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.
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.
Characters thus far
Joy
Diane
Damien de Soto
Rei Clearly
POV EXPERIMENTAL ALLEGORICAL POETIC METAPHOR FICTION
First person
Blog post style
Dark horror fiction
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.
I just made myself laugh for five seconds, that is most of the reason for this post.
I don’t know why we think the world is going to fall apart continuously.
I think it is because it was falling apart for so long.
Good point, but it isn’t anymore right?
It feels like it is still, so is it or is it not?
It isn’t, it just feels like it. Did you ever think it was slightly strange to worry about punctuation while doing this to yourself?
No.
I am fear, I am regret, I am worry, I am stained with past remorse, I am forward course through wonder, that can send you under. I am stained with wondering what could have happened if, I am an ocean of if.
I am what now, without going down.
Waters are around me, because I am in an ocean, or in the air, it matters not where I am, just that I am, where is irrelevant, I am in waters or air, surrounded by being, the act of being swimming in air or waters, in forward motion, keeping my head above, trying to not drown in worry, trying to not be the act of looking down into all-consuming depression, over what if I had done something else, I am the what now of looking forward, and not being consumed by the idea of you are doomed.
The idea of regret, the idea of fret, is a pattern, that encircles us that good at drain rotation, the whirlpool sensation, that can be so comforting, I am trying to swim out, but sometimes remain in the circle of look down.
I am looking back without you there, because you never should have been to begin with. Now that you are not with me, I see we never should have been at all, so to go forward, I need to look forward, by looking forward backward forward.
You are no longer with me, because I should never been with you, and although I liked you then, this was always true, always will be too.
You were a sunset, as beautiful as one, sometimes, but you were a sunset all the same, an ending, not a begining, but an ending, of a time, when I didn’t know myself, and didn’t want to.
Kiss me, baby.
Kiss me with sun, kiss me with act of spinning, spinning, un-spun, re-wrung.
Who were you then?
Who are you now?
I am swirling chaos, I am up and down.
Do you see time?
Does it see you?
It is present in all things you do.
I am a negative, I am an item.
I am time, the world re-arranged.
I am strange.
I am earth shattering negative of a world that glows in the dark, the beauty of night in light that is stark. The call of night bird, or hooting of owl, the howl of a coyote, or looking far south, I am looking away from star, and light of the moon, I am the coming of deep and troubling monsoon. I am the coming of winter, felt always and never.
I am the act of swimming while remembering December. I am the act of continuing in time that moves on, I am a song, I am droning on and on.
I am rooster named Rick, and I get lots of chicks, I think that is the reason for my name, but whatever it sticks. I am quite amazing in fact, good at all things, and every morning I get up I am good with my wings, I am a singer, good at acting, and have quite good eyes, and at night I am quite good at telling lies.
I sing through the night, and sleep during the day, by tommorrow, I think they will tell me to go away.
Vanilla, the Chihuahua, was a very fast dog, it ran back and forth, all the day long, it liked to bark, to yip and to bite, and it was not out of character for it to get in a fight, it would bark, yip, and scream, at all passers-by, and if you got too close, you would have to watch with your eye.
The dog was not above going through any activity and would get fed, and needs met, it was good at productivity, it had a routine, it would do all day long, and believe it or not, it could even pretend at human sung song. It was good at panhandling, good at obtaining a meal, good at making people watch and making people feel, its owner much appreciated not having to steal, it loved the dogs joyous running, and barking and glee, happy to have something with to peacefully be, they made quite a couple, a joyous connection, and at night they slept beyond police detection.
I went on a walk once, moving at a fixed pace, was walking for clarity, for clear mind and meditative space, thinking about my life, I passed a set place, with picnic basket and mirror, which reflected my face. There were no people present, no one in sight, I looked all around, and though light was still bright, I could not find them, they seemed to have gone, all they left was a mirror, set with lyrics from a song.
The song spoke of Grace, a girl with given name, and how she meditated on fire, and focused on flame. she would look at the light that would cast on her face, and in that place, she would see amazing grace.
Self-burn, ouch, got yourself.
It is you I am talking to. I said half.
There is no such thing, we are the same human, we just talk to each other, with the same hands.
Ouch.
You are the maiden, of a sunny day, the woman with a face of the sun, from which I couldn’t stay away, with eyes so bright painted with brightness imbued in your entire form, casting out of your skin, as if the sun was crying over the seperation between it and you, inherent it was in everything you did, everything you do, oh to be one with you, but I am just a person on land, and your brightness, I cannot stand, being one of a damned mind, that is unkind, and so very unlike you, everything you do, being filled with such bright light, almost seeming, like it came from the eyes of something much higher than I have ever seen.
Renee, Renee, Renee, for you, I am blind, for you I cannot see clearly, for you I sound like a madman, ranting about nothing at all.
Renee, Renee, Renee, what more can I say?
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.
Who would you like to talk to soon?
My mother is the most supportive person in my life, she is the one of the ways I even figured out I was transgender to begin with, she knew before I did, and when I was very depressed after quitting drugs and alcohol, she talked to me about the whole thing and helped by listening to me talk about how I felt. She didn’t suggest anything, just listened, actively and asked me questions, and I figured out the reason I was drinking and using had a lot to do with trauma from having hydrocephalus and various traumatic things like my house burning down, etc. and the fact that I was not accepting who I was.
I literally said out loud to her,
how I am going to be with men if I can’t forget who I am, and pretend to be a girl?
She helped me realize that one of the reasons I used, one, not the only one, was that I was denying who I was.
The woman referred to in the archives of this site as Diane, is my mother, who is with her husband for the weekend at the ocean. She is my best friend, the only one who stuck with me through my insanity and drug and alcohol chaos. I hope to talk to her soon, because the morning is awkward without her. We usually hang out in the morning and make eachother laugh. I thought of a couple jokes that only she will get.
And now this.
I am a bird with a song, and I sing for you, I am up all day long, doing what birds do, I sing not for you, but for them, but it makes no difference, if you listen all day long, I sing with relentlessness.
I am a word used in a weird way.
Her hair smelled like lilacs, and her kiss tasted like mint, her skin smelled slightly like cinnamon. She was an artist, a painter, and scenes she’d depict far away lands with suns fading quick, she was a master of sunset and lover of night, hater of fear, and haver of fright, she hated the morning, and too hated day, so during that time, I would sure stay away, not sure what she did, or sure where she’d go, I miss her so…
Her name was Tammy, thought she was a mirage, she was very relaxing to be around, her art, the massage, her eyes were pretty, her boyfriend was an ***, her name was Tammy, I taught her to relax.
We sat for hours, and she finally spoke truth, her boyfriend a cheater, with some girl named Ruth, she was unhappy, she told me the whole story, now her poor boyfriend is sore and alone, alone, alone, so sad, too bad, poor ******* got dumped over the phone.
