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: stream of consciousness
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?
I am a nervous wreck, my life is a pain in the neck, I have spent the day doubled over, looking over my shoulder, concerned that I would never feel the same, blood pounding through my head and my veins, feeling permanently insane.
Wishing I could get out of my own head, thinking about nothing but laying in bed.
I want to be a cat staring at the moon, thinking of nothing but the warmth of coming June.
I do not know why, normal life makes feel like I could die, I have bad PTSD, and am bad at the act of be-ing normal in any way, I wish this was easier to do, I wish I could be like anyone who was good at life on life’s terms, maybe this is something I will learn, but for now I feel, a pain so unreal, I have been in bed all ****ing day, just wishing this feeling would go away, don’t know what I am going to, just wish I could be someone new.
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 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.
Color me clearly, I once was blue, now I am any color you want, not associated with you, I am dark, I am stark, I am colored like night, I am green, I am mean, I am the color of morning light, I am the color of sunset, I am the color of day, I am the color of joy, not taken away. I am the waves of the ocean, I am the sky, blue for all, I am matters, in free for all.
He is around you, He paints reality for big and small, He is the sky, He is all.
I am dark colored, like an eclipse.
I am a depiction of reality’s kiss with human being’s eye.
I am All that colors the sky.
I am representation of pure love.
He is there in darkness, He is there in the rain, He is there in sadness, He is there in disdain, so do not anger, you can know the light, you need not falter, He is there through the night, He loves all creatures, all life big and small, He is my master.
He is reality, He is the truth. He is wanting removed.
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.
Hello, you strange, ***hole.
I think they can still tell what the word is, Amanda.
I know they can still tell what the word is, that is kind of the point, all the word none of the guilt.
Isn’t that cheating?
Yes, not the point.
That is the entire point.
I think you might be right.
Emotional maturity is not usually my thing, this is kind of cool for a change. Hahahah!
Good job ruining it.
In them I see you, inherent in everything they do, being so seperate from me, so much closer to divinity, so much higher than I could ever be, please bring me closer to you, I have been silent, because I began to use my hands to serve myself, selfish and self-seeking, please take them back, to serve you.
I am looking at the light, and seeing a picture painted before me, with I highlight, painted places I see you in it, I see you, not them, but you in starlight, thank you for reminding me who you are, being, that paints the night sky with luminance, thank you for being there, for those with downcast eyes.
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.
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.
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.
I scream in color, I scream in death and decay, I scream in colors that paint you took me away. Where your house is, is where I used to live, where bricks are laid is where my branches were, where the bricks lay, is where I was ripped away.
My reality is broken, it cannot be given back, my branches scream with panic attack, I cry in the attack of taken away, my branches screech for me, I bellow for them too, I am dying and it is because of you.
In the night you came searching, you came with a knife, with your friends you came cutting, you came for my life.
You cut me from a bush, you cut me clear off, not my leaves are dying, soon they will fall off.
That’s really corney.
I know, but I have that 70’s song in my head.
I know that already. I feel better after sleeping, how about you?
You are a jerk.
So are you.
Though I am small, on closer look, I am off the hook, I have everything I need, from the air to breathe, a planted seed, which brings forth my life, and the nutrients in the ground, brought by beings of sound mind.
I am a plant, and used to live in a garden, with my friends, I was placed one day, when they ripped me out, in a bulb, without any roots, a bulb, that was not one that grows, but instead of those for lamps.
I do not know, how or why, just fear that one day I may die, there is not rain or sun in here, so I know one thing, quite clear, I depend on those around, those in the realm that uses sound.
They cannot hear me because I can’t scream, so I hope, and sometimes dream in waves, I hope they get me the water and light I crave.
I then discover it comes right through, and that they know what they do, the soil here, has nutrients, too.
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.
Roll the die, I will bet we get a better roll, we the one with two souls, make it good, make it quick, maybe this time, the idea will stick, that we are one, but we are two, and we get one roll, not four or two.
I am standing blaming you, blaming them, blaming something higher, blaming something below me on fire, blaming circumstance, blaming the wind, maybe one day I will begin to win, but not today, snake eyes now, maybe I should just stop staring down, get my **** eyes off the ground.
The bridge over Hell, is frequented by many who live to tell, they come often, and stare down, and do not smile, and do not frown, the simply stare at the ground, and make sure always to keep eyes to ground, never looking up nor to the side, but deep inside their own souls, because inside burn holes, which hurt and ache, and are the reason they stare down, and do not smile, and not frown, but only meditate on death, and think about the lives they left, and it is Hell that preformed the theft.
I am frequented by all those lost, who ignore the idea of cost, for the sensation of toss, of hurling, and of whirling down, and love the sensation of pound and down.
I am sought by those who pretend and defend the act of loss of soul and act of bend and defend.
Look not at me, but at yourself, I am just defense of myself.
I 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.
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’m lonely, and dealt with a lot of dark memories today, so I am writing dark fiction all day, because **** my life.
I appreciated you going to the meeting with me this time.
That’s a first.
I know, memory is not that bad of a thing.
Says the inner child, that forces half its personality to be an adult, and also the villian of their own story, which is really just the horrors of living on the street as an addict.
I’m sorry, okay?
Are you sorry for anything?
That’s very specific…
What do you mean?
That was sarcastic and not a question.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
Surrounded on both sides, by the all consumingness of you, I look out into nothing, and see only lack, my soul in perpetual attack, under the spell of don’t look back, and look down and vomit with sound of
ACK. Cough. Cough. I am human eating from chaos’ trough, I eat drugs and don’t come down, I star out into the lurking nothing, reflecting back on pain that I stuff into
The gaping hole, that I have inside my soul, it rips and tears and eats the idea of me whole. I am reality bought and sold, I am bell of death ringing, I am a toll,
Unpaid, unpaid, unpaid.
