Lovely Technicolor Angels from Hell

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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.

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.

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.

My spray painted goddess

You are standing in front of a wall you painted dark green, like the ocean, or the idea of being mean, you didn’t like that, thinking it ruined it.

Ruin radiates from your eyes, no your ruin, but rather, mine, something I jealously guard, tortured guard, of Hell’s sword.

You stare blankly into the nothingness, that is everything you see before you, because everything before you is nothing, compared to the light radiant hands that painted the walls the color of the love of the sea, sprayed on, with the spirit of sea spray, encapsulated, by the captivating hands of one who radiates love so deep for all around her. You paint color into the darkness in waves that turn me green with envy, making me a creature on your walls, invisible, and broken, down into the atoms, so low, that I am nothing, but fragments, on the walls, shattered and broken, but brought back together, and rematched, by everything that you are.

You are a shooting heroic star.

I assure you, I am delicious.

Food speaks to me, it tells me to eat it, it tells me I will like it so much better than I can even imagine. This is probably because I am

INSANE

I am probably insane… I am actually insane.

I know this, but I wonder sometimes, if there is something to this, something real, if I am hearing something real, that is real to a small segment of people, but experienced collectively, in that it is the same experience shared by a very small segment of the population, so would that not make it real?

How peculiar

I met her near a bridge, she was going to work, she spotted me underneath the bridge, picking up the rest of my stuff, so no one would know I had camped there for the night. If I was careful, sometimes I could use the same spot twice. This was particularly important in Oregon, because it was not as understanding as California, and shop owner’s or random passersby could help police decide to banish the unhoused travelers.

Do you still think what you thought about her?

Yes. I still find it very strange that her name was Bridgette and we met her underneath a bridge.

Look, I know that is peculiar, but what you thought was insane.

I don’t think it is that insane that people were following us and giving quickly devised names, it is a perfectly logical explanation that you see in old movies all the time.

I guess that makes sense.

Such tragic skies

I love you baby, you make me complete, you so fare, you are so wonderful, and you are so neat. You are so wonder filled, so lovely, with your grace, I am replete. I would build you an altar, but my love is strewn across the street.

I am so sorry, for how it must end, you were such a wonderous, lovely, trend, for my life to take…. so dreadfully sorry, I made such a tragic and unfashionable mistake.

You were so right, my angel, about me, and my life, me, such a dark creature, addicted to night.

I am so sorry, baby, I loved you so much. I am so sorry, that I lost all your trust. I couldn’t do what you asked me, I see through blind eyes, so sorry sweetie, I am a creature of despise.

Painted with sadness

I am thinking about you and about breakfast in the morning and how I was always too high to eat it, and you made it for me.

And that kills me, because however much you and I hated each other at the very end, there was a time when you really loved me, or her, who you thought I truly was, thinking this part of me was addiction personified or something.

I really loved you once, in the way someone would love their best friend, because at one point you were my best friend too, and her boyfriend, and then you didn’t need a running buddy anymore, and wanted to be alone with her, and that is just not how it works, we are one person with two personalities.

I am green

Playing with color, playing with dark, I am light, I am dark, I am shadow, I am light, I am madness, I am fright, I am happy, I am sad, I am joy, I come in colors rad.

I make nothing, I make everything.

I am daunting, taunting, condescending.

Darkness, light, and the moon, paint the earth, paint the june.

The loon laughs alone, so do the bugs.

Crying to the stars, sleeping on nature’s pulled out rugs.

Cat

I am the act of dissing disease.

Speaking for the human being, who exists in the state of being late to a party they were not invited to, so they came late, and irate, and irritated, and possibly…

SoOoOoO EEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLaaAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDD

That they can’t stand, or in other words, the hated human being, being seen through the eyes of demise depsied by demise, who cries for those who lay in a state of moral decay, by the act of staying away from society.

I miss people, so I am trying to find ones who like me, for being me, not just saying whatever, you want, baby.

I am whoever you want me to be, honey.

My name is Sarah.

I come from a kingdom of dust, and no looking back.

I fly through worlds of darkness, resting in dark nests, I am an observer of everything.

You caw outside my window, which makes me look up.

https://www.mindbodygreen.com/articles/crow-symbolism

I am the crow.

The omen is a not just an omen, but a messanger, sent to dispense spiritual law, traveler between worlds, seer and traveler of a divide in time.

Haver of both it and me and no longer, possesser of item. I am simply the crow.

I

am

Complicated too, and complicatedly the crow, because I am not a crow, I am a human being, obviously, because crows can’t type letters, but I am listening the caw of the crow as I write to you, whoever is listening, even if ut anyone is at all, and

Where do you go?

What do you see?

What do you desire me to be?

I am so happy to be at peace, a place, instead of the sensation of mind erase, a drink, but also a place. I am no longer the feeling of lack of space, but am allowed to exist.

I wasn’t before this. I was a state of mind that was pushed away, a meditation thought to be decay, but now I exist.

Yes.

Drinking, using, any of that… is not better than this, and none of that is missed, not for anything would I give up this.

I am so glad to be done, and be able to not hate myself anymore.

I have begun to sow the fractured pieces of my soul back together, but it is hard, a reverse dissection of a fake infection projected on me by my own hand.

At least now I can stand on my own two feet.

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2023/03/26/rdp-sunday-muskrat/

I didn’t know the river, that I thought was a river, was really a swamp. I couldn’t tell from where I was standing, it was too dark.

I had not paid much attention either, having had to make a quiet escape, while my “friend” was sleeping, so as to not offer any explanation and justify my leaving.