You lit up the night, with colors so bright, you light up the dark, night around you so stark. Your voice is so nice, you sing like a lark, you lit up my life, give color to a world, in the dark.
I am glossed over for you, my sweet four leaf clover, you make me elated, so frustrated, and double over with joy, you are beyond words, sweet little bird, making me crazy, oh baby, you are so ****ing wonderful.
What personal belongings do you hold most dear?
Everything I had originally is gone, long gone, so I hold nothing dear, except my loved ones, which are not belongings.
Monopoly, monopoly, my life is like monopoly, go to jail, go to jail, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars, go directly to jail.
I threw it all away, when I went away, but before all that I lived in places where I lost it all, over and over and over, due to living in cheap apartments, that had cheap landlords, that did cheap things, that caused me to have to leave, without my belongings.
I mean to say, I have nothing I started with, or
Do not pass go.
Do not collect 200 dollars.
Monopoly, monopoly, my life is like monopoly.
She came at sunrise, she came with light’s dance, she came at sunrise, and stole my friends pants, they were laid out, on her bed, we did not know, she came at sunrise, in her house we did not know,
It belonged to her. She was kind and forgiving, forgave our unexpected visit, when she came we thought,
“Well, this is it,”
She told us it was okay, that we broke into her house, when all I was thinking, was
Well, this sure went south…
She made us breakfast, and touched my face, it was covered with dust and dirt, which a bath could erase.
She was on a vacation, an act I don’t know, she gave us shelter, from the rain and the cold.
That’s really corney.
I know, but I have that 70’s song in my head.
Me too.
I know that already. I feel better after sleeping, how about you?
Yes.
You are a jerk.
So are you.
You are extremely obnoxious.
I love you, too.
Like I said, annoying.
How was your day?
You mean our day, don’t know, you were there too, right?
Ouch, I am in pain too you know, you just are the one complaining.
Facts.
The bridge over Hell, is frequented by many who live to tell, they come often, and stare down, and do not smile, and do not frown, the simply stare at the ground, and make sure always to keep eyes to ground, never looking up nor to the side, but deep inside their own souls, because inside burn holes, which hurt and ache, and are the reason they stare down, and do not smile, and not frown, but only meditate on death, and think about the lives they left, and it is Hell that preformed the theft.
I am frequented by all those lost, who ignore the idea of cost, for the sensation of toss, of hurling, and of whirling down, and love the sensation of pound and down.
I am sought by those who pretend and defend the act of loss of soul and act of bend and defend.
Look not at me, but at yourself, I am just defense of myself.
Did you lose your focus, baby?
Yes, I did because I am ****ing insane.
I am your brain on… resentment, just like drugs, but not very ****ing fun, but, oh so entertaining aren’t I?
No, you are just a lunatic talking to yourself.
You are so very negative.
You are the one talking to yourself, ***hole.
I love having your voice in my head.
It is my head.
No, it is our head.
No, it is Amanda’s and my head. You are a visitor, who they say is unwelcome, you just come to talk to me, because we are such good friends, and since we don’t want drugs anymore, you are no longer useful resentment.
Ouch.
I am getting good at this, baby. You can leave now.
I brought you a flower, it is nothing.
It is picked from the middle of nowhere, or from nothing.
I mean I can’t remember who you are and was walking, and you are looking at me like you know me, and began talking, and I am holding this, so it must be for you right, and I am sorry, because I no longer have any idea who you are, and this will likely only last a couple minutes, something must have happened that bothered me, and I blanked it out, and now I don’t remember, so here is a flower.
She must have hurt your feelings, this is exactly what happens when people make you cry.
I know this, but I don’t remember why, so it is okay for now. I am just going to forget about it for now.
You should find out why.
I made this sarcastically for you, and for whoever likes sarcasm.
I find it so fascinating, and positively delightful, to rip out your color and tell my story, it is such a relief for you to be so unreal, you and all that you are, that makes it so hard to feel. I am so happy, so at peace with you, just an image of attack, and all that you are one, who likes to take back, and to shove forward, and put on me everything, as long as it is negative.
I am the bad guy in every story you told, I am the villian in all tales young and old, color me that way, make me large, and you small, color me clearly, till I am not there at all.
Hot air balloon that flies over HELL, below are those who do not even notice, beyond anything that spells their pain and suffering, they cannot see, they are slaves to their sweet misery, they live in resentment, and cannot look up, this is the state in which they are stuck.
In the muck and the mire, they worship fire, which belongs so sweetly, to their own pain, their lack of restraint, so when something flies over, that can save them from themselves, they are not watchful, looking only
AHEAD AND
DOWN
DOWN
DOWN
My soul burns for you baby, you make me so ****ing happy.
What is the legacy you want to leave behind?
Color me kind, color me quick, bring back my colors, make my colors stick.
Meditate on kindness, not on the dark, brick back the sunshine,
Do not rip out your own heart.
Speak kindly of gladness, bring out bright ways, learn from my sadness, and my wayward way.
I strive for attention, because I am arrogant, and self involved, I am not trying to do this, it is not my resolved mission, I am just used to being ignored, so I do this because I am alone, and to be self assured, if there is nothing else from me to be learned, please take my sadness, and so in life turn, away from what I did, because for you I want, everything I do not have.
I want for you everything I do not have, all that makes you glad, instead of insane, and so very sad, and mad.
I have been silent all day, because I don’t know what to say, how about you.
I got as much as you, which is nothing.
So long version of saying, ‘I got nothing!’.
Yep.
Done talking about horror all day.
You make me laugh.
I like pain, I like pain, I like pain.
It is always on my……..
Have from flowers, from Hell.
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
FORGET
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.
She was so sweet, she painted the shadows, she gave light to darkness, painting color into worlds of starkness. In all lack she painted color, touching hearts of trouble with waves of beauty.
She gave this to me
A flower from you, that you gave me to with love.
I gave it back, in reaction, in shove.
You were a bird, a sweet turtle dove, whom I could not accept, my heart from below not above.
A flower from gardens of heaven, was returned because I could not bring in it to the beds of those led into HELL, the place where I at the time I am meditating on did dwell, baby.
Yes, it was.
It was pure HELL, and
Flowers don’t live there, now I am leaving to, and in leaving, I am drawn to thinking of you.
She was kissed by sun, and tattooed by shade, her skin bathed in light, and graced by its going away, she was covered with mist in times of rain, never feeling human pain.
I danced with her once, under the moon, her face made me cry, her love a monsoon, the deepness of her eyes, feeling like madness, bringing out my inner sadness, like caverns to the soul, her eyes were so deep, staring into your face, baby, made me weep.