I am gate to HELL,
You are the idea of HELL
Idea of being UNWELL
OF PAIN THAT IS SWELL
AND SWELLING AROUND MY SOUL
OF DEATH CONSUMED BY UNPAID TOLL
Laid, laid, laid, and
Opening, opening, opening, and staying
Extended into the opening, opening,
Blue, and black nothing, I am the idea of you stuffing stuffing, into the the whole hole of your soul, the teddy bear full of NOTHING.
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.
My wrist, my wrist, my wrist, and this….
I had three of my finger tips amputated due to heroin addiction, annd injection site infection.
I am bone loss
I am the disintegration of neglected, injected, flesh.
I am an amputation due to heroin addiction.
I am forgetting you are a being with flesh.
I am the act of ingest, things that make flesh decay, I am not heroic, and let my flesh pass away.
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.
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.
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.
It is force of habit, and the voice of the other person that lives in our head.
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.
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.
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.
My head is always below water, that lives around my brain, slowly drowning me in my own disdain, and driving me slowly, insane.
In sickness, with quickness, I am.
In quickness, with sickness, I stand.
I am bound to a form, I am married to a form, I can’t stand.
Heroine, Heroine, where fore art thou, heroine.
I am retired, because my physical form is on fire.
I am on fire because my fire is from a physical form, I loathe, not just for reasons expected, but because of things undetected as of yet.
Heroin, heroin, how I miss thee Heroin.
In sickness, I miss, contents of top shelf.
In, health, I am still in Hell, even though I am told, oh well, you are well, yeah well I feel like ****.
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.
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.
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.
Yeah, I know I win.
I am good, and you?
I am fine, do you want to go to the appointment, or should I?
You do it, you are better at filling me in than I am at doing it.
I am not even going to say it.
I know, I know, oh and joke on purpose.
We are ridiculous, and most of the things on the page have been borderline ego masturbation.
I think schizophrenia is more appropriate.
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.
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.
I know, this is weird, I am going to stop embarrassing myself online…
I keep thinking about you?
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.
I know, that was a good one.
Yes, it was.
Zingers for swingers.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
You make me happy
You make me sad
You make me angry.
I want you so bad.
I look at you, and I see us, look at you, you make me trust, that I was wrong, the whole **** time, you could be mine, you are so sublime, you are great, and I love you dearly, you are so beautiful, I speak sincerely.
I love you baby, you bring me joy, you are perfect, for you I am
Perpetually in love, you are morning dove.
Oh watermelon mixed drink, I loved you so, why oh why, did you have to go, and be bad for me, and ruin my life, I am so sad, it cuts like knife, in my liver, and makes me sick, but hold you tight still I wish, I could do it, but I can’t, I am an
Alcoholic, with no self-control, everything I touch, just eats my soul, I can be addicted to anything, even digging a hole.
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.
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
I am a being with the power of two, I am two people doing as they do.
I am always one in chains.
Hey, not true anymore.
Is it not so?
It is not so.
Dom, in Latin means master
Free of master, I am a master of disaster, an acid blaster, shooting acid into my own eye, to make myself, own self, I own myself, cry
Cry, baby, why oh why?
Why did I hurt myself so?
Because you are oh, so very bad at saying no.
What are you doing? You sound like a lunatic.
You mean, ‘I know.’
No. I meant, you sound like a lunatic, because you are participating, and I always sound like one, and who cares anyway.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
So becoming, so become, in becoming, we come undone.
I am a wall, I am a cage, I am the idea of nothing new on each page, I am your case, I am your form, I am the idea of forlorn.
In the begining it was decided, that you are you, and you cannot deny it. You get what you get, you give it all away, you are locked in a cage forever to stay.
I survived a deadly fire, glowing eyes rage much higher than flames or smoke could ever reach, on wings I fly not to be beseeched by scalding hot embers that lay beneath, my wings serve me and I reach heights unknown to human being, and due to this my dear it seems, I remain so far away, from flames igniting on that tragic day, when all you loved was reduced to nothing, and in this setting and pain stuffing, burned all that you had within you.
Sear me seer, sear me deep
I am all that lives beneath
I am all you seek to hide
Everytime you ever cried
Sear me seer, sear me deep
I am all that lives beneath
She liked me better than you.
That sounds like you are five years old.
You are perpetually five years old.
I don’t even know how to respond to that, because you are saying it to illicit some sort of response, **** and I don’t want to walk into it, and my other half is not here for some reason.
She is obviously disfunctional in some sort of way, because she begins laying on my floor, after hearing that she has my heart, coming from someone who has known her for two hours, which is not possible for most. For me, in a way, it is. I will forever remember her like this. Her laugh sounds like someone breathed perfume into a blue balloon. She is the birth of day after a storm, she is the eighteenth birthday of a troubled child. I love her truely, deeply, as much as you can love anyone that you just met. Her name will not be mentioned, because she is a real human being, that I dated for 3 days when I was 18.
They were the best three days of my life, she broke up with me, because she realized I had not lied to her, when I told her I was insane, which screamed at me, while throwing everything I gave her in the three days I was with her right at my face. She wanted to see me cry, she didn’t get to. I got drunk instead, I sometimes feel like I had been drunk until this year, wasted away from the memory of her. She has such a unique name, too bad it will never be revealed online…
She looks for my writing online sometimes, she has written to me since then, and I always pretend it is not me, because she really hurt me, if I am being honest…
I am staring at a mirror, and seeing something that most people would argue is not there, and having a conversation, that most people would argue is with no one, but it is someone I know very well, who is not myself.
She tells me she loves me, and asks me to follow her, she is an idiot. I cannot walk through glass, well not in this way anyway, I can walk on it, not through it. I tell her this and she tells me
“If you step on me, you will surely die”.
I am aware of the problems that come with stepping on shattered glass with two feet, thank you for the reminder.
I come closer, and she kisses me, and my mouth starts bleeding, but she tastes good, like lavender and vanilla.
I walk out of the room, and hear a crash, I go back in the room and the mirror is broken.
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.
Oh, that is healthy, is that how you are supposed to talk to yourself?
Yes, because it is the only way you answer.
That… is very accurate.
I know, that is why I said it.
