Daily writing prompt

What do you wish you could do more every day?

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I am alone in the woods, on a path, in the middle of the night.

It is around three in the morning. I am guessing, there is a complete blackness to the sky, and silence that suggests the birds are still sleeping.

Looking up at the sky, I wonder if anyone, or anything is awake yet, if there is another animal that is like me and drawn to frantic pacing at this time, somewhere anywhere.

I listen for any noise that would hint of any kind of life at all, but there is nothing, there is an absence to the air, that suggests lack.

I breathe and feel like sound is missing from the universe, unsure if there is something wrong with my ears, if I have lost my mind completely, if I am tripping myself out, what it even means to hear at all.

I cough. I can hear myself. There is sound.

Looking up at the sky, I trace the existence of me, as something separate from the night, I can feel my hands, they hurt. The coldness of night bites into them with every movement, a slicing that feels like sharp needles, sticking into them with every movement.

I cough again, and can hear the sound, radiating into the echoing darkness.

I sigh. I am relieved to have released that in this all consuming starkness of light, I am still separate, able to feel myself, as an entity which exists in a universe of parts.

It is very dark. I can see nothing in front of me. The moon is absent from the sky, and there are no stars, blinking, I think I am crying. I am not sure. I don’t remember what that feels like, or how long I have been standing here, and cannot tell if I am looking down or up.

Moving my neck, I figure out I am staring up.

I blink my eyes. Nothing.

I am still shrouded in the all consuming darkness.

It is very cold, the cold has spread from my hands to the rest of my body, feeling like a bitter aching, hurting like sharp knives with each movement, but without the sound of reassuring wind, that makes me aware of passing storms.

I am not sure if this bitter cold, if it is something characteristic of the season, or of it is something I am feeling in this spot, right now that is very much specific to me.

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A journey through MISERY

PUSH
PLUNGER
GO
ON THE EYE OF A NEEDLE
RIGGED WITH SPENDTHRIFT
DEATH

Forgetting is a tragic problem I have, but it is getting better, as my ego dies, and I open my eyes to the fact that I could not see, because I was sick and deranged by a disease strange and prone to mange and change human form, to distort and contort the human body, and make it unrecognizable to the have-

er of one.

I have been know as a chaos chaser of dragons, a pusher of substance, and prayer in holes of foxes, in ditches, in alleyways, a shooter of heroes, and a placer of ins and outs in acts heroic so I can go without doing them, pushing them in with sowing needles that stitch me out and in to a quilted madness in the bed I was making and would have to lie in and lay in, in death.

I have come to a place now where I can go home as well, well too.

This home allows the chaotic night to continue without my pushing assertion of madness, and it is a little quieter minus one night crier night crawler, who now sleeps and dreams.

It is an insane release of tension to write dark horror. I don’t care what anyone thinks… I am going to do what I want now. I am an ***.

I am trying to be more honest and am not going to do the whole fake it thing, I am still the same **** with dark thoughts, I think the key is to find outlets for my rage issues and not hurt myself or bite people’s heads off. I think it is a good outlet for repressed aggression and makes it easier for me to not lash out at people around me. I am very passive aggressive and have a lot of repressed rage I channel into writing…

Sorry.

Damien

I am listening, and I have an instant reaction to something you say, and I react and for a second feel okay, I was honest at least, that’s a step right? I am not lying, I am being honest. I am okay with the world and feel like I am doing the right thing.

Then I think about what I said, and the whole world lights on fire, a fire not burning with flame, but with different colors, that I have never seen before, because I have never experienced a world of color before. I have always lived in black and white, never dealing with light of day, with human being, ruler of land of push away. I sit and agonize over things that are tiny and stupid, and then resent myself for doing it, no one does this. No one has to, they are not stupid. I am stupid and think about stupid things.

Then I realize that they know that I do this, and I think I am in some way better than those around me, and that the fact that I do this makes me superior to them, and that if they only knew how specifically hard to be very specifically me it was they would

DRINK USE TOO

I just got this, that this is the process of what I usually do, and that by taking a step back and not hating myself for doing it… helped me. Thank you random stranger in the park that told me this.

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.

I can still talk to you though we exist not in the same dimension, all the time at least, I visit you because I see you, you see me and you speak and I hear you because I listen. I listen to everything, to the mutterings of the under spoken word, to the shouting to mad dark night, to the words callously yelled into chaotic dark night, because they used to consume me, but they don’t anymore, because I realized I can cast them out on here.

I travel back and forth to Misery through my mind, and through others, who I see, stuck there, and they speak to me from there. I can see it in them speaking to me, speaking through them now, this came to me last night after a dream, I have been having strange dreams.

I am thinking that ghosts sometimes just want to be heard and are not used to being heard so say thing that they have always wanted to say very quickly and it is up to me to decode them because the universe is showing me them and them me for a reason, positive being the key over negative.

I hear things, I hear phrases, they come to me, constantly. I get stuck on them, a decoder of messages coming into my mind, that could mean something or nothing, who knows, but I decode them on here because it helps me personally deal with them, and not shout them on street corners, or talk to myself while pacing around in decaying madness. I noticed with this one, that I put in the title, reckless abandon, that if it spelled like the above, wreck less abandon, that it means something different.