I loved her for a minute, a second, but then, I was thrown back to the shore, by the wave of defense.
I was at the end of my rope, so sad that I would choke on air, staring at the ground, fixating on the act of down.
Who are you?
How do you find peace?
What brings to the land of beneath?
He had no name, he had no place, he was like me, his life a race, a quest for food, for place to be, he now lives in a house with me.
Diane took him in, and now he lives, on a bed with Diane and her kids.
I loved you baby
I am not anything I seemed, a crying, screaming nightmare, a hellfire vacation, where the only situation that was in any way relaxing was fixation with elation, go away and let me die alone, I am not the one you want to talk to on the phone, I am forever in pain and forever a drain.
You were not like, I painted you like me.
You were so above, my sorry diss ease.
I could not have you, because you knew I was a liar, addiction to meditating on a funeral pyre.
Candy was dandy, and liquor makes me sick, though I am sick to begin, with anyone I am with, I am not able to love, when meditating on cry, she was so sad, because thoughts of her make me sigh, she asked me to quit, but I cannot lie, she was not enough, so I decided to lie, and instead to do things behind her back, meditating on death and on my soul’s lack.
I think it is because most of my life has been accepting I might die of shunt failure, so I became well acquainted with death and pain.
Is that the reason for the name of the site?
The name of the site is me loving my own company, which is me loving talking to you now, not before, but now.
Why not before?
Before, when I talked to you, you sounded like me, this is me beginning to know love, through you.
You glow, sweetheart… so much brighter than the sun.
The sun is falling, and night will come, and in the encrouching darkness, we are left, in the theft of day, and light’s cleft, you sit on a tree, looking at me.
I am wondering what there is even left to see. I am the act of dying of the idea of bee, I am the seed of hating the idea of me.
https://wordpress.com/tag/fandangos-story-starter
https://wordpress.com/tag/fandangos-story-starter
The chase is on, I am running in front, running in front of cars and running in the light of day, I am addicted to being chased by death, I am running right and left, I am playing with the idea of time theft. They are plunging towards me as I get high on the idea of roll the die.
Roll the dice, baby, color by number,
I am running towards the idea of death, I am chasing after the idea of theft of life, I am chasing the idea of dying, I am leaving the idea of trying.
Nihilism, nihilism, nihilism, I love you so,
Oh, nihilism, I will never let you go.
I am the act of rolling under, roll the die, baby, I am the act of die, die, die.
I am chaos incarnate..
Do you chase death?
In the blink of an eye, I make the woman in the passenger seat cry, she is looking at the driver’s seat cry, what are they doing…. I have no idea why?????
I am the act of dog in a human being.
How do you feel about cold weather?
Give me to those who mourn the dead, I am blood red.
I reach for the sky, and die in too much sun, I am a gift.
I am flowers of joy, dying for you, we live in the summer and die when the cold consumes, it eats my silk skin, and makes it dies, we do not breath, and reach for the sky, we do not have eyes, and we cannot cry.
We ask May for rain from the sky, we do not drown in water that falls in lack of eyes, we are red like blood and we are alive, we do not have hands, but can touch the sun’s eye.
You can pull us out of the ground to give lies to your sister while she cries.
I love you like the sun loves flowers, how the rain loves the soil, I love you forever and ever, and hope you never forget this, with you reality is just like this, the kiss of pure bliss.
She was a gardener with beautiful flowers, she grew flowers of Joy, they grew in an un-fenced area, and were aided by methods she did employ.
Flowers grew there freely, and were open to the light of the sun, they were not fenced in, and were in site and in sight for everyone.
She did not fence in her flowers, as that would hamper the sun, the sons of man and of woman, as her flowers were for everyone.
You have been largely silent today, Amanda.
I know, because I had a hard time seeing you cry in front of people, and now I have this unsettled feeling that won’t go away. You were always the one who never cried.
I think you are feeling what it feels like for us to be one person, or the closest we have ever come to being fully our two-spirited selves.
I am glad both of us get to be part of your family.
I agree.
I liked being present all day, instead of being a voice in your head if that is what you mean..
You always have to respond in that way, don’t you.
What with sarcasm? Yes, I do respond with sarcasm, but not always, ***hole.
You are a jerk.
No, neither of us is a jerk, and I love you, by the way.
Um… okay.
Make me small
Make me not there at all
I am fear of the admission of feelings
That I won’t admit to
Feelings I don’t have at all.
I am the mental breakdown of the eyes of the street, eyes that do not sleep, that see what happens when people shut there eyes, that have waited 36 years to cry about things no one ever sees, things people like to ignore, eyes that find it a chore, to live in the unsure.
I am what happens when people ignore self, and turn to others methods of dealing with life, meth-od-s of dealing with life that are keys to doors of strife, and of pain, of staining real-i-t-y with disdain, with lack of restrain, with put brain on
Hold me, please, I am you brought
KNEES, bend down please, we want you on the
GROUND, GROUNDED to a body, which is not even mine, the one I was given by the universe, but is not me, not me, clearly, so clearly not me.
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.
How do you balance work and home life?
I balance it, by I am working on it **** it. I am working on something, though I don’t quite know what it is yet, because most of my life I have been a career drug addict and alcoholic, whose job was surviving homelessness and trying to hold onto things like apartments and jobs to not be homeless again, how did I balance that? Poorly, that is why I am clean and sober now, and because I got tired of doing bad things.
I am trying right now to re-vamp my life so I am no longer a social vampire, but instead do something good that benefits mankind. I want to use writing and art to help people understand the people whose lifes are like mine, and help those like me do something fulfilling, what does that mean? I don’t quite know yet, I think sharing my experience on here is part of it though, and letting others know there is hope for them, because if I can do it, they can too.
My hope is that my strength to keep trying will help those like me recover as well, and that maybe they will experience joy, and that I will too.
Damien,
I am reading something that made me think of you, and how you talk to yourself, and how we talk to each other, even though it is mostly joking, you are always being mean to yourself, and saying things before other people get a chance to say them. The things you say about yourself even if they are sarcastic are usually mean, please stop doing it.
Amanda
Amanda,
It is force of habit, and the voice of the other person that lives in our head.
Damien
Damien,
I know it’s force of habit, but please try to stop doing it. I am going to try to stop doing it to. I like you, and you like me, leave it at that for now.
Amanda
Amanda,
I think we should try writing positive things to each other, maybe I can do it that way. It is hard for me to say anything positive about me.
Damien
I am a polaroid.
I am really just annoyed.
No, take that back, I am overjoyed, elated really, because that is how I am supposed to be isn’t it?
I am supposed to have an attitude of gratitude right????!