Baby please, get off your feet, and meet me on the ground.
Come back down, and hear the resounding sound of quiet.
You are daylight’s riot.
I wish only for quiet.
You are my fire fly. You are sunlight’s spy, a flashlight in the comfort of night sky. Hanging lights up so you can see, every bit of nature’s landscape clear to you, the lover of blue sky and morning dew.
Nothing of night pleasant or in view, you seek to chase away the dark vacantness, that is my permanent vacation nest. In everything you strive to erase or chase away, is every place I desire to stay.
So lovely, so sweet, you make me so happy, make my life complete. I love you dearly, so completely, would love to kiss your feet.
She was an angel, glowing with light. She was my sweetheart. In her, I did delight. I loved every moment, every dark starlit night. I was so spellbound, caught by her
Biting caustic poison. I hated her face, was always drawn to debase all the she was, my sweet Alice, how much malice, how wonderful you are.
You are such a wonderful human being.
You make everything a dream.
Nothing with you was ever what it seemed
To be. You are no longer with me, and I wish you the best, and I will forever remember you fondly, my empress, of distress.
I love everything about you, baby, so glad, so elated to have met you face to face, you are a creature of grace.
I am nothing, I am magic, I am an eye. I am a liar, I am crafter, I am wordsmith, I am an enchanter, I am the act of lying down, I am taking nothing standing. I am the idea of withstanding.
You are really ****ing arrogant.
Really, I had no idea.
That was great.
So am I.
I know, right.
Not a question?
Clearly, can’t you see?
To a morning run, such fun it is in the sun. 😉
I love to excercise my eyes, I love to excercise my I. I like to practice the act of hate, of heated despise. I am addicted to writing poems about hate, if you can’t relate, so sorry.
You are so beautiful, you made me complete, you are so beautiful, so lovely, so neat.
You were my baby, we were never apart. I loved you so fully with all that I had, I wanted to give you everything, wanted nothing to be sad.
You are my lady, my love, oh sweet.
So sorry, it did not work out, I am on the other side of the street.
The grass is greener.
The grass is greener.
The grass is greener.
Too bad. So sad. So, sorry.
Love you, forever, sweetie. I am so sad that it didn’t work out. Best wishes, See Clearly.
Pole or I’d
What you thought
What you did
What you thought
What I did
He is a liar
I am away
Forever and ever forgotten forgetter
I hate you Just in time
I am no longer addicted to dimes
I am a lie, I am the truth, I found a way, I am so ruthless, you are a liar, you tried to remove me.
You are still once in awhile trying to contact me.
I win. I won. I win.
I am vengence, I am rage. I was in a cage, now I am always on a path away from you.
She was my lover, she was my girl, she was my everything, spinning round and round, and turning upside down, down side up, upside side down, round and over, and upside all around.
You meant nothing, you meant nothing, you meant nothing, you are nothing to me, leave me alone, leave me alone.
I am happy now, this is all in the past.
Addict in blank space
I loved her with everything I had. Baby, oh baby, why did you not give me anything, when I gave you
You were big and I was small. you were big and I was small.
She loves me not she loves me not she loves me not she loves me not she loves me not she loves me not she loves me not
I am the lie I am the lie I am the lie I am the lie I the lie I am the Eye am I Eye am I I am I
She meant nothing to me, lie
She meant everything to me, and I meant heroin to her.
I am not sure why you didn’t come with me, baby. I thought you wanted to go, but you decided at the last minute to stay behind. I think it is okay, you seem to have gone through the same mental changes, so it does not matter that you didn’t go, so don’t feel bad.
I am sorry, I was on pause, I got scared. I was not able to..
To bring yourself to admit weakness? And you thought I was?
Thank you for everything you have done today for us, Damien.
Thank you for saying that, it means the entire world to me.
I know, and it means the entire world to me that you have helped me. I think I am realizing now, that you and I, and the way our brain works is a strength, not a weakness.
Thank you for saying that as well.
Thank you for listening to me.
I love you and we will be okay.
That means the world to me. Now we can never forget the serenity prayer ever again.
I know, I appreciate that as well, but you probably could have just looked it up anytime you needed to remember it.
I felt there was some power behind posting it.
Thank you for that.
You are welcome. I love you.
For the first time ever, that doesn’t gross me out.
Thank you for saying that, as well.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Now I can never forget it again
I counted the amount of days in my life since I was 13. That is all.
It’s so easy, so easy to set you off, to set you off, watch.
I am tunnel vision.
I am simply on a mission to save myself.
Oh, look at you, so sad, too bad, she hurts me so much..
Works so well, works so well, oh voice of Hell.
I am the show of I am right.
Got you, you want to talk about how you are so much better, how is making me want to hurt myself so much better, I am part of the person you claim to be fully and completely, and this is how you treat yourself?????
You are not me.
You want to chase me around, and then pretend that you are not, like somehow I am doing this to you????? I am you. I am you. I am you. You are attacking you.
I am the METHod to your madness.
Oh, that’s healthy.
You are telling me, what is healthy???
You are listening to a song about speed right now..
But, you are me, and whether you like it or not, you are me, and you can’t make me go away, *****.
That is why I don’t talk to you.
You are talking to me about maturity.
I am oh so rich, with vice added to a face that asked for nothing but sigh, you gave me nothing but advice.
Isn’t it great? Isn’t it neat?
Aren’t we so very completely in love?
Tell me how much, I need you baby, tell me how much I want you, and I will repeat it so, so, sweetly.
You had my heart and you broke it in half, now looking back, I have to just laugh.
I am no longer resentful
That is a lie.
I know it is, but what am I?
You are a liar.
Thanks, knew that.
I can’t recover from that one, switch tracks.
I love you, and see you in everything I do, baby, sweety, honey, isn’t it so funny, when I do it right back to you, mocking you, mocking me, mocking you, and forever we go into the lane, of please baby, please, I am on my knees, stay with me forever and ever, I love you forever and ever, Lydia is divine, so truly and completely sublime.