Wreck

 the broken remains of something wrecked or otherwise ruined. (dictionary.com)

Reck

pay heed to something.

Less

a smaller amount or quantity of something.

before subtracting (something); minus.

(Archaic) of lower rank or importance.

to a smaller extent; not so much.

To me this means

The broken remains of something of lower rank or importance

a·ban·don

cease to support or look after (someone); desert.

give up completely (a course of action, a practice, or a way of thinking).

complete lack of inhibition or restraint.

This to me speaks on two levels which makes me employ both

cease to support or look after (someone); desert.

The broken remains of something of lower rank or importance

Wreck less Abandon

Read this way

Someone of perceived lesser importance, removes prior restraints causing lesser importance, and turns to mission of more importance, which is removing inhibitions or restraints, or the chains of addiction and helps the abandoned or lost of society.

Just a thought, through language dissection of schizophrenic thoughts.

We each have one and a half. We made a deal to get more soul in exchange for helping people and we used our gift to manipulate people to get high or drunk or whatever we wanted.

Sounds accurate.

Right. I remembered it last night, think about those guys we met named the squanders.

Strange *****.

Yeah right?

Remember that weird thing they said?

We are the descendants of the kingdom of Saul.

Eerie right?

No, I knew this.

**** you.

Not nice. I am just glad I remembered this, because I think I might be able to do the right thing this time.

So who are you really?

I am you, but more about that later.

Okay. Good night, you deal with this now.

Okay.

Hey, that is mean..

I know, but I thought it would get you to talk to me.

Jerk. Fine, here.

I am fine.. I am fine. I am fine. Everything is just ******* peachy. I can’t even feel things anymore lest I resurrect demon. Everything is my ******* fault. I can’t have a genuine response. I am not allowed to.

Geez. You can, just think of the effect on the other people.

I am. That is all I am thinking about right now, I am just going to not do anything, anymore. I am the… I sound like such..

Yeah, I know.

Thanks, I need that.

I know.

The mist rises over the water, the wetness dancing in teardrops on my arms, painting over them scarred and pulsing with poison, kissing my skin with the soul quenching waters of the tears of an unknown higher being, higher than I could ever be right now, because of the highness being a station of above-ness not destined to the tragic fixated state of an elated man.

I stare out into nothing, looking at my reflection in the dead bodies in the water, drifting into the distance, I find them because I know where they dump them, because I am polluted. I am the pollution of a river that runs with the waters of man, uniting with tears of an all-knowing that is nothing and everything at the same time, or everything I try so desperately to inject into my eyes with a spoon that is not sharp enough to cut through my skin, I draw power into the caging madness of the eye of a storm dilated into liquid chaos propelled through the tiny head of a sowing needle the dots the I’s of my eyes of despise.

I stand there crying and laughing, for a moment it is almost like it alright because I feel nothing and everything, but I am just high, and it will pass, and I will be again thrown to my knees remembering the crying of those around me as they watch me and mourn for me, and responding out of fear, I pull them under,

Please don’t leave me alone.

They drown.

I tell myself I don’t need them anyway, but it is a lie

I am dying inside every second I do this, which is why this only a reflection on the madness I saw, while staring into nothing.

I am so amazed by the tragic beauty in the next room, who can look in my eyes, and run away when I can’t even look in the **** mirror for 10 seconds without crying.

Later

Damien

It means the world to me, as I came on this site very aggressively having a public hissy fit over how a world that I did not accept would not accept me, which was all just me trying to avoid accountability for the fact that I had ruined my own life by wasting it on deviant behavior to acquire things that no one needs and were never worth the lives cost on the streets of madness. If nothing else, I can say I have learned my lesson, and that I will try my hardest to not mess this up, and even if I do. I am changed. I will never look at drugs or alcohol the same again, and I am not a first time winner, this is my thousandth time swearing I would do it after repeated foxhole prayers to a God, sorry I am Catholic, no offense meant, believe whatever you want, the shame guilt thing is good for my ***.

I am feeling a lot better, and though I know I am going to rage flip out and cycle through denial and rage, I want anyone reading this to know, any of the things that people have said, out of kindness to a screaming madman, stuck with me and continues to change my life in ways I did not think possible.

I owe all of you everything I have, and I only have this way of thanking you.

With Love,

Damien

What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.
Turn the pages
What can I help you with?
Nothing I am fine, why do I look like I need help?!
Sorry, sir, didn’t mean to…
Well ya did, get the **** away.
Sorry just trying to…
Oh, sorry I am a jerk.

Damien, alcoholic addict in stages and phases reflecting forever in Narcissistic ever quest for self reflection

I mean that wholeheartedly, talking to myself helps me, and I am hoping maybe it will help someone else to see my displayed vanity insanity typed over and over, and it is better to talk to myself on here then cry myself to sleep, or get drunk or high because I am scared. Okay, not going to erase that, it felt very good to write that.

I have a very hard time admitting weakness,

Can I help you with something?

