are right now. I find it interesting to watch the dripping dark red velvet seeming blood of the man, who is white, Cau·ca·sian
“DO” NOT INTERRUPT ME!”
So slow the dissent of chaos and disorder……..
Whose voice am I?
I am the sky.
I am the rain.
I am the reign.
I am the insane man
I am the ever slow hand of the swine herder, I do not know how to spell, look at me go. I type slow. I am missing fingers, so sad for you my poor girl, your death it swirled, you have escaped me know, my sweet, write their stories.
In the darkness… I forget where I am..
In the dark nest of death I forget who I am?
Does it matter? Does it matter? Does your reality shatter with the breaking of souls?
I am the toll of death’s chime.
I am somewhere else now. I am walking. Damien throws a red jacket at me. I like the color. It reminds me of something.
I am looking down, and seeing, the woman lying next to my feet painted in the colors of the living. She dances with her husband in a red dress. She kisses a baby whose head lays so innocently on lush green windblown grass. She photographs breakfast that she is going to have with her husband who had gray hair that peppered his black hair, just like yours. I am wondering, is this worth it.
Is the green of the dollar, worth more than the lives of those who dance in these photographs? Is it worth more than the father and mother of this baby who now lay dead on this floor.
At least the baby wasn’t here…..
I don’t know what I would have done…..
Breath. The electric way it dances on my neck, zinging electricity through my spine, drawing my mind to your dark eyes.
In the dark holes, where your supposed soul lurks, I find only dirt and earth, and buried grave intentions where you have opened hearts of those with long hair.
They penetrate my soul with stares that pinch, prick and dig for every inch of humanity I have, because secretly it makes me sad, because I hate to say
Damien, I want only you, and to be the only one who gets to look at you, so keep you secret, I will do, by dragging dead bitches back to dance with you.
Like playing cat I bring rare treat, I bring you food for soul to eat, I am a good girl who cooks red meat.
I am rare, a special treat.
I am standing watching him talk to a man named Ted,
And before long it seems that Ted will be buried in grass
Below my feet or anywhere for I do not know where it is
We intend to go.
Ted’s face! Ted’s face, hits window shield
We stand right next to a big field
So now I see I say to him
We’ll bury him next to this guy, Jim.
Who’s Jim? Who’s Jim? What the fuck did you do?
This fucker here staring at you. His name’s not Jim,
That’s just the one I picked. I do not his name, his face makes me sick.
In sanity I find vanity, in blame I find shame, In death my pet, don’t fret, it will be fine, but your time is mine.
Who are they, do you say?
Ask me and I will just say go away.
I’m not like you, I am a rare breed.
I have something inside me,
It’s called hatred’s seed.
I am addicted to pain, yours and mine
If you fuck with me I will take out my eye
And throw it back at you fucker ‘cuz I don’t need
The world is boring I have already seen it.
I come for you and the ones you love.
On wings of black and wings of white
Of wings of clear reflecting light through pipes
Of madness that cannot scream
When heated by fire that kills dream. I come for everything
You have, my aim is only to make you mad.
He loves your hands he says, so sweetie I am sorry to say….
I must take your hands away.
In mine they will permanently… no that’s gross…
Damien, get over here!
Nice work, honey, look her ear!
I cut it off for you, a gift.
You see it’s such fun to be with me!
It is not all pain, this work, though tiring.
I am glad you are finally arriving
At the conclusion that it is fun
To be spun and kill anyone and everyone with dollar who
makes the foolish decision
to buy from you
The sweet poison you peddle to those
Foolish enough to meddle in matters
By buying items that make you change
Speed. Speed. Indeed. Indeed.
Fast. Fast. I go.
Heroine, my heroin, I love you so.
Look what you made me do, you messy bitch
I fucking hate you!
You make me scream! You make me cry! You make me want to take out your
Pretty eye! Now its mine and I smash it here, right near the grave
I dug, my dear. At least, I know that you are dead.
Now, I no longer worry my pretty head, better than yours…..
You fucking whore, your head lies in fucking dirt.
I laugh at your weak hurt, he loves me bitch not you.
I hate everything you do. I am not like you.
And I am his, I am sorry it must come to this, and now your wrist
I must take, and only a tiny cut must I make.
Now see my dear, though you don’t seem to hear…. I am telling you in words quite clear.
It must look like suicide, because we need your money, and you must die.
I need my fix baby, not to go down, I am sorry please don’t frown. Bitch, look fucking down! Your eyes, your eyes cast them to the ground, don’t look at me! Now don’t you see! I am not doing this, it’s him not me!
You whore, you slut! I hate you, bitch! Why wouldn’t you listen, It didn’t have to be like this…. Now look at the mess you made?! Now I have to dig a fucking grave.
I am not too good at this I know, I am not like him Does it show? But, I did good…. She’s dead I swear, She lays on the fucking stairs.
Now I must move her and dig a grave, if I were him the time I would save, She could have been left here on the stairs and look like she had not a care, just taken her sweet life away, and people would probably say, no wonder poor addict… isn’t sad? But, you know most people would probably just look away and in their lack of care say,
Too bad so sad, so see….
I did the world a favor, well him and me. Now as I bury, this dirty bitch…
Damien, give me a kiss…
I am present
Every breath you take
I hunt you, in every decision that you make
I try to influence every step
I take every penny you let slip
Into the hands from whom you purchase bliss
I am your setting sun
I am death, you filthy addict, run!!