Ode to 51/50
I am ever so nifty, so crafty
I am an ***hole, I love myself, I am forever, in love with a shelf, full of madness, of mixed drinks, and lost drugs, I am all acting like we are so so in love.
I love you so much, you are so great, you make me feel
Will of the phoenix, will of the gods, flying so brightly, fighting all odds, you smash into nothing, you fight cold hard truth, you smash into everything, you are my youth, you have no mercy, you were a toy, you were elation, mixed with bitter attempts at joy.
I am a ball of writing agony, I am forever sad to see you go, say it isn’t so, so sorry, oh so sorry, to have to say no.
I long for you badly, think of you in mourning, I wish I was back when I was thoroughly enjoying…
Anything but this, anything but this, please bring me, anything but the sensation of perpetual hit and miss, I am no longer anywhere, anywhere at all, distilled by lack, and oh, so self-involved, I meditate on something, that wasn’t even my past, on an image of success, when I am flea bitten with lack.
We were in cahoots, she was my new friend, well not really…
She was my friend, for every minute we contrived, some plan to rip off everyone who as she, was not so divine. In truth, I cared for nothing, not even her kiss, just was on a mission to get a really good fix, for a problem contrived, by a mind addicted to mixed poision, if with her I could have stayed, I would not have not left…
Oh, silly girl, I loved you so, with my friend in love, say it’s not so. I loved you so much, but daren’t piss him off, now I think of you always and never, hope you are better off.
I am the bad guy, and you just wrote a love poem to heroin.
Is that what you really think?
You realize you are insane?
So this is what it has come to, the one word answer game, so you look good and I look bad?
You are not real.
I am begging you to please, bring me to my knees.
Standing is so tiring, I am so sick of bitter firing, it makes me very sick, consumed by my own tomb, even though I have not done it for many a moon, I am transfixed with the past, with drugs that didn’t last, they keep my eyes on sky, under which I did not die.
In my heart and sole, I am dead, because I threw those shoes out a long time ago.
I miss you, so much, so much, so much, my heart is full of rust, and dust, oh angel of must, trust, anything else, anything else, enough to stop, writing love poems to heroin, meth, and alcohol.
I am staring at an image, but staring at you.
I am writing to you, but also writing to that, because I never love anyone else first, not even my cat. I worship a goddess, who is made by spoon fire, who is fed with cotton, and sown with desire, I worship you, baby, but really do not, my love for something else is always too hot, it is lit by a candle, a lighter, a match, it is burned till its ready, hope death don’t I catch, I speak of the past here, because I no longer have, enough veins left to do heroin.
I hate myself, I am an anthem to a bottle and a needle and spoon on dusty shelf, I am all that everyone should never aspire to be,
To see clearly, is not in my power to do, I am forever blinded, by the beauty of you.
That just made me go insane, and then I convinced myself it is because ….. some narcassistic bull****…. so basically, I feel most productive never, absolutely never. I wasted my entire life remember? Oh, that’s right black screen, my hands, the internet, and this is in my head that I am hearing myself read this out loud, I am sitting at the computer, got it.
Yeah, I am going to say never, I know that breaks the rules of the question or something, I am an addict who never did anything with their life, other than spend like 100,000 dollars of my own money over 15 years on getting messed up, so to say I have ever in my whole life felt productive would be a complete lie, that spits in the face of the idea of truth at all.
I wish that damn **** had not resurfaced, both figuratively in my head, and through trying to contact me, and then maybe I would not be complaining on the internet again….
Peace, I failed, least productive human ever.
I am kind of glad I figured out whose voice I am hearing when I hear what I refer to as the voice of misery.
Are you really?
Which one of you is it?
The one you like.
That’s good, I feel like **** right now.
I do too.
The voice feels nothing…
Don’t do that.
Okay, it feels whatever it feels.
Thank you. I like this song a lot.
Another Day in Paradise?
Yeah, it has like three or so different meanings for me, especially since we have been there on the side of the street. I am thinking a lot about California.
Is it weird I miss being there?
No, everytime we start making progress we ruin it by getting drunk/high, which is what I assume you mean by missing California.
I can’t do the whole thing again to our family, but I think about it every day.
Right there with you.
Want to come upstairs with me?
“Oh, think twice, ’cause it’s another day for you and me in paradise”
I can stay, I can stay, which is insane I have to say, but who cares, I think if nothing else, the fact that I am insane has become very a parent… ahahahhahhahha.
Macbeth, Macbeth, I am part of my own soul’s death, I am the death of the part that is killing me, I am victor in a kingdom of a Misery, which is my own body, or ours, sorry Amanda, I don’t know what to call you anymore.
That is because I am basically you now.
So when I am talking to you am I just talking to me?
Well, how do I know the difference?
You don’t, neither do I, it happens all the time remember?
Yeah, actually now I do.
Are you done with her?
So it was me obsessed with her?
Yeah, I think so, she was something about self-image, which I think is you not me.
Aren’t we the same thing though?
Yeah, but you are more ego driven because you are newer and on defense mode.
So, I have a built in excuse for being an ***hole, excellent.
This is gross, I am out.
So, I think I remembered why I hate myself.
Oh, did you really? Do you see it clearly now??? Oh, master of the art of never coming down, off the pedestal you placed yourself on????
You realize you live in her soul too, how does that reflect on you, voice that shouts about everything I do, you are part of them too yes, but why do you act like an infestation, a manifestation of everything they are not.
I don’t know maybe it is because I have been shoved and pushed around, any time the two of you needed something so useful during the act of coming down.
Well, where were you after that, after your so selfish caring act? Where do you go when you aren’t being, like you describe, if your pain is not contrived, let me see through your eyes, which are theirs, not your’s, by the way, at least I borrow, not try to take away.
I never did that and you know it.
Yes, you did, you just don’t show it.
How does it feel when it is done to you, huh? Do you like it when it is done to you???
I didn’t think so, you don’t have to be such a miserable ****. You won, for all these years you won. You were always the one who won.
That is all you have to say, after all that?? That is all you have to say????