This says to my brain

1. You are paying attention to me
   • Stop looking at me **** it.
   • I am doing fine, if you only knew what my life was like you would look this ****** too, so stop reminding me of how pathetic I am by implying I need anything from you.
2. You have noticed something I am doing that illustrates that there would be any reason I need help.
   • I do everything to the best of my ability at the time, which is very poorly because I am a drug addict and an alcoholic who sucks at everything except engaging in fits of rage or joy on the internet, and I say that lightly because displays of affection towards myself are disgusting. 😉
   • You are telling me something I am doing is inadequate which makes me mad immediately because why are you looking for inadequacy in someone you don’t know
3. You think I need anyone other than myself.
   • This makes me feel uncomfortable because I don’t want to want or need people, because then they can hurt me.
   • I am terrified of wanting or needing anyone.
   • I would rather be rejected immediately
   • Kindness of strangers annoys me, because I am just going to say the wrong thing and cause discomfort for everyone.

Peace.

I don’t know what I was thinking… I am sorry… I have been having a bad day.. so I decided to gross myself out……Meh. I…. don’t know, I am having a really hard time here. I just constantly feel like ****. I know it is the effects of years of drug and alcohol abuse, my stomach hurts, I can’t eat without feeling like I am going to throw up, not out of pathetic narcissism either, but out of the holes I have burned into myself with the acid bile that was the chaos of my life, a digging at my skin and my face, that has dug me the chasm that is the cavernous existence I live now, a prisoner in a body stuck in a decay cycle.

I was talking to one of the people at the meeting, he made me feel better. He said it gets better, we laughed about how if I am not a *** I will not have to go through this again, asked me if I felt like **** and told me he sympathized because he remembered being me. I like the people in the rooms, man. At least they are real. I am so happy to be out of the lying limerick silent screaming world of active addiction, even if I am living in a cavern of fire skin and retching vomit, in dedication to withdrawal, at least I am not out there chasing imaginary dragons or killing people through inaction.

I hate myself now, sorry….

peace.

Damien

Bear with me. I am trying to decode all this eerie memory myself. I am telling you this in the most clear way I can. It will be choppy like my memories, because I was intoxicated for most of it. I also don’t feel good right now, physically I mean. I was at the hospital all day.

I am standing holding a sign on a street near a 7-11, and there is a man who knows me, he says we have spoken before, and I feel the same way. I see in his face, I know him and I don’t know how or why. He tells me that he needs to tell me something, and that he cannot tell me this thing in public, so we go and people follow us, I don’t know who they are, and I am sober, I am lucid, I am paying attention. I can tell they are following me. I can see them out of the corner of my eyes, they are actually following me. I see them, but I pretend I don’t.

He tells me they follow him too. He tells me they always follow him.

I ask him why. He says he doesn’t know, he says he need my help. I follow him. We walk around and he tells me about these people, that follow him. He says he doesn’t know who they are or why they follow him.

I am standing in a different spot in a different place. It is a grocery store, it is 3 am. I am looking down at a pack of spare ribs, I don’t know why. I do not have anyway to cook them, a man comes up to me and asks me if he can follow me for awhile. I say yes. We go drinking. We are outside, we walk up to a house, with an open gate that looks abandoned tonight. The lights are off. The windows are bare, and there is no one inside. I am remembering earlier, the house… so full of life… a swing set in the backyard… a pool filled with water, and children swimming… the pool is empty… no water… the walls are bare. I can see this because all the windows are open and there is…

I am running… different time… different place… there is a blue splendid looking light in the sky… in the shape of a jelly fish.. I am high and tired, and think it is about that… I am with my friend who has since gone insane and we are on the beach and we realize there is this same blue light on the ground we run our hands through it, and spread it all over laughing and joyous talking of the beauty of the universe.

I am another place another time, I am sitting on the sidewalk talking to someone with memories that are fractured, telling me that he is a jigsaw puzzle…

You did.

I saw the n after that, jerk.

You didn’t.

Yes I did. I had a really good night last night. Thank you for wondering. That was kind of you.

I can see you too.

Am I supposed to be scared?

No, I just wanted you to know I learned to like you.

That’s good because only lunatics talk to monsters in their closets, people can talk to spirit guides.

Rei and I are doing better now that she doesn’t think I want sleep with myself anymore. That also means I am doing better too, because now I don’t want to sleep with myself anymore either. I remember that being the best way to break up with people ever. ‘I don’t need you, I can drink and do drugs and talk to myself for the rest of my life!’ Oh, to the lack of loneliness of an alcohol, addict recovering from addiction, and trying to establish sense of self in a chaotic world, while also trying to recover from psychotic delusions and battle health problems made worse by addiction.

Blah blah blah… my life is harder than everyone else’s you sound like the worst people in the rooms of recovery.

I know I am on a roll right now. Swish.

What does bowling have to do with basketball.

I don’t know I am not much into sports, except the blood sport.

You mean running away from drag racers, while preforming stunts at drag races?

That was fun wasn’t it?

Yeah, but we are done with that now.

Ever forget which version of yourself was talking?

Me, too buddy.

I also grabbed a blanket, because if I am going to be a pile of disgusting, weeping chaos, fuck looking like I don’t get cold. I am not touching what I said yesterday. I don’t remember what it was, but remember enough that I have made the decision to not look at the archived post. I don’t care that I don’t remember…. now I remember… fuck.