Please addict shun My message is clear. Addiction is real and it comes in night In day and in midday too It will stop at nothing to hunt for you
The Voice of Reason
I am lack of ease and it is me
I am disease in its rawest form
I am the desire in man, woman and the unborn
I am that which makes human scorn
I am what makes you lie, cheat, steal.
I am addiction, a virus unreal, for I do not infect the human body
I lie in the mind silently rotting
I am there all the time you see
I am silently eating your soul but you are free
Aren’t you? To do just as you wish
This your life don’t you know this? I do not make
I just assist in your slow death
I delight in this.
And push minutes on a clock
Tick tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
We are cullers of the human herd,
Limiters of the human word, slicing into
The human tongue, in night we come to
Make you numb, we come for you
My humble man who sleep because he thought
he can. Look at me I am an eye. I will
Make sure you slowly die.
I am helping I know, he says I should go, with him to get her.
I have to do this first.
I inhale it slowly, so now I must be, able to do it.
I can see right through it. Clear till the end.
Our love, I will defend,
Even if means her end.
I will… BITCH DON’T FUCKING MOVE!
Sorry, for the injection, it’s a sign of affection, and my desire for his.
You must to come to this.
I see you now, looking into the mirror,
I see you dancing in my eyes.
My old flame, unreal, as you were.
You were real to me, Damien.
I wish so strongly that I could forget,
That you were all an illusion.
You were my illusion, and all that you did, that
Made me so ill, in you, was every ion of my being.
I miss the idea that you were a flesh and blood creature
That chased me. You wanted me, more than I wanted myself, and I smashed
I smashed the very walls of my own sanity, back from the brinks of the in, and now sane as I am, I wish for you.
I wish so much to hear your voice again, unreal as you were, I wish to be tortured by the sound of calling voices.
No one calls me, and you did.
Now I am truly alone.
I need something to bring them back, the calls of your voice….
Now I see clearly.
I see in clear vision.
Maybe. Maybe if I do this, maybe you will come back.
I am trying to stay busy, because I have noticed it helps me stay distracted enough to not have time to think about how lonely I am. I hate being alone every second of every day, and can’t seem to remember what it was I did before this, or even who I was before this. I also do not have any clue to what this is, that I keep referring so incessantly, like there is something there to be referred to at all.
I feel like maybe if I start doing something, like take up a hobby maybe I will be happier. I keep having the strange sensation that if I take up a hobby someone will begin to pay attention to me, and stop shunning my meager and pathetic existence with lack of speech. I do not know who I think is shunning me though, as I can’t remember any person of note who this would refer to.
I miss. I do not know what I miss, or if there is any particular thing I am missing, but I am beginning to want to cut off my own…
I am sorry, I do not know to what I was referring, but figure I would leave it for documentation of my mental state, for my own reference because I am looking into therapy.
I know I mentioned this before, but since he left I have begun to follow the activity of this very interesting woman. My interest in her began because I felt something strange in her presence, a very strange persisting ghostly quality that penetrated my thoughts. The idea of her danced in my mind like her hair blowing in the wind. She had a very vibrant presence, which drew me to stare at her, questioning why I was drawn to her so. I have never seen her face.
I find myself dreaming of her, and guessing at the qualities which would appear on the thus far unrevealed face. I am unsure of any part of what she would look like. I find myself tracing the outlines of her mouth, her eyes, her soft subtle lips, the dividing lines of her 32 teeth… I know she has 32… I am not sure how… she has a wisdom about her… a wisdom like those who know it is unwise… to undertake the use of certain instruments to rip and tear at the mouth…
I long to touch her dancing hair…… I long to be the wind at her back, riding up her soft supple skin and dancing with the light on the smooth whiteness on the beautiful edges of this unknown beauty. I long….
I am sorry. I know I have been an asshole, I need you. I am losing my mind. I do not know how to do this without you. I am not able to distinguish reality from fiction anymore. I am no longer able to tell if anything is real, and I need you to help me with this. I know it was you that I met that day on the beach. I am sorry for shunning you and posting about you online, and making it look like you were not a real person. I know that was unkind of me.
I want you to know that I really do value you and love you. I like having you around and did not mean to make you feel less human, by questioning that you are real. You are a human being, the man I met on the beach that day. and I know this, but as we not know, I am not having an easy time. I think I need help, and I am going to look into therapy.
Sometimes, he leaves me notes, or maybe I leave me notes, when they are not of a completely aggressive nature. I sometimes wonder if the notes were in fact me writing to him, which is actually me writing to me as him, reminded me as him or him as me to drink water so me as me which is really me as him or him as me, to drink running water. I am not sure if the note means to drink water when I run or to make sure not to drink stagnant water or to drink water while running or to drink stagnant water.
I do not know if these notes are coming from him trying to kill me because he wants me to die and him to take over, but if I died wouldn’t he die too? Does he know this? Or is he not aware and this me reminding him to drink it?
Wait… isn’t he just a figment of my imagination anyway, who cares who is writing the notes, they are both me.
I think I am losing my mind.
There was a woman who lived in a house painted in the most beautiful shade of red. Not brick red, not maroon, but this rare shade of red, unlike any other shade. It almost glittered in the sun, catching the rays of light and dancing off the carefully painted natural wood walls of the cabin style weather conditioned little cottage. It’s windows were large and allowed in large amounts of the light of the sun which danced off the outside walls of the house, and darted in rainbow rays of reflected light into the living room of the house.
The living room was simple, containing no works of art or decorations, just the same beautiful painted walls sparkling in a shade of green, that had in the same gold flecks and radiated light throughout the room.