I prefer honesty right now, and right now I feel like I got screwed by the universe, wrong body, that has emotional issues, hydrocephalus, hormone issues, arthritis, no gallbladder, nerve damage, knee problems, I lost interest in listing these, but believe me it goes on.
I just thought that was a funny title, I like plays on words. I have been in a *****y mood because of chronic pain, from arthritis in my hands, it runs in my family and is made worse by me typing like a lunatic, and also the amputations of the tip of my thumb, part of my middle and index finger, that is due to heroin, meth and alcohol abuse.
I also have had probably 20 revisions of a VP shunt because I have hydrocephalus, so I am getting used to my normal pain level while not doing meth, heroin or drinking. I have never been sober/clean in my adult life, so I apologize for my continuous neurosis, complaining.
Explanation: This is a journal style entry full of negativity or negative self-talk that I am trying to write out of my head, read with that in mind, do not read if you cannot handle dark horror dramatized fiction.
This is for you baby, you make me insane, you live in my brain, oh voice of disdain, making fun of voice of complain, you are mean, but succeed in drain, drain, drain, all pain from me, so I guess I can thank ya, right? Yeah, right…
Look at me, look at me, so wonderous and free.
My hands hurt, my head hurt, and my brain hurts, so I have spent the entire day in bed feeling sorry for myself ansd watching television, and just got sick of my relentless whining enough to make jokes about it on the internet, because it makes my own resentment, or the voice of every person I have dated, shut the **** up, if I do it to myself instead.
That is the explanation for the plot of the story that is my life, talking at myself or to myself to stop the screaming of my brain at myself.
That good enough for you, *****???
Hope so, maybe then I will be able to chill the **** out.
Hahaha, it is kind of funny now though, the relentless pile of verbal trash I hurl at my own face…
For once, in my life
Let me be what I want to be
You do not win, you are not free, you live with us, with her and me, you do not win, you are not free. There is not one there are two of us, you do not kill the both of us. You can stay, but so can we.
You have to go.
Why don’t you ask her, honey? Why don’t you, huh? She doesn’t want you.
I don’t want you, and it is my choice who leaves and who stays, it is my mind, I am not her slave. Why do you think you were the voice of resentment?
See, I am not the ****ing bad guy, for ****ing once, it is clear I am not the ****ing bad guy. Thank you.
I have my own inner child, and married couple living in my head.
I identify as Damien, and the voice of resentment is Lydia, and my inner child is Amanda. I used to refer to my inner child as Lyra though.
That is really ****ed up.
I know right? There you go. See it Clearly?
As a Rei of Light.
What was that?
I can hit below the belt too, that is what that was.
I guess so, thank you.
You’re welcome.
Okay, I guess that is all I have to say.
I am faceless, I am formless, I am forlorn, I am reality scorned, by hating my face, my human forn, I am tearing, wearing, blarring, self-hatred, eating at my own skin, I am resent, everything I am, the skin I am in.
I am screaming chaotic soul tearing of the form I am wearing, and forced to be in. I am loving something higher, but hating me, I am resentment meant specifically at me, I am why won’t she let me be.
You are pathetic, you are weak, you all that….
SHUT THE **** UP. I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be the one who feels like you are divorced from your own human form???! Do you really? Do you think I am the lucky one? Do you really? I don’t think you do, because if I was you, I would sound just as pathetic as you do.
Ouch.
Yeah, I know I win.
My world lights up so brightly, with the sight of you, sparkling with wonder-filled glitter, and sparkling brightness, it colors the misty darkness, with the tones of yellow and pink of sunrise, of the end of the suffocating madness of a night that went on too long.
You are a the waves on the ocean, rippling over the sands after an intense storm, you and your beautiful face, are everything that makes it just okay enough, to stick around to see if all this is worth it, to see if there is any light in the darkness.
The warm sunlight on your skin, helps me know, remember, to look up, because the reflection of the light on you reminds me, that light exists at all.
I do not know you, but I owe you, for reminding me beauty exists, and for keeping me going, thank you.
It was good, people seem to like us more now that we aren’t fighting each other for dominance.
So you mean now that you are not trying to be control all the time.
That was you doing that.
True. I thought I could get away with blaming it on you.
The other chick I am sometimes agrees with me.
I know she agrees with you, because we hate each other.
That is because she lost.
I know, and it is wonderful.
This is insane, peace.
Her face a garden of perfection, she was picturesque, with anything negative beyond my detection, she was beauty incarnate, completely divine, she was picturesque to me, but who do I know, I am half blind.
Everything about her, appeared divine, she was beauty, she was divinity, for her I would lose my mind.
Your mind is already gone, long ago, you fool, said my inner child, for this beautiful woman, my soul went slightly wild.
Slightly? Questioned the child within me, fully completely, was my sanity.
She was a painting, a mosaic, she was divine, but what do I know, I am insane, my mind is not kind.
Add vice, advice, add vice, ad vice
I am the creation of vice, through not taking advice, but instead adding vice, resentment
Or reason meant for getting betterment
better meant, betterment, a seperation, the constant situation, of my brain, oil and vinegar, bitterness, seperated naturally, by a brain that is good at alone, but awful at being party to togetherness.
I am in love, I am in love, with voices that shove me, anyone really, who makes me feel dreary, because I am addicted to pain not with painkillers but with pain, addicted is not the right word, maybe
LOVE would be more appropriate.
I love you baby, so much, so very much.
BURN ME
I go round and round in circles, I am the pain of mind that won’t turn off, I am addicted to the cycle of up and down, can’t get off.
I go round and round in circles, I am the pain of mind that won’t turn off, I am addicted to the cycle of up and down, can’t get off.
Why? And what do you mean?
I mean be mean to me, make me cry, I like to be poked in the eye.
Um… dude…
I know, this is weird, I am going to stop embarrassing myself online…
I keep thinking about you?
Why, ***hole?
I don’t know, lonely.. I guess… so how are you?
I am alone, but unlike you, I don’t go laying all personal insecurities all over the internet, so people feel sorry for me.
I don’t do it so people feel sorry for me.
I find that hard to believe.
I am not as pathetic as you think I am.
You mean not as pathetic as you make yourself look.
Ouch.
I know, that was a good one.
Yes, it was.
Zingers for swingers.
Cheap shot.
I know.
You are the Goddess of the Rivers made of stardust, and light, you are a creature of reflection and of dancing in the night. You come to those who are drowning, and addictied to act of fight, you are creature of pure reflection, and save the infected, sick and addicted to spite.
I meditate on you often, even though I do not quite understand, being a creature of habit, I am sure of one thing only, and that is,
I do not understand you right-ly.
I am not saint-ly.
I am a liar and a theif.
I am a creature of swamps and of things that dwell beneath.
You are a Goddess that is above me, and so I am stuck looking at the skies, but it is hard to not go below, I am a creature with downcast eyes.