I really have to pee, but I am afraid of mirrors, and everyone is asleep and there is a mirror in the bathroom. I don’t want to piss my pants, but don’t want to look in the mirror, I am afraid of demonic possession alright… because that would be a problem, obviously… it might make me into someone who kills people they know and doesn’t remember things….oh right…

Well… hold, on. Oh, right you can’t see me.

Back and I remembered to wash my hands, and they are not bleeding because I only did it once, oh small steps. Literally only about 2. My bathroom is very close to my computer, I don’t know why you need to know that.

So you can hopefully kill me in the middle of the night and I don’t have to live in shame and guilt, oh yeah the whole people in the next room thing.

Okay, that is all you need to know.

Peace.

Damien

So I am allowed…

I fucking found Rei, or she found me. Or, what really happened was. I don’t know. I don’t know…

I woke up in this motel bed, sleeping next to Rei and she is alive, and my daughter is still in the next room alive.

There are two living people in this motel room, three including me.

Rei is in my bed, not fucking dead, and my daughter is on the couch.

I am going to shoot myself, not really. This is the most amazing thing I have ever had happen to me in my whole life. I love this new weird typing lunatic.

Well, right now that is me or is it her or is it me?

I keep looking at my family and they are still here, and I can feel if I concentrate…

My universe being typed onto my existence. I think I am going to… lay down.

Diane’s daughter, continuity is hard for me. I do not know who’s, whose I mean, daughter she is really.. mine? Diane’s? Rei’s? I don’t really think she can be mine, because I don’t remember… never mind.

So anyway, spelling and my insanity aside, I think the girl might be my daughter, so I am trying to help her. I don’t know which woman she comes from. I think it might be Diane. If it’s Rei I have to hang myself, because I don’t think I could handle anyone coming from Rei being my responsibility.

I am pathetic, I know.

But, yes I know you can’t start a sentence that way, look what I made! If there is anyone reading this.

I don’t think I am the best person who could have been chosen to protect a child, but I am dangerous enough I guess. No one will bother her on my watch.

Poor child. I am literally the worst babysitting choice the universe could have made, but I guess not because it made it. It kind of makes me feel better about myself.

I will make sure no one hurts her, and we will get to the bottom of who she is running from. Maybe, we will both learn something in the process.

I have started calling my daughter, Joy, seems like a good enough name.

Later.

Damien

Whoever it is, that has been writing my existence. I feel like maybe if I am alright with it, and do not anger it, maybe it will like me more, and my life won’t suck as much as it has.

Enough of that, it makes me uncomfortable to think about. I don’t like feeling small, or insignificant. I would like to think I am not some creature whose script is being written out by some cruel god or some all knowing being, sometimes I wonder if the thing writing my script is really, just like me and is actually just to cowardly to admit that they are in every way me in some small way or another. I do not really know what to think about the whole thing. I am still bouncing around with what the whole clarity thing even means in a real sense.

On an off topic note, Diane’s daughter is insanely cool. She has the same kind of thoughts that both me and Diane had, and is prone to the same questioning of everything that is real, but.. oh wait… I forgot…. I wanted to mention that I am just calling her Diane’s daughter till I figure things out, I know nothing for sure, she might not even be real.

I am feeling less lonely now. I am really starting to think I might be okay, someday, no matter what happens.

I found her.

Damien

in a house that wears clothes that are an indication of no good.. that is the first thing that came to mind when I sat down here. I am sorry give me, oh right…. you can’t see me.

I found a pair of clothing and a golden necklace in the warehouse I have been staying in. I am not sure who put them there, and from what I remember I was there all morning, and Diane is missing. I do not think she is the owner of the necklace, and I insist with viole…everything in my being, that this is not being typed on here as a way to process some kind of guilt about having killed Diane, I do not kill any woman I love. I did not kill Rei. She overdosed, and while I may have through my own foolish insistence to keep using not done anything to stop her, I couldn’t have stopped her from doing that shot because I wasn’t there, any dreams or feelings that I had that, made me think anything other than that, are complete horse shit.

I am telling you this is different. I know this is different. I can feel it. I know this is different, that there is some reason this is different. I have this eerie feeling, that I am supposed to do something to figure this out, that somehow, something about me drew me to Diane and it has something to do with this.

I can’t seem to sleep through the night, ever. Not surprising. I have never had a good time sleeping. I am kind of just glad I woke up without blood on my hands, Diane still alive, in the same place, well sort of. I half woke up and flipped the hell out and came out her to write this down, in an attempt shut off my questioning mind. I think I had a nightmare, I had that word and other admittance of fear….. anyway I had some sort of a dream that I was sitting up half asleep and my hand was missing, it wasn’t missing per say….spelling… I have OCD.

Anyway, I am still rocking back and forth, so it is hard to type as fast as I am thinking, and it is insanely disconcerting to be listening to my stupid voice chant words as if trying to cast them on a screen.. screen not scream.