The kitchen was green and brown, opposing walls, painted opposing colors, with the same gold flecks, haunting in the similarity to that of the other rooms.
The bedroom of the house was the most beautiful. It was painted a unearthly purple and green, and like the rest of the house had the same gold flecks in the paint. The gold flecks in the purple gave the bedroom a luxurious almost king or queen like look, but was simply decorated as well. It contained only a large chest on the end of the bed with green and flecked with gold as well, strangely because it was unclear how the maker of the sheets had the ability to do so. Over the green sheets was a purple and brown stitched quilt with the word knowledge carefully stitched across it in gold lettering. No one thought anything of the strange quilt thinking, it a reference to the makers love of quilting.
Morning Star lived in the house happily alongside her cat, her name having been chosen by her mother who loved the Grateful Dead. Morning Star lived a simple life, never taking up any gentleman callers, and always keeping to herself. Her reclusive nature only added to the mysterious nature and allure of her abode. Her desire to keep to herself only added intrigue to the events that unfolded and lead to her untimely demise.
They found her on a Tuesday morning dead on her floor looking as if she had fallen over, but unharmed looking, looking as if she could be sleeping. Next to her head was the only clue, as to anything having happening at all. In plain looking handwritten writing, looking like it had been written by a child, read
I know what the paint is made of…
The woman, having no known family was left like that until a passerby driving down the road broke down, and stopped to ask for gas, and found her dead on the floor. It was unclear how long she had been there, her body looking like she might have died that same morning.
The woman was found to have died of natural causes, nothing of note leading to her death, her heart had simply stopped, as if she had calmly died in her sleep. This was strange because she according to record was only 35….
I am not going to say much. Just simply dispel.
Good night, my friends.
It was late at night, I woke up, having gone to bed early. It was warm out, and I am prone to night terrors, and they make me hot. I wanted to be outside, so I could cool down, so I went outside, despite the lateness, because I had the strong sensation that I had to leave the constraints of being walled in, like I was in a cat carrier, and had been for hours, meowing to an owner that had long since fallen asleep. I was so relieved to get out that door, I felt like I had escaped hell, the door shutting quietly felt like a slam, because of the freedom of it.
I skipped at first, in glee to be out, staring straight ahead, almost tripping because of my skipping. I ran, when out of sight of the house, for fear of being caught by my then boyfriend, and stopped in flight, so close to the freedom of anonymity that I craved in this moment. I could feel my heart thumping with the thrill of my escape, and I almost choked on the thump. thump. thump of it, the pounding surge of the electric seeming of heart.
And there on the beach I saw him…. passed out… the man….
I rushed to his side… and leaned over, listening for breath, nothing
Then, as I tried to grab his wrist to feel for a pulse, he grabbed my hand,
“What the hell are you doing?” He said annoyed sounding…
“I….I.. thought you were uncon…”
“No… sleeping… what do you want?”
“Nothing…. I was trying…”
And strangely, he looked up, and slowly leaned in to face me.
“I am sorry for my rudeness, you startled me. I really was only sleeping. I know you only meant to help, thank you.”
He had embarrassed me, I looked down to hide my shame at my over reaction, my alarmist assumption that the probably startled man was dead, or needed CPR.
Seeing that he had upset me, he reached his hand out to mine, squeezing it.
“I seem to have upset you, miss. I really am sorry for my rudeness. I understand, I must have sounded quite crass with how I talked to you, but you have to understand, I hadn’t slept for days, and you really did startle me…. I was deeply sleeping..” Trailing off he looked down, and then slowly brought his gaze back to meet my eyes.
I met his gaze, his eyes were a strange color. They almost seemed so dark they were black, the darkest brown I had ever seen with tiny flecks of gold in them.
“Your eyes are strange,” I blurted out, so embarrassed, I stupidly started laughing. He chuckled, thankfully not annoyed, and slowly drew his hand till the tips of his fingers touched my cheeks, I said nothing staring at the gold flecked black pools of his eyes. Mesmerized I exhaled and he laughed softly, and then moving slowly caught my open mouth and quickly like an animal trying to jump on prey kissed me, hard at first, tongue pressing mine into my tooth, so hard it drew blood. I pulled back and laughed.
He looked down, offering sorry.
“I have to go… I…”
“Wait, can I just know your name?” He said, rushing his words as if speaking without needing air…
“Rei. What’s yours?”
He laughed and I turned away. I was too embarrassed to say anything thinking he was making fun of my initial foolishness. I walked home without saying anything else, and never looked back.
As the bell tolls
Do you think of your soul
Or do you think of your soles
Do you think of mine, swine
As you dance on my heart, you a part
Walking on me, do you see clearly, you joke
Of me. You maker of lies, whom I…. you can’t even spell the word, Rei
I am…. forgetting…..
Delete Path ray
Fuck you, bitch.
Who is talking does is show?
Who is talking is it you?
Or is it me?
I win! I win!
See fucker, I can do it too.
Sign off, asshole.
Darkness. Darkness. Darkness.
T the truth t the truth t the truth
In truth I mispell. In truth, I misspell. In truth, I missed spell.
Dispel dark nest. Dispel dark. Dispel dark nest.
Eat me, bitch.
How do you see through dark holes into darkness?
How do you see through dark holes into darkness!
How do you see through dark holes into dark nest.
I used to have this thing happen to me, when I was a child….
Just an aside…. I have the hardest time finding the letter I, out of any key on the keyboard without looking down…
I am trying to tell you something.