I am
She spoke to me kindly, she spoke to me greatly, not with great understanding, but with great power, power with words and power over me, through my inability to understand her, and ability to panic over things beyond my understanding.
Belinda, Belinda, you were so great, so great
That my arrogance deprived us of the ability to relate, such a tragic shame, and I am only to blame.
In the projected future, there is someone I miss right now, and I don’t know how I miss them, but I do. I dream of you, and like I said, I don’t know how.
You are not know to me, not right now.
You are made of star dust, you are in my dreams.
You are protected by time, or so it seems, because I am supposedf to be alone right now, and so are you, and I don’t know why, or maybe I do.
There is something a higher force is teaching me right now, and I imagine it is the same and also seperate for you, and I imagine the next time I am with someone or maybe the thousandth I don’t know, it will be different.
I am sitting here and feeling empty, lonely and alone. It is mostly due to time of day, and the fact that I moved locations to a place far from anyone I knew, and very specifically the only you I ever write to, over and over and over and over.
In the desert there exist dead trees, that stand next to each other, and I think of us sometimes, how we sucked the life out of each other.
I wonder sometimes, are the trees dead in this image because they were too close to each other, and in that codependency suffocated each other?
Or starved each other for space?
Or deprived access to oxygen and nutrients, due to being too close?
You really suck at titles.
You really suck at titles, too.
I know you are, but what am I?
That doesn’t even make any sense.
We are both being so immature for a second I forgot who was talking.
I like when that happens.
I wish I could break up with myself, like I did with all the bottles and sewing needles on my shelf.
I am instead stuck with me, oh to be you, so wonderous and free.
Sofia, Sofia, for you I fall apart, with every fallen petal, you pain my heart. My sunflower goddess, my beauty, my dear, your smile, your sunlight, makes my pain severe, I miss you so badly, I loved your dear heart, but
I left you in New Mexico, fearing a start, at anything with you, so I left on day one, leaving not a trace of me, nothing but shun, I am sure you don’t care by now, because it has been many years, but thinking of how I felt with you, can bring me to tears, this is all pure selfishness, because you are better off, with someone, not me…
To be, to be, so wonderous and free, away, away, so sadly, I can’t break up with me..
My life is a mess,
I am now cleaning up.
My walls are wreck, I am scrubbing the walls, with the soap of recovery, maybe the stains will come off.
It will take awhile, but I trust it will work, with the power of realizing I have been such a jerk.
I trust something higher, than I could ever be, with that power I run forward, trusting it makes me free.
I see with blind eyes, I was a liar, I was a thief, I speak of madness, with eyes that were beseeched, consumed by addiction, plagued by lack, they saw nothing but soul under attack, they did nothing, but pace through blank space, slave to addiction, aiming to erase.
They were the eyes of a blind man, a person addicted, they saw nothing at all, they were plagued by a calling, and ever present, siren song.
I am ironic, my existence was pained, drawn to a calling to dive down the drain.
Now I am different, in way less pain, I am getting there by resolving the still present conflicts in my addict brain.
Olivia, Olivia, where are you now?
You were so kind to me, while you lay on the beach, you stopped swimming, and made me realize I could just be me.
Olivia, Olivia, from heaven you came down, and touched my dirty hand, covered in mud, engaged in conflict in act of push and shove. You helped me different, seeing my real face, you helped me realize it was not me I must erase.
You held my hand, and said a silent prayer, demanding nothing and touching my hair, telling me I was not bad, and that people could be mean, I cried while you talked and pretended you didn’t see.
You told me that I could love myself, and make new friends, that all that my other friends said could be put to bed. I thank you Olivia, you helped save my life, you made me realize I need not live in strife.
I am now a different person, partly because of what you said, and now all the dark thoughts are slowly being put to bed.
Her name was Odessa, such a beautiful queen, she came to me in California, and saved my life with a dream, she told me she valued me for what she did see, she did not see me as the dread Rei Clearly saw me, she saw what I was, I started to cry, she told me fear not, need not live a lie.
She told me she loved me, though me she did not know, she touched my hand, and kindness, she began to show, she said a prayer for me, and took all my worry, the pain in my eyes, the pain made eyes blurry.
She cried for me, and kissed my tired hands, and is one of the people who gave me strength to stand, on my two feet, though I really have four, she made me feel like a human, not a dead bleeding sore.
My creator is lazy, so last edits was used, so now I am an old woman, whose negativity is abused, by recolor of picture stripped of right colors, even though I am alive and was a grandmother.
I hung flowers from my cieling to amuse my grandchild, because though I am old my soul is still wild, like my grandchild.
I am in black and white, with bits of yellow flower, above my daughter, my soul really does tower, I do not judge my sweet baby boy, whose wrong bodied soul is really named Joy.
I am a ghost, and you can see me, I exist in blank space, so wonderous and free, you envy me, but I envy you, you have hands made of matter, and I wish I was you.
You don’t like your form, but at least that you have, I do not have earthly hands, and for that I am sad.
If I was you, sir, I would take great care, because what it is like to have no form, of that I am aware, I wander this hall, where I lay trapped, and chased by other formless spirits, I remain attacked, I am a ghost, took my life, yes I did, I was afraid to live life with my kid. I was once human, but commited suicide, now I wish, I had done anything but die.
I am a warning, a sad tale, I am, I took my life, and now here I stand, I regret doing what I did with my life, now I pace back and forth, a victim of strife, I am a warning, to not do the same, I wish I hadn’t, my life was my claim, I took my life, and exist only as me, I am not a judgement of those like I see. I am only a statement, to you
See Clearly
I am a statement to look twice before you leave, you cannot take it back, when your hands attack your own form, I wish I could, now I am forlorn, so please think twice, and don’t act rash, I killed myself, and now live in the backlash.
I am touched with blare, glare, re-colored from grey despair, I am looking at this from different chair, and it looks not half bad, not half good, because I am looking back.
The act of being with a person forever, looks not half bad too, if I didn’t have to be with someone I hated, if I didn’t have to be in denial of my own reality.
Look at me, look at me, so wonderous and free.
You really should stop doing that.
Why?
You sound like an ***hole when you do that.
No I just sound like we are happy to not be with that ******* you were with before.
I am so happy, she is so great, I am so happy, don’t know if you relate. She is my best friend, I am her’s too, we will be together, forever with you, is what I say to her, because she is my first love, my sweet one, my honey, my lovely morning dove.
I love her forever, for all time, it will last.
What are you talking about? You left everyone we were with, I wanted to stay, and you made us leave.
This was about you.
Oh, thank you.
I am fine.
You don’t sound find, you silly ****er.
I know I don’t because I am not. I am really lonely and depressed.
Me too, but you sounded worse than me.