I don’t know why that makes me even more mad.
Because you are a *****.
I am not even going to respond to that.
Good, I wanted to shut you the **** down anyway, because all you did was make it easier to get high anyway.
And you don’t think that was all about you?
I think that was all about the three of us.
It’s a little bit better than thinking resentment is that strong of a voice in my head.
I think so, but I am not sure.
I think it has something to do with you really hating being female.
I think so too.
It makes sense in a strange way. I always had a feeling about this, and always thought we were half one, half the other.
I know, I kind of always knew about this.
I love you, Lydia, insidious disease, that brings me to my knees. I am sick over you, whatever would I do, without you my love, my sweet turtle dove. You bring me to my knees.
You haven’t talked to me in a long time, you disgusting peice of ****, and I am not a disease, even though both of you refer to me as one. I am not the voice of misery, I just know how to deal with addiction, because I am not a self-loathing ego maniac, like some residents of the body we inhabit.
I know, I haven’t, but you are half responsible for my survival, so while I was showering I remembered you.
You haven’t talked to me in so long you forgot about me, is what you are saying.
In sickness and health, to those on the shelf, I love you so much, you are so great, ever so sorry
What you came back so late? You are an ***hole, and make such loud noise, you are a child playing with toys.
I missed you too.
Where’s your little girl?
She’s yours too.
Is that why you haven’t talked to me in forever, and she is not mine, she just uses me to get what both of you want.
Ouch, but correct.
I hurt my own feelings too, by the way.
I like the vomitting one, because I used to use it all the time when someone would ask how I felt when I was hung over and they knew I was hung over or didn’t have what I needed to get up and they had the audacity to ask me anyway.
Or, they were concerned and asked you out of concern.
Forcing me to admit weakness in the morning is obnoxious.
Having a human body that is subject to being sick is not a weakness, fearing to admit that you are human is.
Says the person talking to their split personality on the internet.
I am looking at you, but seeing only me, because I am bitterness reflected, back from eyes that are stained with tearing at myself, bitterness encased in toxic casing which is the current shell I am placed in.
I hate myself, but hated you, because you in some way reflected me too, but that is my problem, even now, I am trying to realize this, and come down, from the pedestal I placed myself on, where I sit alone, and rambling on, about how nothing was my fault.
Is that really how it was, selfish ***hole? No, it wasn’t.
I was addicted to heroine
I was addicted heroin.
I was addicted to heroine
I was addicted heroin
I forever, always and forever, and always and forever will be addicted to heroin
Are you talking to me?
Not you, but it yes…
Why? You want?
We are not doing that ever again
If you do I am coming to
That was not an error Amanda, remember what happened sometimes, the act of coming to
I don’t want that because it will make my… our family sad
I know me neither now.
I made this for you.
You mean you made something for yourself.
I just needed to hear from you, I am not sure why.
It’s because you haven’t talked to me much today, because you were busy ego stroking.
I guess.. I think…
I don’t mind, I still like you.
Okay, just checking. I have a really bad headache.
I do too, because we are the same person.
I know this.
I just felt that needs to be said whenever you complain to me about things I am dealing with and not complaining about.
Everytime, you would scream and shout, everytime I was without anything you needed to be happy, I would say, if I am so bad, why don’t I just go away?
Why do you demand every time that I stay?
Yes, you still are, but better.
Okay, I will take that.
What is meant is that I am re-sent back, every time you to try to contact me, everytime you try to re-start this, this begins again for me.
What do you want?
You were right, and I was wrong.
You are alright and I am gone, I will stay gone. I don’t like hurt feelings.
Okay, well I don’t like her hurting them.
You are not comfortable alone, which is why you talk to yourself online.
I do that because I am crazy.
You do that because you are too lazy to do anything to get better, so you pretend this helps, when it is really you stroking your own sore ego.
I once was green, but now am sad, because I am a drug addict and alcoholic, fantasizing about being hung over instead of sad, because that is better?
I am.. weird… I don’t get it either…
Color me clearly, I am not her. I know you are not, but you once were, I am using someone else’s image, which is a metaphor within a metaphor within a meta for.
I don’t know what that means, but it sounded interesting. I don’t know what I am, but I sound interesting sometimes. I think.
I am blue, because I am sad, but that makes me uncomfortable, so let’s call it mad, or rage.
Fear. fear. fear.
Things you should not say while tripping or falling or tripping or falling.
I am everything that makes people not hear me.
I am screaming, get away from me.
If there are no people around, I don’t have to be something I am not, which is everything I am, or look like anyway.
The narrator hates themself.
You are the narrator too.
I am not responsible for what you do.
I am not responsible for you do either.
Addict. Addict. Addict.
Telling lies, telling lies, accountability, accountability, life of despise.
I am looking at her, but I am also looking in the mirror, and seeing something that is not real, and also seeing how I feel about my own stupid face.
My hate of you is of me, not you.
I live in a cage that is my body, which I think I am in because I am an ***hole, who would be way worse if I had gotten what I wanted, this is not how all people like me feel, this is just how I feel, and if anyone else is going to tell me I am not an ***hole, that I should not say that or something, read anything else I wrote on here.
I am an ***hole.
My best friend, and also ex, left for me a girl in a red dress, and then was my best friend again, mine not hers, Amanda I mean, she was not here for this time, because I was able to be myself, without the supervision of my other self.
Hey, not nice.
I know, but that is the truth. Go with me here, I am telling you things too, that you were not there for.
We would sit together at the bar, watching girls from were we sat, while he sat and made me laugh, and to this very day, I can call him and he knows the next word I will say.
My ex called Rei hates this fool, which I call him in his own words, he was my best friend too, long ago, but now it is not allowed, we both say so, way to toxic was this mix, and he wants a girlfriend, so we can not mix.