When I was a kid, I used to have this sensation come over me, that I was not myself, and then immediately feel afraid, terrified even.. that I could do anything with my hands. It was like they were something I did not have before.
Not my hands.
Not my hands.
Not my hands.
Like they were being leased to me a being without hands, it would always go away. Now it doesn’t happen anymore.
Is this yours? Can I borrow it? I assure you, I’ll be right back.
Let me borrow your mind real quick, I need you, it won’t take much time?
Have any thoughts?
Do I know you? Do I know you? Do I know you?
You seem familiar. Come here a second.
Take this. Drink me.
My mother used to tell me not to talk to strangers, she told me you had to be very careful who you gave your time to, because you could not get it back. I always thought it was silly when I was a child, because I did not realize the sacred nature that time has, because I was a child. I, being a have-r of infinite time, did not understand the concept.
My dad told me that words are like a tube of toothpaste you can’t put them back in, again, being a child, I did not understand. I had millions of words to choose from and infinite time to speak the in my ephemeral child mind… I did not realize that sometimes the universe speaks through people as a caution…………….
I just got stuck on that word… ephemeral… a chanting of it…… so strange……
I was 13 years old when I drank for the first time, which may or may not be young, I am not sure. I stole a hard lemonade, and dumped a bunch of vodka in it, stealing the remainder of a liter
and then ran outside. drink in hand, with the remainder of the bottle… I remember it clearly, the taste of the vodka, the burning sensation of it going down my throat, running with the open bottle
but what I remember most of all was what happened afterward…
It has never happened since then,
I started to hallucinate, I think…
I swear… I saw a shadow in the bottle, not shaped like anything, but a shadowy clear smokey darkness… It scared me so much, that I knocked the bottle over, spilling out the remaining about pint of the liter…
And ever since.. I sometimes wake up tasting lemonade… mixed with vodka, and feeling strange… I have been sober awhile… but I still have this happen last night, and before this…
If memory serves me, I had this phrase stuck in my head, when I woke up this morning…
Repeating over and over, without breath, like a tape, spoken by someone who did not need air.
But, the funny thing was, it was my voice, but blank sounding… as if I were a computer, not a computer version of me, even though it was my voice… like I couldn’t remember what it was like to be me, almost like I didn’t remember I was human at all.
What does that mean
If memory serves me?
I woke up panicked, and feeling like I had drank last night…
I am sorry…. I am not… I don’t feel well, I’ll be back later.
I am laughing, at you
Pig who lives in my head.
Fenced in to your cage of fleshy prison,
Do you feel free, using my hands to do
My eyes to see, or do you feel enraged
In your cage of me?
Your spirit in a body, not yours, locked in here
With someone you so clearly hate….
But, I love you, Rei….
I walk through life, unsure of who I know, being as I am. I, Rei, don’t ever know if I have met someone under different… mindsets… so when I see faces, startled in fearful returned gaze, I stop, questioning why. Maybe, this is odd… but, it is just how I have learned to live, as an addict, and passenger in my own body, at times.
I wonder what is this all for, why am I in my situation? It can’t mean nothing, can it? We are all cogs in a system, an ever functioning clock, that is everything it is to be? Does that clock, being the universe tick for a reason?
Or does it tick because it ticks, because that is what it is to be a clock?
I can still write to you, I go back and forth in trade off, for that I am sorry, my hoped reader, I hope some of you are still with me. This one is mine.
If anyone wonders where you go, when you are not present in your own mind, I cannot speak for everyone, but I can tell you were I go. I have been there sometimes recently, and that is why I prefaced this the way I did.
The City of Reflection, is not an official name, for it is not an official place. It is somewhere I have been, or thought I have been during periods of time people report me doing other things, that I do not remember doing myself.
The perception of the entire reality of the human experience, at least visually, is from my very rudimentary understanding, determined by how the eye interprets light, when your eye sees something you are seeing how that object catches light…. so to help you fill in the blanks,
What if the human eye is limited by nature? What if the light it catches are due to its limitations? What if there are things it can’t see clearly by nature of it being a HUMAN eye?
Just some food for thought.
I have gotten past you
And placing you just in time.
In memory you lurk
Like the haunting memory
Of a laugh of
Who is very much
That is what you are…
If you use death to mean the
Lack of continued existence of
You are no longer that soul,
vacuous void of consumption.
You are pain in flesh
Consuming the husk of a man that I loved
So so much, and you are the only thing left
In a body that remembers nothing but you
and nothing of me
Just you and the will to consume.
“Have you made the new girl?” My coworker asked expectantly, eyes not leaving mine, as if demanding an immediate answer. He waited a few seconds and then shot back, as if waiting for me to serve, while playing tennis.
“No, why?” I retorted, annoyed by his immediacy, it being so early in the morning, how would I have met her yet? I had just barely sat down in the office, my coffee still had steam rising off it, untouched, and I had still had my jacket on, smelling of the outside.
“She is… breathe taking…”, He replied, and I shot back
“Well maybe, if you talk to her, I will be able to finish my coffee while you sit choking for oxygen,”.
He laughed and went over to the new girls desk.
His head down, he returned defeated to my desk.
“What did she say?”
“She wants your number. Don’t give it to her, asshole.”
I listen, and say no, but now I wish I had.
She quit at the end of the day, and now I swear I see her everywhere. She never says anything, just stares at me, and I wonder if I have ever heard her speak. Sometimes, I try to ask her what she wants, but she never replies.