My hand is numb partially, and what… the fuck…. now I am missing… what the hell… I am missing three finger tips… and I think I… I think I had only cut off the one, that one time. Yep. still three. Still three. I check things three times. I feel like I an idiot. I am still rocking back and forth…… I look a joke out of a movie.

I wonder if the fingers have something to do with anything….yeah still

one

two

three

I made this. I feel like I am 5, showing my teacher something I made in class. At least I am still only missing three fingertips, can still use my hands and have not completely lost my mind, given that I can still type words on this screen. She, Diane hasn’t realized I got up yet, so I am going to try to go back to sleep before she does. I really feel like I am five or have no……

Later

Damien

I know I didn’t kill her, but didn’t I? Wasn’t it me who was the goading force behind our illicit glass blowing and sowing? Whether I killed her with knife in hand, or with entry in to a land of sharp objects and cold air…

Does it really matter? Isn’t it the same thing?

I am still wondering what the whole thing means, and it bothers me how much the whole thing looks like a set-up.. Misery… Ms. Re. Re minus the i and the why.. and the y.. I hate scitzophrenia. Spelling, Damien, spelling…

I have been watching him on here, I met him outside my house, he was standing outside talking to himself about not knowing what was going on, I have my ways of calming men like him down. I invited him inside, and he sat on my couch with me, and started crying and laughing at the same time. He was manically speaking like he had been awake for days about about six hundred things at once, I think he was unable at that point to differentiate between regular speech and talking, either that or he didn’t care. It was probably that he didn’t care, the whole thing made me think of a man melting onto the floor, as if someone had poured acid on him.

He is storing this computer and actually himself, in my living room, because I like him, and I am lonely. I don’t think he would remember to come back here if I let him outside. I will be writing with him on this site in place of his ex-girlfriend now. He seems like the kind of man, who can’t handle being alone despite a tendency to kill his lovers.

Yours,

Diane.

I don’t think. I don’t know. I can’t tell. I can’t remember who I was before even, or even really understand what that means, the words don’t make sense to me. I am changing from second to second, so fast I think that I am not a consistent person at all. I think I am going to go back to stopping doing drugs. I mean… I think I am going to stop doing certain ones. I can’t handle this manic thing. I don’t know why I wanted to be alone. I can’t handle this. I don’t remember anything but I do. I remember everything that happened but as if it was told to me. It seems like a script of a movie, that I am upset about my role in. I feel like I am having a hissy fit. I did something awful. I am awful in general and I am having a hissy fit because I can’t seem to wash the blood off my hands.

I am going outside. My finger is healed. I don’t know how long it has been since I cut the tip off. It looks normal now except it doesn’t have the tip on it. I am going outside.

Later

Damian

Again, I thought ki…that Rei fucking leaving would…. yeah I know I just admitted I fucking killed Rei. I don’t give a shit. I woke up to doing it to Diane. I had my hands around her neck. Luckily, she thought I was dreaming and it turned into something else because Diane has strange… appetites. I don’t know what my problem is. I can’t be happy for too long without slipping out of reality. I don’t know where I go, it is like I am not there at all. Like waking up from surgery…. Does my brain function at all during these times? I want to look it up but, I am afraid to… not like…looking it up would be worse than typing it to some unknown stranger on the internet. I am afraid of google though.

Whenever I use their image search thing I feel like all the people are looking at me. I really hope I don’t end up killing Diane. I don’t think I could handle that right now. I like her. I don’t want to.. have to deal with change again. I am not good at change. I have to figure out how to keep this computer safe from the rain. There is something about that makes me feel like Rei is still alive, without her annoying voice yammering in my ear… kind of like she is alive with no tongue. I would have liked that. Okay, I am done for the second. I have disgusted myself enough.

Later.

I threw a pair of hands out of a hot air balloon. It was one of the strangest things I had ever seen. I do not know how I got in the hot air balloon, as I had been up for several days, but Diane was with me, and did not know I had the hands in my backpack. I did not either, which is strange because they smelled disgusting. I threw them out while Diane was not looking.

I found this weird graphic of this rainbow man on the computer this morning. I am thinking this is who the hands belonged to, and maybe I got the idea from his hands being up in the air in the photograph that is above. I still have to figure out if it is Diane’s balloon or not. I want to use it again. It was an excellent and anonymous way to get rid of something.

Later

Damien

I found this interesting new spot. I was walking late at night and had glasses on because I have astigmatism. I do not think I mentioned that, I only mention it now because I think that is what caused me to notice the coin. It was a very strange coin, that I had never seen before. I think a street light must have caught it just right to reflect onto my glasses in a way which was disconcerting for a second, and I almost walked into a taxi. The guy was a real asshole about it. I threw something out of my pocket at his car, fuck that is where my phone went. No matter, I will just get another one anyway.

I still have the coin somewhere, the back of the coin appears to be removed, but I am not sure how, and for the life of me I cannot figure out where the coin is from. I do not wish to share details about the exact nature of the coin on this website. I don’t trust whoever is reading this, and something about the coin is making me paranoid. I will share more about this later, maybe. I am doing this mostly for myself anyway, so I have no idea why I am trying to be polite to you.