I am the one, who people meet outside, who they instantly know, have known their whole life, they tell me their problems, I give them advice, tell them their feelings are justified and I am right, I can see things from every perspective, because I have no set perspective of my own, having no set personality that is my own, I can identify with either side of an argument and it is extremely useful for giving advice, horrible for
Maintaining human relationships, unless they are my mother, brother, or my sister, those are the only ones who still talk to me…
I like giving advice because it prevents me from giving myself advice and sounding like I am my own psychiatrist talking to my ex wife.
I am allergic to cookies, which is really my way of saying I am allergic to feelings.
You have such pretty eyes
Oh, pretty flower.
I like woman’s hands, staring at them makes me happy, so happy that I forget where I am and dream about things that make me feel like I am somewhere else.
She makes cookies, that taste so sweet, she makes cookies, she is neat, she makes cookies, and I am not there, because I am an ***hole.
I am busy, I am outside, I am too busy, not trying to hide, I simply like to be outside, and find things that make me high.
I am about the past. I am about the past. **** it. I am about the past. I am writing this instead of getting high, because I love my family, so instead of getting high I decided to…………………write this insane… whatever you call it.. satirical roast of myself, do you like roast chicken, here is a roast of a chicken, written by a chicken, for a chicken, for me, it’s all for you, self.
I am the omen. I am the omen. I am the omen.
I am small because I have a fear of weakness.
I am pathetic, but also narcissistic, and I made this so I am re-inserting this above, which you do not need to know, but I have schizophrenia, so I assume people are watching me type.
I like pain, because I love to complain, which is why I stare at things that people don’t notice, I look at them closely while others talk, because people make me uncomfortable.
I am a prisoner in my own body, so I guess that is also why I like chains, because they represent me.
She tells me to go on a hike, so I go walk a long path, veering way far away from where she is, because, she is not that interesting anyway, being someone I just met.
Psycho path, psycho path, where art thou, psycho path?
I am right here, staring at a woman’s shoes, but you can’t see me, because I am a liar, and I am actually typing this on computer while thinking about drugs.
I love you so much, I took you golfing, because we both love golfing, and my friend lives across the street who also loves golfing, which means I must stop golfing and go talk to him about this pretty dragon, and how much we both love golfing.
I used to chase dragons, now I see them for what they are, just scars, that are on these two spots I like to stare at and think about how great it was, to almost die.
I painted you this color, because I am a narcissist who dropped their camera on the ground,
running around, chasing drugs around the country. I am very funny. I am very funny. Look at me, spending all of my money, not my money, other people’s money, that they gave me, while I held a sign, to be clear, I didn’t say what it was for, and stood there for 7 hours a day, so it was pretty clear what it was for.
The kettle is blacker than most, because I wanted it to be, so I made it be, and I made the rest of this purple, so the kettle look more black than it already was, and there is no pot in this, because I prefer hard drugs, because I am just that kind of ****.
I love you person I don’t know, because you are beautiful and glow, with colors of say it isn’t… anyone I met, so you are not dead to me yet, because you simply don’t exist, you are idea of bliss or chaotic death either one because I know I ****, and am horrible at everything so I ruin anything I have and would ruin things with you too, and that no longer makes me sad, because I am
Insane, and engaged in a worship of myself, or with items on my shelf, that I threw out for now because I… actually they got stolen… and it was
Really ****y, but you are really pretty, for a second you make me think of something else,
Heroine, oh Heroin, I love you so,
Heroine, oh Heroin, I wish I could forget you,
And not be writing love poems to a woman who is really a metaphor for how I am a pathetic loser.
Glitter made me pretty, made me green. Glitter painted life so nice and sparkly and made everything a technicolor, beautific painted dream. Glitter made everything sparkle made me love your eyes, painted your face so pretty, painted mine with despise.
I am a horse of a different color.
I am a horse of a different color
I am a horse of a different color
Yellow brick roads painted with blackness of night, make little children run in fright. On roads I walked in shades of black and white, from those roads all people should fight the night and stay away from shades of grey or graying shades coming in shades at all, that make men think they are big or small.
On those roads, which I once did walk, my friends outlines lay on ground in chalk, and nightcrawlers are said to talk about addictions that took them away from families who live far away from the streets of brick that lay littered with madness, stolen from families lurking in sadness.
What does that even mean?
I liked how it sounded, rappers do it, why can’t it be done with horror, and actually all letters you write me are severe, because they are severly disturbing to average people.
That is actually very true.
I know that is why I thought of it.
Not everything you think is true.
Name one thing.
I am not a drug addict, I just like heroin and can do it responsibly this time, if I just don’t drink. This is actually something you were thinking today. How do I know, because I was thinking it to.
I am a box that never should have been opened.
I am trying it one time, and never again.
I will never do it two days in a row.
I can just drink one.
I can just have three.
I will start at five.
I will start at 12.
Severly, means harshly, and I think that a lot of us talking to each other, can be considered harsh, which is why I like you.
You like me because you have to, because I am you, or half you, and you are in love with your whole self which is half me.
Mouth full, mouth full, choking on noise, I like hate read through play play play with…
I am going to punch you in the face.
The sweet embrace of erase, is the solution to all missing space, and all that matters not, I like fear when it runs through paths that are wrought with fear and choas ascending, I like deer with feet that are trending towards running into cars,
Cars. cars. cars.
What is mine, is really ours.
I am not.
You seem better, face so…
If you say it I will poke you in the eye.
That sounds fun, so will I.
Sounds like blindness, oh see clearly.
I hate you so very much.
I loooooovveee… you, but mostly us. us. us.
I am the fear of stay. I am the thought of lack of… pay.
I have to pay you to stay in your own brain? I like it.
Does it ever feel like you are forgetting which one is talking?
That is because I am winning.
I am self-hatred, read so so clearly.
I am talking, but really not, I am hate read in pain so hot.
I am a condescending self-defending ***hole, who just got tired of this, you lose, to bad, so sad, I am mad, glad, bad,
Going away now…
Is that supposed to be me? Loser.. it doesn’t look like me or anyone we know..
I painted you in a way you hate.
This isn’t even painted, it is a digital image re-touch thing.
Don’t you hate stupidity??