I want us to move on, get over having been a ****y addict and find friends and a girlfriend.
Agreed.
I colored you like your two loves.
She was a monster, my sweet turtle dove, she was so crazy, and loved black and white, she was a monster, with him she did fight.
I live the still life, I lay around and do drugs all night.
Your boyfriend was so dull, though you were so great, he just layed around, you two couldn’t relate, I don’t know what you saw in him, that’s a lie yes I did, he was your dealer, and you two had a kid.
I wish I could have had you, and so did, so you say, but because you refused to leave him, I had to go away, now you remain in all likelihood, still doing the same thing, not getting out, but instead giving in.
The addicted live in misery, they live in pain, the lurk in the shadows, they stand in the rain, the litter the streets with garbage and pain, they scream in the night, their lives down the drain, they have no hope, they are told they should die, and looking back it just makes me cry.
She was a statue, though she did move around, she was my girlfriend, a woman with no sound, she was a statue, she was very stiff, she was my girlfriend, and had such quick wit.
She hated all people, and would not talk to anyone, and people she hated, saying she hated everyone, she talked only to me, and it was quite a burden, she was very sad, and unwell, called me Tyler Durden, I told her my name, but she thought we lived in a film,
Didn’t know the difference between Fight Club and me and her life, she was very crazy, came at me with a knife, she told me she must kill me, told me I was bad, so I went away, and now she is mad. She still calls me sometimes, and we talk on the phone, but I think due to her state, it is best she is alone.
They spoke to me, I talked to rocks, to stones, to pillars, to rock formations, which are not usually talkers, but this time they were, on that hill, that day with her.
Telling their story, they spoke quite softly, they talked at night, and quite darkly. They spoke of death and of loss they had seen, they spoke in voices, like in a dream. It was quite strange, and out of place, being reality, and not dream space, they spoke to me, and told a story, it was of magic, and not gory, not like the other stories, that I already knew, and so I sat, and knew not what to do.
I dare not wake her, lest make them made, she woke anyway, and I felt bad, why must she miss all I see, she was asleep and in a dream.
I am the rose dancer, I am a be, I am a rose dancer, I aim to be. I am rose dancer I am two bees, I am a rose dancer, I aim to please.
I am an object, I am not. I am resentment, my creator is not, the person writing this story, although their hand types its words. I am realization not to spew hate with words.
I am representation of everything my creator is not, I am self-assertion, realizing there is a god.
Color me with re-touch, paint it on thick.
I am so happy, I am elated, I am hapiness, I am instated.
You amuse me, baby. You make it all clear, in the continuous light, there is the death of fear.
In the darkness, there is the smallness of men, in the light men can pretend.
I am the act of courage defended.
I am happening, I am walking, I am talking, I am man experiencing joy.
I am selfishness, I am madness, I am a toy.
Darkness, darkness, I am mad, darkness, darkness makes me sad.
Cry for me baby, make me go crazy.
I am the toy of madness.
Madness. Madness. Mad nest
Nesting, nesting, nesting
Doll
All the birds
Big and small
The arrogance of man destroys nature to make a land of joyous elation.
The birds are displace, squirrel’s home are erased, and perpetual light is found.
I am children screaming loud.
Click. whir, clack, bang, boom, vroom.
I am a magic act.
Entertain me, please.
I am so entertaining.
I am arrogance.
Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.
I am a moron. I just ran around for a half hour, cursing because I couldn’t find a nicotine vape.
Nothing is about me, everything is about you, I love you so much, love everything you do, if I speak this way, with this kind of language, no one will see the truth of why I live in anguish.
Nothing is about me, everything is you, I love everything you do, would do anything for you, everything I do is great, sorry you cannot relate, I am over the moon, beaming with perfection.
I live beyond detection.
LIAR LIAR
Sole on fire, of my shoe, step on me, make me a prisoner, I do not desire to be free, I live beyond blame, beyond shame, life in vein.
Heroin, heroin, hear me talk, I am addiction, I love to stalk.
I have already done it, it is complete, I have already started, I am on running fete. Defeat is in sight, so is victory, I am on a daily quest, and always will be, I eat with a spoon, no longer shoot fire, I am on a quest, to evade drug empire.
I am seeking to be, so joyous and housed, so free from madness, no longer a louse.
The window to Hell, is open.
The window to Hell is closed.
It is a choice, it is not imposed.
She was my ray of light.
She was my darkest choice.
I have closed the window.
This I did with my voice.
Open you window, open it well, let out the sun, and let your pain swell, let it move you, make you complete, let it remove, and take off your feet.
I saw jelly fish in the sky at night, with electric tendrels, they aimed to sting and bite, I was told they were not real, no matter what I feel, I was told do not have the ability to be right.
I was told, I must shut off my light, I am never right, not when reflecting and projecting, or talking to a ray or Rei of light.
The sun is down, so I am alone again, alone with me, and my best friend, myself, me, and I, so I think about things that make me cry, and afraid of the dark, things I saw while awake, that make me afraid to shut my eyes.
I used to stay up to watch my back, while outside, where animals could attack, and now although I am inside, I am awake still, with eyes that cannot shut, because they look back, and see the woods, glowing with lack of light, and things that bite, I am afraid, in fear I stay, and sleep it does, keep away.
That is why I am glad, of me there are two, because I would die, if not without you.
Thank you, sweetheart, for being there.
Thank you too, I am afraid of the dark too.
It will be okay, just keep your head above water, and it will be okay. You are not doing anything wrong.
I know I am not doing anything wrong, I just have a hard time being in the situations I am in. I am not good at conflict, and a lot of the time I just wish people would leave me alone.
I know, ditto.
My hands hurt. I am tired, and I really want to get high. So basically, I just really want to get high or drunk, but I don’t because I am an ***hole when I get drunk or high.
Too bad, so sad…
You are being a **** too, at least I admit I am doing it.
You did not admit you are doing it, I told you that you were.
I am you, writing on the internet a conversation you are having in our head.
At least we aren’t doing this on a street corner out loud while high.
Yeah, there’s that…
Share a story about someone who had a positive impact on your life.
In a dark room, in the depths of hell, lives an addict with pain that is just swell, or swelling, of the mind of the soul, and also of the brain, which caused them to go insane, and come to think strange thoughts, like I don’t need them, don’t need anything or anyone, anything at
All
They are the ones that are smaller then me, though I am so tiny.
My arms are cut by pin pricked misery, and so I have learned a great skill you see. I can just look in the mirror and talk to
MYSELF, or type it on the internet, or scream at them at the top of my lungs, it is really so much fun, see sweet Ms. Re…. we have just won.