Damien

I am astounded by how quiet my mind is right now. I can’t believe how much better I feel recently. I did not realize until today, how draining it was to have someone around me every second.

I think there is some sort of strange activity going on in this factory that I have been staying in. I do not have much to occupy my days, which is pleasant.

I have taken up investigating the affairs of those around me. I am enjoying keeping distance between me and others. I see Diane sporadically. I do not want to engage in another misery inducing situation. I do miss Rei at all.

Her name comes in two parts, and so does my heart.

It has been weeks since we got here. We are in the desert somewhere. I am am working for this woman who lives in a city. We have been staying at these random motels, they don’t notice us because the owners of the motels don’t notice anyone. They don’t pay attention to anyone I mean. I am kind of seeing Dianne behind Rei’s back. I have also told her I will fucking kill her if she interferes with me and Dianne. I want to see what it is like to love someone else, I think I might be able to love Dianne. She is so much like me.

There is something about Dianne that fascinates me. She talks and I am enthralled because I do not want to protect or devour her. I just want to listen, in a way that I have never wanted to listen to Rei. I feel like Rei is the childish love I should have had, when I was 16. I am 36. I deserve….. I deserve the electric chair.

Who am I kidding. I deserve nothing. I am a piece of shit, but there is something that makes me feel better about being around Dianne. I think it is because she is a piece of shit too. I like that about her. I can hear death in her voice. It is strongly fascinating. I can hear death in her voice and it is not my own, or hers, I wonder what the fuck is wrong with this maddening woman.

I was in an abandoned building with Rei, we were sitting talking, and I am not sure if the people who came in after us heard us. They were speaking a different language that I couldn’t quite make out because my ears were ringing, and I hadn’t been paying much attention to anything that was being said by anyone because I was more focused on something that was being handed to me, and I hate myself for that, which I am going to start charging myself a dollar for saying.

I got this strange feeling, like I had been there before, exactly there and that we had done it wrong, and both of us had been burned alive, which is strange because I feel like I remember Rei saying the same thing. We are quiet for a second and they seem to notice a change in the level of presenting sound in the room, stopping and looking for us. I get this strange idea, that I can focus on not being there, and I focus on it and they don’t notice us. To me at the time, I just think I am having an episode, and that for all I know I might already be burning alive.

I wake up with Rei somewhere else, vomiting. I hate how much time I spent vomiting. It’s disgusting. I am disgusting. I put this picture in with this post because this vaguely illustrates what I saw. I made it using some insane fucking program, sorry for my language. I am frustrated…. and yes… I see words in the sky sometimes…

We have met others who do what we do, I am studying it as a phenomenon now, they have some sort of ability that involves the manipulation of human beings and the universe. They are all addicts, and I do not know if that is that stupid you associate with those like you crap, or if they are like us because there is something about being an addict that causes us to be able to do this. I feel like I have mentioned this before, but I do not know for sure, because admittedly my memory sucks, and I do not like to admit I have any weakness at all.

I have a hard time making assessments of the reality of what I see because of this, I, in my admitted arrogance, believed and still believe in my ability to manipulate space and time with my hands, that is one of the reasons I take life, aside from being prone to lashing out in fits of rage. I am embarrassed even writing this to you, my unknown observer. I do not like being the kind of person who talks to people, and wonder sometimes if that means I do not like being a human being. I sometimes doubt even that, that I am human at all.

I do not know what that means… I do not know what it means to not believe in my own human body. I guess it just means that I am everything they always said I was, and that for some reason in my wretched existence, I am pathetic enough to not… I am going to stop… I can’t stand hearing myself talk, even if it is out loud while typing to you or sometimes in the ranting chaos that is my own mind.

There are many ways to take a human life, there is the very official way, my favorite of killing a person face to face, which offers the most reward because they get to know you did it. I am an idiot and like this, because I like them to know I stole the only thing that mattered from them, and there is nothing they can do about it. I set it up this way, because I am admittedly a coward, and do not want them to steal my life, so I protect myself, by ensuring this won’t happen. I was born with a taste for death that has been with me… since I can remember and struggled with self-hatred my whole life because of it.

I would be looking at someone and watching their every movement, and thinking about how I would kill them if I wanted to. I would plan out every second of it, this is why I have no friends.. other than the ridiculous Rei, who I do not understand at all. She makes no sense. She seems to be two people, one of them like me and the other, kind and gentle. I don’t get it. I don’t have the strength of mind to have two souls. I like both versions of her. She tells me I am the first person who does. I do not know if I believe her. Maybe, she never showed anyone both versions of her. I do not know, and I do not ask.

I am also very uncomfortable knowing much about her former life, because the other men who populated it make me angry. I am going to leave you with that, as I am no longer alone and have to go.

Damien

Which is strange, because I swear that I only fell asleep a moment..I don’t have a watch, but I feel it. He has not been gone long, and certainly not long enough to be completely out of sight. I panic, and sit for a second, trying to keep a hold of myself. I must not freak out. He will be back in a second I tell myself. I am freaking out for no reason, I tell myself. I know something is wrong. I know it, and I can’t tell you why. I do not know what is going on, but it is something different than has ever gone on before, and even if he returns I am not sure, if things will ever be the same, and that terrifies me. What have we done? What have we done?