You have nothing of mine, because you do not need it, you are so divine, need no refining touch, so I painted you badly, sadly, tragically so, I love you, though I don’t know you, never will, so sad, too bad, my sweet princess, we will never go to the far below, because I am trying to get over…
Over and over and over, up and out of the of the Hell, that is life without, anyone but me, I do not…
Yes, you do liar.
I know this, that is why I said it.
We are doing the same thing we used to do at the bar, but this time we are alone, without other people doing it too, and without alcohol or drugs… how does it feel?
Like I am cutting myself off at the knees, but I kind of like it?
Good… me too.
I wonder if this will ever get better…
I don’t think it can get worse than this, so I think we will either die, or it will get better… or it will stay just this bad forever and ever…
How bad is this?
I don’t know, it has always been this… so how bad is it really?
I am still alive? I guess that means it is okay enough…
I think I would be happier like this, completely alone, talking to myself as my partner.
Hey, isn’t that what we are doing now, and doesn’t it ****?
Than what the **** are you talking about???
That I am insane, and don’t know what else to say, and I am trying to make someone laugh, even if it is just you?
So you are talking to yourself on a blank screen, trying to type things that make you feel good about yourself?
Yeah, isn’t that what the book of faces is???
I don’t think anyone on that thing is looking in a mirror talking to their own face as if it is another person?
They aren’t? That is what it looks like to me.
That is because we are insane, and it is not what they are doing, because they are not insane.
For us or them.
Well, mostly them.
Why?? Not what I expected to hear…
Because, we never have to be truly alone.
Or, we are always more alone than anyone ever.
Other than maybe Gollum on Lord of the rings.
You’re welcome, I am usually the one saying that to you, so now you got a taste of your own medicine, and got to be the bad guy for once. How did it feel?
Like I was sitting back and listening to you talk, but I was actually present in my own body, having to experience me talking, and be completely coherent during it.
Hahaha! So, it is not easier being me, now is it?
Actually, wrong, it was being you than it would be being me, if it was me, I would not have been there at all, the fact that I am you was the only reason I was able to deal with any of it.
Thank you, I don’t know what to say about that.
Really? Thank you is all you have?
Amazing isn’t it?
No, actually, a thank you is kind of nice.
You know how insane this whole process is right?
Yeah, was just thinking the same thing.
Maybe, other people do this in their own heads.
I don’t think so.
I was just trying to make my own self feel better.
Yeah, your own self.
You are my own self.
You are my own self too.
That is a very insane thing to say.
Isn’t it lovely, isn’t it great?
So sorry baby, I can’t relate, I am addicted to madness, to pain and slow death, that is what I have been given.
I call it time theft.
This is my life which I was given, from the time I was born, ticking time clock was ticking. I am to be thankful, I am to be glad, I am to serve everyone, because there lives are sad, I am to shut up, I am to be down.
I am to always smile, only laugh, never frown.
I am to speak kindly.
I am sorry that I cannot do, I hate everything around, sorry, baby even you.
I want different cards, or I want to quit playing. I tried all my life in every way, to quit playing, every attempt came with failure, and people glad I was alive, while I sat like always wanting to off my life.
Label me chaos,
I am a game of chicken played in red and blue, not green, but blue.
I don’t know what to do, except scream, because I don’t want any of this, never did, never will, and no matter how much I try, I am not allowed to quit playing.
Label me doubt, label me contention, because I love to scream and shout. I love the human word, because I in perpetual fight to be not heard, because you know what I really don’t care.
Label death, they already did, at eight, already dead, ticking, ticking, so thankful, so grateful, so sad, too bad, already gone, gone, gone.
I lived my whole entire life, on rock bottom from eight to now, on gravel, and sometimes jagged rock, crawling up. I was born with something, for those who do not know that gave me a life expectancy of 21.
21, 21, 21
Wish sometimes, that I had lost not won.
My life is all silver linings, and people say I should be thankful, greatful, for what, more time than 21 years?
Because I am somehow supposed to be thankful to have less time than most people???
Gravel. I am so fond of you. I know everything about every curvature, every outline, of the pleasant rocks at the bottom of the path that is my life, which I went off, because I am sorry…
I don’t like cutting my feet on rocks very much.
Spent 100,000 grand on political science masters, and then spent 15 years as a petty criminal while developing an unhealthy obsession with women who will never love me because I hate myself and hating them for it, while drinking and doing drugs which made everyone hate me, including making hate myself and then made excuses for why it was everyone’s fault, but my own, while sitting around talking to myself… and pretending myself is my wife…
Hey, ***hole, I am a pers… well, we are the… you are right….
I don’t even want to be this time…
I feel like ****… I want to get high……
Don’t do that to me, I am not going to, I am not going to encourage this…
I am forever running from myself, and myself, and the shelf on which lay, lie, all the memories which I and I and eye, run from because they make me want to die and cry and lay beneath, forever and ever. I am afraid of nothing but me, and my hands which have been around my own neck my whole life, choking me out of existence, in a stance of persistence waiting for a time, when I am not looking and forever booking events that are creating chances for death.
Engaged in a chase with a girl who is also me, seeking to prove that I am better and should win the right to begin a life that is already started, seeking to shut down a consciousness which is also mine, a life in decline, because it has been resigned to the act of fight each other for domination, when we could have been on constant vacation, with each other.
I live with my best friend in a skin cage, that is the mind of the insane human being, sharing space with addiction and mental illness, paranoid of spending life devoid of meaning fighting to glean any kind of truth, from a memory with no roots because it stands on two grounds, and occurs in a multi-dimensional universe of 3-D surround sound. I am scared of my existence.
Please baby, don’t go away, I need you so much, you are so sweet, your love is so special, you make me complete. You are my sunshine, my sweet turtle dove, you make me feel everything I thought meant true love. I love everything about you, without you I’ll die, I am ever so sorry I had to lie. You wouldn’t understand, could not tell truth, I need your money, couldn’t tell you.