I am looking out over the water, I am hot and itchy, it has been days since I showered, and by days, I mean… probably weeks, probably a month. I don’t know the difference between the segments of time, they make no difference to me anymore. I am itchy, and there is water… or ehm.. I was itchy.. and there was water… I am not good at the whole tense thing sometimes either… I am always tense…….. tense….. it is just a state of mind….

I jump into the river, or what I think is a river, and it feels good for a second, just one, till I realize what I have done, and the fatal error I have made. This is a swamp. I panic, pulling at weeds, and struggling to not sink too far into it, it takes me 45 minutes to escape my failure at showering, and I look like a drowned muskrat.

https://gmgblog.ca/2023/03/20/five-word-weekly-challenge-2312/

Need an outlet, I am spinning tales of death to distract myself from what I am really thinking. It is 9:24 on the east coast……. and I am sitting staring into the darkness of this screen, thinking of how much I long for something, out of sickness…. I long for you… oh spindle of silence,

Heroin, oh heroin, I love you so,

Heroin, oh heroin, why must I say no?

Why, must I long for you for the sweet kiss of death every night at this time?

I have OCD, along with the other litany of problems I have already listed here, heh. I got my hair cut, which is awesome because I didn’t have to pay someone in drugs to shave it all off because homeless people can’t cut hair, and I wasn’t so itchy that this would seem like a necessary choice, so yay me for getting my haircut and getting a normal hair cut so I don’t have to shave my head again. That sucked, I think I mentioned the whole mohawk **** thing… but if I didn’t some ***hole shaved my head into a split in half mohawk, and told everyone to look for mohawk ****.

Short sweet, and very fun for mohawk ****. I got a lot of sympathy, and a lot of free items.. and they found out the wrath of mohawk ****. Then mohawk **** needed to leave, because there was a rumor that I had a twin and one of us was a girl and the other was a guy and the only difference was the voice… convenient… till they found out we were both the same person and it was me beating my ass not my twin brother or vice versa… very bad con…

I threw my phone in the river at around the same time because I thought someone tapped it looking for mohawk **** because tricking junkies is a high crime… and people really give a **** about that kind of thing…. or something I thought when I was way too high…

My dad is a really great person, we had a really good time, he was talking to me about his life, making me laugh, and we went to a really good restaurant and I told him I am done with drugs and booze the rest of my life. I also got to make plans with my uncle to see him at Christmas for the first time in ten years, and say I was sorry for being a lying ***hole.

All in all a successful day for mohawk ****, or me with a shorter hair cut that looks nothing like that at all.

Peace

Damien.

I used to just consume ****ing other things, and for some reason thought if I drank water sometimes, I would feel okay. I think that is why I was losing pieces of my hands… stupid…

It’s kind of cool though… You don’t need the tips of all of your fingers, to be functional. The right thumb thing was the worst.. I am missing half of it.

Damien

I have been courted all my life, to dance with loaded gun or held knife at my Neck, by myself, on a shelf, which of course is what I think because, baby I ****ing stink, I smell booze, in heart and soul, still drunk but dry, sometimes I know.

I reek of anger, creaking madness, rocking back and forth epic sadness, dark reflection, not staring at mirror, but bashing crashing and dying in epic fear.

I am loaded gun, I am dark resistance, I am tragic, insistence, that though I am dry, I am GOD. I am responsible for divining rod, punishing me, I am insistence on trying to be my own

Maker

Breaker

Soul forsaken, breaking me, tragically, beginning to see how epic my failure is.. or simply that I am an addict who needs a higher power.

Facts.

What activities do you lose yourself in?

Re-vision- Soul re-stitching, threads of misery replaced with kindness.

I used to lie, cheat, and steal

In Misery, only would I deal.

Suffering was my main course meal.

I did not eat, I lived on the street, and in pain and suffering I did deal.

I was a cheater, a liar, a thief, if you met me I would make sure you fell beneath…

Me in every endeavor thinking, I was so clever, but really only

HURTING

Me.

Now, I am trying to be different.

ER ER ER
__________________________________________________

Flat line

__________________________________________________

Revive revive revive

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I lost my train of thought,

My rhyme scheme is for naught.

_________________________________________

ER ER ER
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I love those around me, it makes me uncomfortable and I use horror to deal with it, because it scares people and makes me feel better because

STAY AWAY I AM SENSITIVE
LIAR LIAR

Who do you think you are?

An addict trying to redeem themselves.

NO ONE CARES.

I do, so I am posting this.

TRIGGER WARNING: About sex workers or prostitution, and revelation of moments of clarity, mentions drug use and is very graphic do not read if you can’t handle this. I am writing for my own recovery, and to cleanse my own mind and soul.

You were the last man to touch me for free, and now they will never touch me again, because I realize, I charged with the charge of a heart scarred by being untrue to me. I did not want to be with any of you at all. I was not that kind of… person. I charged for the scars to my arms, to my soul, to the eternal burning hole in everything that it is to be me, and give things heroically in falsehood because what I was really doing was buying letters carved in human skin that told stories of heroic-ness, but what I was really doing was sleeping with people for free drugs… nothing more nothing less.

We search your basement hideout for your **** which you already did, I know because we did it together, but you don’t remember this, because we were together for a second, being together in love with each other for the brief second that rocks are thrown on table,

Rock, paper scissor

Scissor, I cut you out of my life, toxic friend, and all men, that make me exchange sex for bitter rocks, cast at my soul.

I like women better anyway.