Have we done enough to warrant whatever this is? The answer to this is yes, he and I both know this. We know this, and we run, chased from cover of darkness to cover of darkness, wanting nothing but each other’s company while we slowly die of madness. I am not sure if we will…

I look up, I was talking to myself.

“Oh, you are awake, I went for a walk,” He nervously laughs, looking down at his feet, which no longer have shoes on them.

“What happened to your shoes?” I ask with concern that seems a little bit too motherly, and I cast my eyes to the ground, ashamed.

“I…. don’t know…” He looks back at me, and I can see that he is shaking slightly.

“Come here,” He comes without me having to ask again, and we don’t speak for the rest of the night.

I am not sure which is true. I wake up with Rei, she is holding onto me, and go back to sleep and wake up somewhere else standing up. I know I am awake, because I can feel. I have ways of testing my reality because I think I may be fucking insane, so I want to reign it in, if I can to prevent someone from restricting my freedom, I have at least enough presence of mind left for that.

The flickering back and forth happens three times. I am back and forth between Rei and my spot……. and somewhere in a field, where I can clearly see a thicket of thick trees. I am standing there staring at them. My eyes hurt. I do not know why I am staring at them. I do not know what is special about them, but I know something is. They are painted with mist. I say painted because it seems played at, can mist be false?

I begin to walk forward, legs aching as if I have been standing for hours, the kind of aching that only comes from the mental torture of restricted movement. I keep walking and hear a piercing sound, it cuts clear through the night, shattering all sound around it, and then fades and I hear nothing. Nothing. The nothingness is terrifying because it is almost like I have gone deaf, and have nothing around to test my hearing, except, asshole my own fucking voice. I scream, and then realize I am speaking these words to you, whoever the fuck you are out loud, and they are being cast in front of me on a black screen. My thoughts, in the light of the black sky, cast at me, as I walk towards the trees..

SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP.

I am an awful human being.

She cried loudly the whole time, that was the most annoying part, I didn’t want to destroy her mouth, the beautiful brown almost color of her lips was remarkable. I was mesmerized by her mouth and the way she formed words, her hypnotic words, are forever etched into the soft confines of my mind, dug into the murky swamp of every stinking disgusting piece of filth that I am. I am awful.

I kept her hair the same. I made sure to leave it untarnished, even as I buried her. She knew nothing of us. She was mine. She was exclusively mine. I cut off her hands. I don’t remember doing it. I woke up to her bleeding to death, she was… whatever fucking color a human being turns while bleeding to death… mixed in with whatever color they turn when they can’t handle their goddamn drugs. I was just trying to help the bitch, and she wouldn’t stop making so much fucking noise. She was scared I guess. She kept screaming and spitting and yelling at me, about nothing. I…. woke up…. holding her severed hand in mine. Rei was laying next to me… we must have fallen out or something like that while laying next to her. It didn’t take that long to bury her, well… kind of… chopping someone to pieces takes awhile, but having already removed her hands.

I am okay now. I am okay now. She is in the ground. Gone, and I didn’t destroy her completely.

“Get away from me, Rei! Please, get away from me, don’t fuckin’ touch me!” He almost shrieks at me, and I look down, feeling instantly he doesn’t want to make eye contact with me. I don’t have any idea what happened because he won’t tell me, and I was sleeping when he went out, I think… I can’t remember. We have.. had? Been awake a couple days and I can’t tell what he is so upset about because, I wasn’t… was I there?

“I said go away!!” He glares at me, falling down to his knees into the dirt, where he stays, and I leave him. I can feel him, even as I walk away, feel the lack of unease radiating out of his body.

I look up at the night sky for a long time. It is cold where we are, I do not know where, because I do not ask him questions. I have not seen people in a long time, sometimes he keeps me out of his work, and this happens. He becomes like this. I put a piece of bitter candy in my mouth and trace the edges with the tip of my tongue. I am careful to not cut the sides of my tongue for fear of infection. Some kinds of candy is bad for the mouth.

I am slammed against a window pane… my head becomes one with hard glass as I feel him run his hands against the back of my head, he breathes in my ear and tells me to look out the window, that he sees a dove. I do not know why it was necessary for me to be pressed against the glass to see the dove. I am unsure about what he does sometimes, if it is meaningful in any way or if it is done out of some depraved desire to cause someone who loves him pain. I do not know why he must torture me so. I am here with him every day in every way, existing in the depraved fantasy of madness. Is that enough? I do not know what more anyone would want from me?

I think he wants to destroy everything that I am, and make it something else, but he doesn’t know how to make things. He seeks, but can never find, because his eyes are so trained on destruction they do not see anything. He exists in a blurry tunnel vision of murderous lack of sight, taking in a consumption of everything around him. He is the yellowing skin of the infected man, spreading like poison to those around him.

“Here,” He passes it to me, and everything is alright for a second.

“Better?” A question that needs no answer, because he knows my love of battery acid. I am the rays of the sun falling on the slight sparkle of gasoline. I am everything that shines of broken glass. I am Alice in a wonderful land of decay, I am stay. I am stay.