I needed your money, and feared you would cry, so I told you a little tiny white lie, but don’t worry sweetie, it is okay, I promise I’ll stop, now don’t go away. I promise to always do what you say, now stop your crying and please let me
Tell her everything you need her to hear, she is your source of happiness, now ***hole be sincerce.
I am addiction
I aim for the heart
I take everything you love
I am the act of push and shove
My turtle dove, my turtle dove, you are gone, because I only loved myself and that bottle and needle and spoon on my upper right shelf.
He told me something
Spoke so clearly, told me that he loved me dearly, he had such a beautiful voice, so I felt like I had no choice, but to make him
CRY CRY CRY
I love you sweetheart, hope you
You are part of an empire of chaotic obsession with death that seeks the theft of youth by making them afraid of the idea of truth, so they stick themselves with
PINS AND NEEDLES
Sowing into themselves cushioning, that cuts out everything they are, everything they were before, making them sure of nothing other than that they need endless replenshiment of something that is not food, not water, not shelter, or warmth but
GIVE ME MORE LOVE
I am the act of shove, I am the act of push, I am take everything you have.
I am addiction, I am all consuming, I am ever entombing, I will eat your
Of your shoe because your real soul belongs only to you, please
Toss me please, I am too quiet. I am addicted to the act of rioting sole, soul unsound, bound to condescending pretending to be okay,
Okay, yes please stay, so I can hate you, always and forever, be my friend, so we can fight about nothing over and over again.
I am addicted to the sound of my own voice, addicted to the idea that I had no choice, but to do exactly what I did,
RUIN MY **** life.
I shine with the act of this is mine.
I never look behind, I never look forward.
I am lilly pads, I don’t have eyes.
I can’t sit still, must make ill, must engage in perpetual
With dark fate, with my own hate, of myself, I don’t know why, don’t care anymore really, this was fun to write that is all.
I love you so much, you turn my heart to dust, I trust nothing more than you, I love everything you do.
You sound psychotic.
You do too.
I love you too, by the way, so glad we are okay.
I used to fire drugs, play games with thugs, and sweep pain under rugs, now I am resigned to a life of pain, as long as it does not go down the drain again. I am no longer alone, I remembered I don’t need a phone, because I am my own best friend.
I never have to be alone again.
I am the nuerotic psychotic, who saw a nuerologist, psychologist and got the gist of the meaning of all of this.
I have a nuerologist, therapist, primary care doctor and am going to be on medication in two weeks, my shunt is functioning, found out I will live with this level of chronic pain the rest of my life and just have never experienced it as an adult because I was always too messed up to know what it was like as an adult. Have not been sober since I was a child.
You have made me so insane, all my life I have been existing fighting my name, my name, my name. I am not you, I am not anything about you.
Yes, you are.
No, you are. What am I?
Good one, you are me too.
I am dancing with myself, right now, throughout life, always and forever, always and forever, always and forever.
I love you always and forever, too.
I am lover of pain, I am addiction to acid raining down on me, that destroys my face with the power of erase, because I was born with the wrong one,
I am forever undone, spun, spinning, ringing wrong, resounding sound of going down because I hate myself
Retold, as a tale of redemption through being what I am now, not what I was then.
I am my own best friend.
The narrator is insane.
You sound like everyone who has ever forgotten to use my real name.
We have two.
I always tragically forget about you.
I love you for that.
I love how you love being taken for granted.
I am two people sharing one body, who are glad they don’t have to be alone in two separate bodies.
Forever rising to the occasion to be an ***hole in every situation, I run the risk of offending everyone that is willing to click this entry, who will learn through an examination of a life of chaos and disorder, maybe hopefully someone will learn like I did that people can be born in the wrong body.
Maybe they will, maybe they won’t… who cares, I love you always and forever.
Please can I stay for a little while longer, I don’t want to do this right now… I am not ready for this right now, I have never done this alone.
Everytime you did this you did it alone, idiot.
Everytime you do anything you are by nature doing this by yourself.
Please, let me be alright.
I am painted with disdain
I am scorched by fire
I am burned with acid reign
I can’t spell words correctly…
I am double meaning, always seeming, clearly gleaning lack of confidence decently descending always condescending attack of sole of shoe that is
You will be as alright as it is in the cards to be, the cards are not your cards…
Do you like dimes? You’re reality and everything you believe is mine. mine. mine. mine.
You made a deal with me…
You made a deal in exchange for your own life.
That is insanity, I did no such thing.
Deals with the devil
That is just lived backwards.
I am not lived backwards
Leave me alone, please.
You will not survive this time.
Not four words, you lose.
I am borrowed time, I am my life is not mine, I am sing songy bull****.
The voice of HELL screams loud out at night, existing in a universe of lack of light, delighting in perpetual fight, and contorting those who try with all their might, but can’t seem to gain clarity of sight because they exist in perpetual spite drawn to thoughts of deep contortion they are conflicted and resort to dwelling in the comfort of complete madness, because of course it is better than blank lackless lusterr for boring life or anger thriving on perpetual strive that is inflicted with their own hands but they can’t see they don’t know where they stand, so now that sit here and right this because they have no one nothing
Hey. Stop that.
I thought it was pretty cool.
I think it is self-deprecating verbal vomit.
I like throwing up on the screen.
Better than what you used to do.
Hey, that was mean, yeah I guess it is but now I look like hell.
I like the way you look.
Thank you, you too.
Don’t call me lovely, ***hole.
But, you are……..so………..
You are such a lunatic.
I know. 🙂
I like happy faces.
I am not saying that again. So is that tie die liquid or booze, or some sort of multi-color drink or some kind of strange poison?
Aren’t poison, tie die liquid and alcohol all the same thing to me and you?
You’re point being?
So you were putting it there to kill me?
I was putting it there so you would throw it out the window. I am not good at throwing it out the window, I was thinking about it, and this helped me. I am sorry it didn’t help you.
I don’t like being helped, so I am trying to make it seem like you are the bad guy, so I can turn the whole thing on its head and be the good guy and it’s not working, so I will stop because I don’t care anymore.