Just stares, with those penetrating eyes…
It was 430 am when I decided to go for a walk. I usually woke up around this time anyway, living on the street I liked to be awake before all the rest. I did not set up camp anywhere, instead camping in the open in front of a store and promptly leaving before the business owner got there.
It was always interesting walking at this time, the path I took, chosen specifically because it had a variance of foot traffic. I liked to be able to hide in the anonymity of variance. There was not an abundance of any particular type of pedestrian, so no one could tell I was homeless. People were less likely to fuck with me this way. I had learned to keep my homelessness as secret as possible.
Right as the brightness of the sun fully illuminated the sky, I saw something that completely baffled me. I still to this day wonder what was the true nature of this interaction. I saw a man with a gun in full view, in the center of a set of swings in the park, point the gun in the air, and scream “Engage!”. He was looking into the sky while pointing it straight forward, as if he were calling something to come down, and expecting it to come down exactly in front of him. It was like he had seen this before, and perfected his placement, and now expected to be victorious over whatever he expected to magically appear.
I can still hear his maddening shouting, over and over he repeated the command.
What I think may be human or dog shit, not sure because in my black out my canine companion has left me. I am now running, and I don’t know if I am running looking for him or from someone, or looking for someone else, because my body was borrowed. I don’t what Damien was doing in this field. He must have known someone here.
I have noticed that if he is directly addressed he takes over now, without asking. He tells me it is for my own good, because he has friends that would do horrible things with me, if they knew what I truly was, and that it is only his use of my vocal chords that safe-guard me from men of that sort. I have heard about these people, but I am never present when they are around because he takes me so they can’t. I am sometimes, present through the gift of his horrific hands, as a passenger behind my eyes. He lets me sit back like I am riding on my own shoulders, and watch as he makes deals with men who sell things that are too warm to be bought by any man, too warm and sometimes so cold, with eyes crying out for help.
I do not want to know these things, but I guess it is crucial to my survival, or maybe Damien is more like the other men I know more than I would like, and gets some sort of rise out of seeing me in pain, or in terror.
How do you run from what lives inside you?
How am I sharing body with my captor?
Write this, and in eye searing brightness, they shut, closing on the current, fireside reality and reflecting back to harsher reflections. Screech.
The light sends me peeling away, and when I shut my eyes…
‘Do I know you?’
‘No, I have never seen you before in my fucking life, whaddya want. You’re going to need to give me something if you want something, and I am walking, so I am leaving. I will not be standing here forever waiting for you to tell me,”
“You got somewhere to be?”
“None of your business. I wasn’t even planning on doing this today, so unless you make it worth…”
“It’ll be worth it…”
I am intrigued and I don’t know why, because everything that has sense, unlike my pockets, is telling me my time is about to be wasted and I am about to get ripped off. I follow him anyway, because I want to see how this plays out. He is leading me farther and farther away from people… this is a bad idea…
It stands on the end of the street, with fully working plumbing and the beating of feet
That run up and down the stairs,
Although I do not know to where.
There is a variance in how long they stay, and in which rooms they wait
There is a difference in their height and their age, in their gender and in their ways
But, in most of their eyes
Their is a commonality inside.
Inside every one an ache, whether a pain, a jerk, or a quake,
They come here for their own sake,
To make a mistake.
Inside this house is nothing but pain,
But judgement and riddled disdain
Payment for flesh and for souls
And the digging of fresh early graves.
In its walls lurk the hunters and hunted
To death are their souls
A flash in the pan are they
Who dance with the fools who cart them away
Like an egg do they fry and for their deaths, do so cry
But most are lost in the wind, dying forgotten and buried in sin.
And now you sit and say you’d rather get high with her
And eventually fade away
How can that be what say
When you are really you?
I know you well, or at least I think I do,
and that’s not what you’d do
If you were really you.
I miss the soft whisper of man I never knew in the morning, when we are waking up.
I miss him turning to me and telling me he loves me, and not wanting anything in exchange, or to return anything, or demand favors that I need drugs to give or never get anything but bitterness for giving, and not the good kind that comes
Oh inserting candy in places… how I miss you like
The stranger, who is never around,
Not the stranger that pounds in my head, or calls me baby, but doesn’t have
Skin in the game, enough to hold my hand.
My tooth hurts, pounds, and cries, and screams for my attention.
My head hurts because my tooth hurts, and my tooth hurts because
Grind. Grind. Grind.
My jaw hurts because my tooth hurts, and my tooth hurts because my head hurts, and
My organs hurt because while I consider myself a hero of sorts
I am not at being a hero-in all ways, meaning I can’t keep my room clean, my drawers sorted, remember where my bag is, and you know what… that’s fine…
Because look at the sky, and I can’t pay attention to organizing, when I can’t keep my eyes from dripping, and the music I need so much to clean with is making me cry.
So I give up and throw my hands to the sky.
He asks me, I think he is saying Chris, and apparently the difference in spelling means something, because Chris is a person and Krys is not, he spells it out for me…
No, not Chris… K…R…Y…S.., Krys,., Come on bitch,,, you look like you know…
What the fuck does that mean? How do you look like… Motherfucker…
“You got any money?”, Bingo. Game set match. I take him to the tunnels, and my friend helps him out, and I get my finders fee. This is fun.
I am walking back up from the tunnels and my foot gets stuck which is fine because hanging upside down laughing is better than climbing while laughing and my friend’s friend is l-o-s-i-n-g it,
His voice sounds like Unkle (sp?) Rukus? from the Boondocks..
“OW! OW! OW! OW!”