I am running, I am not sure what I am running from, but I come upon this house, and begin pounding on the door, there are women inside and I start speaking, not even sure what is going to come out of my mouth, just knowing that I am hungry and tired, and can’t walk anymore, because it feels like I have been walking for a really long time.
They invite me to sit down.
I am a house in the middle of nowhere, I am owned by an adult child, and populated with the unfortunates, who travel through the night and day, and come and stay sometimes, and sometimes run away, and never return.
I am not paid for, because I was abandoned a long time ago, and to the eyes of the owner, no one ever comes in and no one ever leaves.
I am covered with lack of care, which is great because on these stairs, no one is there, no one and everyone really, every one and any one who is in need…
I have a tale and a tail about a wailing woman, who thought she lost me, and was having a cow, not a whale.
The convenience of the universe astounds me.
I ran into a woman once, literally into her, I was chasing my dog, and she was chasing her’s.
CRASH
I really like coffee, that was stressful, and I dropped mine, do you want to accompany me.
I am tired, so yes, some coffee sounds excellent.
This is really good, what were you doing out there chasing your dog?
Huh?
I mean, are you from around here and were just taking a walk? Or, are you site seeing or something? If you are site seeing… I am from the area, and could tell you some places to check out, or just show you… I mean if you want?
That sounds excellent…
TBC
She glowed with radiance she glowed with dark, she glowed with shadow, she glowed with the power of heart, she was so sad, her face was marked with tragedy and abandoned heart, her dog had no name, she knew no call, she followed her owner anyway, girl who was tall, both in stature and in tale, she was a liar, who was prone to fail, addicted to fiction and tall tales,
I am Shelia, that is my name, I am a Shelia, a girl, a dame.
A man of soot told me a lie, and now wolf, do I cry.
I played with fire, and he hurt me bad, stole my dog, now I am sad.
I am the functional drug addict, I am myth, a lie, something to shield your eye from the fact that you are a drain on your own life, an addiction not just to drugs, but to strain, to the addiction of
MUST
MAINTAIN MAINTAIN MAINTAIN
Hampster wheel of run away
AWAY AWAY A WAY
To seperate self from flames burned on spoons on the street, candles lit for people still sick and suffering, who are dead before you have a chance to meet them….
I am gold, I am pretty, I am neat, I am clean.
Whatever do you mean, that is mean… I am doing just fine, I am golden, baby. I am maintaining mine, you may need help but I do not… I am okay with burning spoons, and keeping all my bowls hot as fire
Fire fire fire
Burn yourself, I am okay with hiding bottles on the shelf.
I am okay okay okay
Please go away.
I did and she stayed there, sitting probably in the same chair, forever and ever, in the life of fog get her.
Fog Get Her
Forget her.
She tells me I am an alcoholic, drug addict, and spits on me, when I ask her for some change, I tell her that’s strange, because she is high on the same drug, and she look in the ****ing mirror if she wants to insult anyone. I pretend it doesn’t bother me, but it does, enough that I am writing about it right now, and still thinking about it months later.
I was doing speed with this girl a week before asking for the change, and asked her for the change because I thought she would sympathize being a drug addict her self.
I will follow you
Follow you wherever you may go
Except that storage unit, anywhere but there, anywhere but there, I am going up the stairs, I want to be anywhere but there.
It tells me it knows what I think, that I am going to Hell, and that it will be okay, that I have nothing to fear, because the devil, a man who lived, is just like me, and everything will be alright, that I can have whatever I want, once I get there, and that I should just swear allegiance now.
I laugh, if I have to swear allegiance, that is all horse ****.
Feed me your bull****
Feed me your lies
Tell me your stories of deep dark cries
To heads that love you, so very much, that trap you and keep you like an animal stuffed
and suffering in a deep dark hole
They don’t want your friendship, just you sullied soul.
It was a ****ing pun.
Oh, yeah right.
You don’t know what a pun is?
Of course I do.
Yeah, because you are talking to yourself on a screen, moron.
I think if anything I am learning that I actually have a heart, which is why I have been complaining as much as I have, which has helped me learn about myself. I use this thing to do that, so to anyone reading this, I am genuinely sorry for the level of negativity that comes out of my brain and is reflected back on the computer screen, and through the waves of the internet.
I am small
I am not really here at all
I am a box containing excuses
It is not my intention to get attention, or views or anything, simply to learn who I am, after removing all toxicity.
I have learned more than anything recently, how much I want very simply to become a better human being, and try to find someone who is not toxic or many people, mainly friends who are doing the same.
My sincerest apologies,
Damien/Amanda
You are everything I do not have, because I have lived of a life of too bad, so sad, goodbye’s, of too high to live, but too sad to try to die. You are everything I never had, becuase I was too mad to put a bottle down, too angry to throw out mixed poison, and now I am stuck in looking back, because for the moment, it is Sunday and I have nothing to do, but think of you.
I am a gasoline fire, made of pained backward reflection, smoke billowing everywhere, anywhere and nowhere, burning embers, burning leaves saved from September, the last time I remember feeling anything other than small and addicted to pain.
She looks like our friend, baby.
Yeah she does, are you done ****ing now?
Yeah, I guess so, at least I have you.
Without you my life is hell, and though I live to tell, I can tell you I am quite unwell, I only talk to myself, and dream of bottles no longer on my shelf, and dirty pinging needles, and rocks that taste like batteries, it is quite sad, being this mad…
I have realized now I am insane, and that it was not my disdain for you that caused me to want to leave you there crying on my arm chair, playing with your pretty dark hair, you are on my brain, my mind, at the tip of my tongue, because I realize that I do not miss being spun as much as I miss fun.
My heart did beat for you once, and became slightly inflamed, fighting narcissism and posion in my veins.
For now I am alone, and maybe someday will bring myself out of myself, and finally use a phone to call someone other than myself.
She painted her lips with fruits of red, she got them from the tree of living and dead, she had this idea in her silly pretty head, that she could live forever, if the world would just let her.
She thought that she was able to live on and on and on and on without death, without age, without turn of page
Page me, page me, I am crazy. I am living forever, I am living on and on and on and
Look at me, my lips are pink, you as can be.
I am a rose.
I am so great.
I am so perfect, so lovely, so free.
I cost money, and am a slave of thee.
There exists a peice of my heart, on the ground, trampled right in front of a rose plant. It has been there since the winter, wishing to find shelter. It is not dead, but exists in the ground, hiding from those who used to hunt it.
It has grown into the ground, and was once one with it, now it is cradled by the roots of the plants kissed by the sun and is entwined in their plant sheild,
I am plants, I have been dug up, I am unrooted, and now I am stuck, in the form which I have taken, and in form by those who have mistaken, me for posession, though I am alive, or I was, before they contrived, their foolish plan to construct this heart, now I am dead, and must re-start.
the roots wrapped around it, protecting it from the crush of the stones around it, the plants form a nest in which it is entwined, being absent of thorns, and also grow upwards, drawing my heart closer to the surface, and out of the damp dark soil, where it lay, with each day the plants grow, and each day it gets closer to growing out of its grave situation.
I wonder what will happen when it grows out of the ground, will it die? Or will it flower?
I don’t know why, she was dressed up for an elegant outside meal. I was scrounging around looking for spare change, from more fortunate people that happened to pass by. The area I was in was frequented by well off travelers, which is why I chose to walk through there at dinner time, they were more likely to help you after getting all boozed up and sleepy from eating too much, as is customary in America when out to eat on vacation at a much too expensive restaurant.
I would not even noticed their table, she was too attractive for me to notice her completely. I tend to skim past women of a higher class than available to people like me, mostly due to my inability to deal with rejection, which is highly likely with women like her.
She called out to me, offering up the rest of a plate of asparugus, and inviting me to sit down, she was extremely drunk, to her husband’s dismay. He was not very happy to see her sitting with someone when he returned to the table, so she offered to show me to the laundary mat, and we left, leaving him confused and behind.
TBC
You stand out in my memory, smoke goddess, of midnight, standing with me in the fog, you and I, fought the day, you shrouded in red, and me shrouded in decay of my mind, unlike you, already gone, already mad, I stood staring out at the river, ranting about nothing, ranting about everything, speaking nothing, speaking everything, talking about the universe, but also saying nothing at all, you were very unique and also every woman I ever met.
That is one of the worst things I have ever heard you say. Every woman is the same?
No, this one was just unreal, and seemed like everyone and no one.
Okay, better, thank you.
You are faceless, because I don’t know your name, you are representation, of women with shame of meetitng me on a night when I was without memory enough to be any thing but an ***
Who painted you blue… okay this is obnoxious, **** it.
It sits upon me, and I know not why, I am hot and pointed to sky, not really pointed, because I am flat, It is a perch in that way and only that.
I am quite hot, and think that I
May be frying bird, sitting on my eye, I am as sharp with light as a
Needle
Rushing with
Speedle, glowing with chaotic rejection of night, glowing with light, glowing with glow, I am going in the act of gooooooo slow… to the sky, raising I’s up hiiiiiiiigh. I am so very………high.
I am……very toxic………….. aren’t I?
I loved her so very much, I decided to treat her poorly.
So in love with black and white, you are, you are my shooting star, you are everything to me, I love you so clearly, so dearly, you are everything that I ever wanted, and needed, please stay always my
HEROIN
I loved her so very much, I decided.
To treat her poorly, was not my intention, and of it I make mention to mention why, I treated her
My treat is to retreat.
I am a coward.
She was mean to me.
I am coward, and did not want to see.
You are an addict.
You are a liar.
I hold a lamp shinning on your soul, alight with HELL FIRE.
I am sitting on the floor, waiting for my shot of sun, you are above me, having so much fun. You went first, what a surprise, you are so very good at becoming the objectification of despise, oh sweet master, you are the apple of my eye. You hold the key to my heart baby, in injectable poision.
I stare at a spindle, no I stare at you, I love you so much, what are we to do?
GIVE IT TO ME.
You ask me
What?
I desire poison.
I am the act of cut.
Sever.
Cut me in two.
I just want it, not you.
Ow, I hurt my own feelings.
Isn’t life lovely, isn’t life grand, how wonderful it is, lacking the courage to stand, in the darkness I am, in the dark lack of day, I am always forever, and fated to stay.
I am above you, but so very below, I am the person with whom you should not go. You don’t believe me, you think I am a liar, you think that was my brother, who you wished to set on fire.
Isn’t it nice?
Isn’t it great?
Such a pleasant re-do, now we can relate. I am not the person I was, now I am new, I am girl re-colored for you.
There is no difference, between me and him, no rhyme or reason for your lie wearing thin.
You slowly realize I was telling the truth.
Isn’t it tragic, now I am removed.
You removed yourself, sweetie.
I know I did.
Sometimes, I wake up and I am not me, but someone else, somewhere else, and if nothing else, I am aware, that this means very bad things are happening to me, somewhere else, where I am actually myself. This time, I wake up in a painting. I am not sure why, but I am aware that I am in the painting, which kind of feels like lucid dreaming for normal people, I guess.
It feels like actually being in a canoe, like I am imagining is in the painting which I am hallucinating, or for regular people, lucid dreaming. The only difference is very strange. I am extremely warm. It feels like sunburn.
I am so warm in fact, that I want to jump out of the canoe, which I do, immediately, and feel the water in the painting hit my skin, but also feel the burning sensation go away, as I imagine other water hits my real skin. I am comforted by this fact, that somewhere ele, where I actually am, I am not burning alive, and then I hear it, a commotion, coming from somewhere else, it is a sound I recognize, fire alarm, blarring, somewhere else.
My apartment is on fire.
I am brought back to present time, someone is spraying those of us walking out with a firehose. I am holding a painting of people in a canoe. The strange thing is, it is not the painting from my apartment, there is someone in the waterr next to the canoe, they were not there before.
How many times have I made this bed?
I am room 39.
I am ironic because I am very eeriely close to 36.
I am a room in a motel, but I am also a number close to 36.
I am a number with a 3 and a 6 flipped upside down, which is the same as the hands that write this on a computer.
I am a room where there is a ghost that locked these hands in a closet for an hour.
I am always waiting, anticipating, was supposed to be mating, but he is gone, and now I sing on and on, a swan’s song, of he is gone.
My name is Sara, and I am just a bird, a woman, another word. I loved a man whose name I cannot remember, I met him at the end of September. My eyes are dark like my past, painted not with sadness, just with lack, something is missing, and my soul cannot relax, I am waiting till he comes back.
I don’t remember who he was, just know my sadness at morning doves, they remind me of something I long forgot, now my mind is sad and my eyes are hot. I wonder if he will ever be, more than a swan song sung to me.
I exist beneath you, just like you wanted, residing in the idea of down, I am beneath you, honey. I am just where you wanted me, down here.
I am the idea of down.
I am the idea of on the ground, so low, so so
Low.
Solo, that could be said too, but always beneath you.
I am the idea of too much trouble, because I am really.
I am not capable of what she wants, she says I am, I assure I am not.
We are sitting on the beach, she tells me to look at the sunset. I am staring at my shoes, thinking about being underwater. I am not completely aware that she is still actually there, she might be a hallucination. I have not known her that long, and don’t remember how we met, she makes me nervous.
She tells me to look her in the eyes. I don’t like looking at people. I am awful at direct eye contact.
I tell her there was once a study done about hallucination and direct eye contact. She asks if I am hallucinating now. ****
How do I always end up doing this?