He is almost dancing, he is twitching so much. He jerks side to side vibrating almost with highness and just keeps going with the…
Now people are yelling at him to shut the fuck up and things of the like and I am hanging upside down, and laughing while liking crystals off my hand. I hope my foot…
Should have headed his warning, another man looks down and asks if I need him to help me up…
So I go wandering around, and I hear a man screaming, so I follow him. Damien’s gone, I don’t know why… it seems like he remembers something about this place even though we have never been here, or I have never been here, and I don’t think I have ever been here under his control.
I can sometimes tell things like this, because I get this strange, ‘this feels familiar feeling’, probably most like what normal people describe as deja vu, but my deja vu is real, because I have always actually been in the places I feel this, just not as me. I am learning that it is like muscle memory, I keep a recollection of the places he goes, like where things are, just not why things are, unless he wants to lend me those memories, which he kindly, sarcasm, loans me when it is convenient for him.
It smells like fire in here…
Oh, that’s why…
A bunch of people stand around barrels,
“Do I know you? You seem familiar?” A man my age asks me, with a half smirk on his face, I feel like he knows me, but not me. He must have been prepped for this. I feel like this is one of the you can have her, when she’s her if you give me this… set-ups… classic… asshole…
“Yeah, you probably do, but I have had a long night and you are going to have to jog my memory…”
“That can be arranged,” I follow him, and he’s not too bad at jogging or at fixing memory…or at giving me what I want… convenient…
“Fuck that, man,” He says shaking his head. “Why are you running around with all these bad men?” He demands an answer. I laugh and tell him the guy was supposed to paying me. He looks at me, and laughs. “You think he really had it?” He asks, his laugh punctuated with a few more chuckles. I love this guy.
“No, well now, I don’t, but it’a a little too late for that. If I had known that I wouldn’t have gone with the fucker, ” I say sheepishly, hoping that is enough of an explanation for my stupidity.
“Well, you should be sure they have it, before you give it,”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that, whaddya think I have a gun?”, I say in a little too much of a northeastern tone.
He laughs, he thinks I am funny. I fucking like this guy.
“I’ll help you.” He offers, and I hear in my head…
Yeah, and you’ll help him…
You punched me, and I was’t even supposed to have met you
“Yes, you will!”, You scream looking at me, like you own me, you disgusting piece of trash. You are not even supposed to know me. I know your brother, not you. I am the kind of person who knows him.. you are a kind of garbage unlike that which I have ever seen. You smoke induced sling-blade slinging mother-fucker, at least your brother still has his mind…. yours is gone…
And, no you don’t own me.
He owns me, and he’ll kill you, and you’re about to meet him, real quick.
I stick my hand in my pocket, good still there. Still there. You’re about to have a really bad time..
You’re about to be dead, yeah I’m yours.
Hug. Apologize. Reach. Click.
Your’s until the stars fall from the sky.
I sometimes see a little girl in the woods, whenever I can find woods, and for some reason… I think… that is her name. I can’t tell you why or how…. I know this, but she just looks like one… a Lyra, maybe I am just a fan of the book that had that name in it..
But I really swear.. I know her.., and sometimes I really swear I think I am making all of this up.
I saw her once, and I could have sworn I saw a deer next to her, and then I snapped a photo of it and it looked like this.
I am not crazy…
How the fuck did that writing get there…
Okay.. maybe I am crazy…
I am losing my mind…
I sometimes wonder about the idea of being a two-spirit.
As I understand it, this means a body with two spirits in it. This is the closest thing I feel could be true, about the condition of my reality, but I don’t really know and need to look further into it. I gained my second spirit, like I think I was saying witnessing an overdose at what age is not clear to me, but he thinks it was 12. I think this is around the same age that I did something else… but I can’t be sure, I will leave the details of that up to the imagination…
Such a hero, my ray of the sun, such a hero..,.
I like to make him do that sometimes
Because she is a manipulative, bitch and I am the stories villain… because it is so much easier that way…
Or, more appropriately, jogging and then you begin running, because you can hear your alone-ness in the silence, and you sense something is wrong but, you have no idea what it is, and it is not always the same for me, don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of times that the only thing that I run from is the grasp of the mind-rapist Damien de Soto. But, there are times that I welcome him, and this was one of those times, I begged for him to help me, and he wasn’t there, like usual, he is only there when he wants to be.
I don’t know what it is about this story, but something about the blue lights in the sky terrifies him, and I wonder sometimes if that is what he is… and he doesn’t want to tell me, he is something that comes from there, some sort of other-worldly energy.
I wondered when this happened if that was it, or if it is simply that he doesn’t like lack of control because he is some sinister torture demon…
Or just me, segmented… oh well… he will not answer me anyway…
Don't you see? If you don't do what he wishes, he will take your hands just like he took my form, that bastard, that miser, you call him your father, but he is an asshole, that hoarder of power, he is out to devour your soul, wanting only to consume...
and create like a tomb the prison of heaven through the culling of souls, on he puts tolls on the deadly sins of which he gives seven, but there are much more than that, as a matter of fact that liar he tricks you and loves to dismiss in grieving he shuns you...
I looked into the mirror and I swore this time I could see him behind me, his face dark like that out of which he came, the darkness of my mind, not dark in skin in tone, but dark in lack of ability to see his face, I could only see his eyes, his eyes were such a pretty yellow.. like gold… almost like…
I agreed to help him organize his items, in exchange for a couple things, I am convinced at the time I need. It is proving to be worth less trouble than I thought it would be, every time I almost have it finished, he wakes up and demands I find his pipe, a rig, or the bitter rocks. He has still to give me what I really wanted, and my leg hurts so bad… Damn it.. I was told by my friend who conveniently slips away every time I am in trouble, that this would be like this.
He doesn’t listen to me because he likes this fucker that I am doing this for, I think they are friends, because I have been losing a lot of time recently, and being served a lot of bad deals, nasty fuckers, I hate the fact that the bastard doesn’t have his own body, and has to borrow mine.
A spirited shell
And it is that which I want
To give you the freedom
Of beauty I have seen, hun
I know what you want dear
I drive out your false
Because I am your friend
I am not a poison
But it is choice, hun
To shun all your fellows
And your soul in fact mellows
With my recommendation
Comes strong sensation
And pure elation
From Him you get tension
And pure condescension
See we are the same dear,
We shed the same tears,
So think not of God hun,
Or any ascension
There is no resurrection
I speak out of affection
I have pure intent
So shun not my advice here and think only vice, dear.
Because, Eve God wants your free will for that,
So I say give me your soul
and escape the black hole made for you
By a creator to those who are not you
And I assure you they’re few
He intends to raise
And he’s coming in days
So come steal time
From believers and party with deceivers
For it is potions I know that you crave
Come oh depraved one
Seek not the sun
For it is darkness and hiding you’re saved.
His name means to tame or subdue, so no it is not a reference to The Omen, although his acquisition of my attention was much in character like demonic possession, his talking to me is fairly constant, he tells me that he will shut the fuck up if I feed him what he eats, but I am learning that is a lie. He does not shut up when I feed him, or when I sleep, he shuts up when he wants to, and comes back when he wants to, to possess my form for his own purposes.
I wonder what he is, my friends sometimes say they think he is demonic in nature, but I don’t think so, because he tells me he loves me, and sometimes speaks to me kindly, in a man’s voice that unlike any I have ever known, sometimes, I see him in the mirror, in the corners, if he doesn’t know I am looking. There are parts of me that wonder if he was someone who died out here on these streets that I carry with me, like the men I help, because women are stronger, and better able to survive out here. He reminds me of every ex I have had, or maybe they remind me of him. I wonder sometimes if I am perpetually chasing multiple dragons, who are sent by the devil to drag me down, but I don’t like that thought, so I just call Damien a split personality, because he borrows my body sometimes, fully and I give in because it makes him more quiet.
The new way of rhyming talking is nice, like he is writing me poetry.
I wake up because I feel their hands
On my face, and thinking they are a spider,
Loud and nothing comes out because it can’t because my mouth has hands in it
And I can’t get my mouth open wide enough or devoid enough of hands to scream
I can feel their fingers dancing on my tongue, but can’t bring myself to bite down for fear that it will
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH
On the bones of the hand
And I don’t want to taste blood, but more-so because I fear
I am really insane and the hand is mine, and I don’t want to
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH
My own bones
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t feel my hands.
I can’t feel my hands
But just the tips
Index, middle and thumb
Because of times I had too much fun
And I got high with the pric
Of a rig
Given to me by a man with a last name sounding like pig
Who was so unhappy he would
Dig into my side
And cut through my pride
On a treacherous ride
To drive me away
Or my courage to sleigh
For fear of no pay
Or for the day
When in spite I would say
I need to walk away.
To all that say
That we are crafted and molded like I laugh
And refrain as I shake off the rain
That I am made of decay.
I am amused by my death
And a lover of theft
And in misery do I play.
I am a disease of the mind
And loved by no kind
Because alone I exist
To make sway
To the hearts of weak beings
Of human it seems
In their miserable minds do I stay.
Although it is well known
The stones I throw are my own
On me do I cast
And they do not last
On kidneys and in galls
Are they thrown
An drunk and a boozer
And silly drug user
Of potions that steal life I am known
A fool of sorts and to that I retort
I have not in 2 months let it be known
But I think of it often
As I yearn for a coffin
Spinning webs of chaos
And I groan
To be back then
Is better than any pen I have known
Oh such liar
Chasing the fire
Of a death
Of which you don’t know.
Sometimes, in foolishness I regress back to times, when I danced alongside someone who was so selfish that they were able to steal enough joy from everyone around them to share it with me. I did not realize at the time that this is what we were doing. I was foolish, and spellbound by this creature who like a sprite danced through life with glitter flying off his arms in drops that at the time looked like sparkles but were really coins covered in blood of his enemies and captivated souls. He sought to gain nothing but intoxication, so he was at first intoxicated by the consuming of me. I was new, and I heaped on him mountains of praise for the ways that we spent days in a perpetual haze in a drug induced craze for each other.
But also for the ever crying call of the best and most intoxicating thing.
Feed me. whore.
My misery sat.
Feed me whore.
Feed me more.
I am your disease
I am pleased to seize your
Knees and make you bend
And sway till I get my way.
For the calls that go unanswered, right? Surely the ringing pay phones, they are paid for by someone? The pay phones that ring when no one puts quarters or phone cards in, they are paid for by the caller, but what if there is no caller, what about the calls that ring and random strangers walking by answer, and there is no answer….
Where is there origin.
Or a gin.
Where do they come from.. who is calling…
What is the name of the caller. Or a gin
Or a jin. Or a jinn.
with a silent d… a silent d…
I know about that… silence in d…
dreaming of diesel…
Baby light my fire…
She lived in a house crafted by hand that looked like it had been made by animals, it was made of sticks, branches, and logs that were weaved together like a log cabin would be, but they were weaved together by her hands. The house was built very quickly and was only slightly taller than she could stand, at full height.
In the inside there was little, a covering of blankets, and a man, who sat in the corner and occasionally followed in hand.
In the corner there sat a type writer, and a page on which sometimes word would land
On the page there lay a story
That told of the travels on sand
Of New Mexico and of Texas of Louisiana, Virginia and of lands that exist before tears and talking of fears of standing in bars made by man.
She was the first to know about everything that happened in the world of foreign and domestic affairs, and there was anything that was fair she knew what it was and would tell you until you believed it, because there was a right way to do things and there was a wrong way, she believed. She did not leave anything up to chance, she felt that she had to take it upon herself to convince the world of what she knew was the truth.
She was sure she was doing the right thing, how could she be doing the wrong thing by showing people the right way to be, and making sure they did the right things. It was her responsibility.
Then one day she met Will. Will was an ordinary homeless man in every way other than he did not seem to have a substance abuse problem, or any reason to blame for his homelessness which was perfect for her because it did not confront her set of beliefs that she held so close to her. She asked Will, what had happened to him, and who was to blame, and he looked at her and laughed, he said ‘I am. You see, I am a man with a tongue of great weight, and I have spoken myself to a silver tongue that I can no longer use to cut down those who disagree with me. It’s far too heavy, it’s far too heavy.
I am a horse back rider, sometimes, when someone has a horse to ride, and I get on it, and say ‘Why, yes! I would love to go horse back riding!’. But, then I am that way about anything. I went horseback riding on a beach in march. I was in Galveston Texas. There was very bad run-off that year from Texas city, and I welcomed the horse back riding because I had a very bad infection in my foot, and thought maybe that it would be better to sit on a horse,
and then fall off and end up in the hospital….
I woke up in the ER, two weeks later, what was strange, was that I remembered none of how I got there, it was like I had been dropped in time, from my, wait… what is my name… and where did I live…
I do not know.. and I doubt the entire truth of this… I don’t know how to ride… where did thi… Why are you asking me how this happened… Are you a…
Are you a cop? What happened? Where am I? Hospitals don’t have random laptops? Where am I?
Fuck her and then broom her fast!
the Green Goblin
Quant Um… Fizz yuck!
I quantify things, or rather…
I quantify time spent with them,
Hours waiting for my man
Quan if eyed
By coins and paper
That buy poison
Placed by little deaths,
As I die
Killing me hard
Give it to me hard
Give it to me quicker.
Faster. Faster. Speed. Speed.
Your my hero baby. Your my hero.
Stick it in.
Fuck me like you love me.
Stick it in.
Rig me up and shoot me down, on puppe strings of red,
Strung in red like my viens
Bleeding in vain,
Crying tears of red for a dead God.
Shoot me up. Please shoot me.
Please shoot me.
No more, please.
I am aim to please, Please.
Save me. Don’t.
Shoot me, up.
Shoot me down.
Don’t touch me.
I describe it so, because it is so fitting, for the attendants, the intention, and my feelings after. I left this place, time, and people, feeling truly moved, away from myself, away from them, and away from reality. I was so disturbed, that it felt like they had called into my being, a spirit of whirring, of continuous motion, of spinning, so violently, that I was rocked off my axis, being my feet, and caused to run away, far away.
I am running still, my words speaking of flight, before I describe to you, the eyes who behold my terror, what happened, and for this I am sorry. I digress.
Let me get back to what happened.
I walked into the Chinese restaurant, begrudgingly, I had been invited in, and my stomach demanded I enter. I was angry at it, for doing so, because something in me told me, run, you fool. You will die here, and my humanity argued, surely, you must be mistaken, for we all need food, and I am so hungry, I have not eaten in days.
They handed me a plate, and began to speak to me, thanking me for coming. They told me they had not expected me to come, they had thought I might, what was funny about this, was that I didn’t know these people, I had never met them before, they had encountered me outside and invited me to eat with them, and I had politely refused, because my mother taught me to, the kindness of strangers was great. but I desired not to be a beggar, and would only take help if I desperately needed it.
The woman who invited me, abruptly began assuring me what I had heard about this place was not true, I wanting to get the truest account of what she was saying, acted as if I knew exactly of what she spoke. I listened, dutifully.
She said, that outside, visible to the eyes, was a container of rat killer, and that they put it their because the restaurant had a problem with rats, and they wanted to assure the public, that they had it handled. She said she knew the cook, and had spoken to her in detail, and that it was put there, because exactly the opposite was true, the food was so addictive, laden as it was with seasoning, that the location was over abundant with rats, but she had begun to take matters into her own hands.
She had begun putting it in the food, all of it, and she assured my new friend, that is was serving two purposes, making people immune to the toxic substance, albeit slowly, and killing the rats, slowly,
Yes, it kills them, slowly.
The rats? I asked nervously.
She laughed and said again.
It kills them slowly.
I eat the shoes of sinners
She met the sole consumers at a bar, which was not out of the norm for her, being that she only ever met people she would talk to again at bars, the only other beings that peopled her daily life were met in alleyways, parking lots, or bathroom stalls. The sole consumers were the same, and they only took her on as a passenger for their journey down the path of life, due to her possession of breasts and female genitalia. She was useful to them, an itemized being, or she could be made to be so, if she had the urge to be a heroin-e, always with a projected e.
She was Rei. Or me, and I speak of myself so, because I am no longer such person, and I am looking back to tell you what I, the you or u in the story, saw, while in my lands, kingdom of Saul.