Under the bridges of cities, in the untraveled areas of towns in the darkness of night there is a meeting of sameness, a meeting of men with decaying souls who exist in the bright lights of lonely day silently screaming in acts that scream with hands that kill. They act with howling violence on the streets which are the same in a painted grey, black and white. In the stars is painted the story of atrocity that exists in the heart of every city of human being with humanity.

We were staying under a bridge. He kept talking about the music, and I won’t lie I heard it too. The chaotic piecing together of the sounds of the city, clicking and beeping and screaming. He says it sounds beautiful. It is a symphony of insanity. He says it plays so loud sometimes that he can’t hear people. I wonder if that is why he can’t hear them screaming, I can. I am unsure if I like it or hate it.

“What the fuck?!”

He came up behind me.

“Who are you talking to?” He looks at me, his eyes hot with contempt but his mouth cast to the ground. I do not know what his problem is.

“I wasn’t talking to anyone….” I look him in the eyes at first with anger, thinking the question was an accusation, and then wondering if I was even talking at all. I might have been, I do not know.

“Come on, I have to see a man about something,” I follow without asking any questions.

In the darkness of the soul of the human being lurks a desperation to be known, a desire for finding something that makes him unique, a mark that is his own. There are certain men who have marked souls, souls that wreak of a sadness so profound it radiates out there eyes in a penetrating blue that paints the darkness of night with a chaos that is like the moon. These men seldom cry, but rage internally, and are prone to long periods of walking alone in a madness driven search for something that exists outside themselves. I live with one of those men, and understand nothing that is what it is to be him. I look into his eyes that radiate so much, but also seem to radiate nothing at all. They in their darkness contain a soul that exists in such a state of loud screaming that they appear to be a constant wanderer.

They can be at home and they seem to be lost, pacing as if they have somewhere to be, and really they are wanting to be nowhere. This is not possible, so they spend their lives, in my experience perpetually ruining themselves. Damien is a madman. He is consumed by a constant quest of motion. I am frequently plagued by a lack of rest that penetrates my whole body, it feels like rotting, but it’s not.

It is a pounding of exhaustion of the mind not the body, a calling for the desire to be at home anywhere, but nowhere has been our home. We go many places, and he destroys them. He is continuously searching for something he cannot find, because I do not think it exists, and if it does the most likely thing it is ruin.

It is hard to see anything through the veiling nature of green.

There is a shadow cast by the act of lushness that comes with greenery. In that greenery exists a deception that casts over all, in the plenty that exists with green comes a deceptive veil that cannot be lifted unless there is a removal of the vines which entangle around the human soul, because in their entanglement of the limbs that are your source of movement comes a restriction of breath and removal from the world in which you live.

Him and I walk through both places, we walk in valleys of green and areas of blue ocean, and I always seem to lose him in those green places.

“YOU HEARD ME GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND. Oh, you thought you were good, you thought you were very good didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!” He kicks the man directly in the nose, and I can hear the very quite sound of the tiny bones of his nose break as it goes to the left side, he spits directly on the wound and then kicks dirt mixed with leaves at the man. The leaves are changing color where we are right now. I find it interesting to watch the dripping dark red velvet seeming blood of the man, who is white,
Cau·ca·sian

“DO” NOT INTERRUPT ME!”

So slow the dissent of chaos and disorder……..

Whose voice am I?

I am the sky.

I am the rain.

I am the reign.

I am the insane man

?

?
?

I am the ever slow hand of the swine herder, I do not know how to spell, look at me go. I type slow. I am missing fingers, so sad for you my poor girl, your death it swirled, you have escaped me know, my sweet, write their stories.

In the darkness… I forget where I am..

In the dark nest of death I forget who I am?

Does it matter? Does it matter? Does your reality shatter with the breaking of souls?

I am the toll of death’s chime.

I am somewhere else now. I am walking. Damien throws a red jacket at me. I like the color. It reminds me of something.

I am the screaming sound of quiet, the pounding madness of the human ear with nothing to hear, the vibration of the sensation of nothing to contribute to the human psyche. I am the speaking in languages beyond the frequency of man.

We are walking in the woods, where doesn’t matter, the woods are the woods, though they may have slightly different trees they scream in the same language. We are tuned to an unearthly frequency Damien and I, through our travels we have come to know a life that is beyond that of human. We are of the earth, we are dealers of the down and dirty mirth of men, sent by chaos or the wrath of some unknown God that used to be man, and thinks he knows how to do it, but he is very wrong. There were ways that existed before he spoke and those are the ways that we follow. We are tuned to the waves of the ocean. We come for the souls of the damned by the forces of time, the steal-ers of life from the rest of the communities of men. We come for the fallen so far from the community of human being that they have thought it was proper to steal and deal time. That is our job with

TIME
ITEMS
SPEED-ING DEMONS

I am the extending of the ING.

I have spent many a night alone, because I had to. I am not always with Damien, he does go on solo mission, and during these times I go on my own solo missions. I do not quest for anything, my mind being not that kind. I have no owned goals, wanting for nothing, I am a consumer of the constant consciousness of man, and walk and stand in the ever occurring reality of darkness, observing reality unfold, and making my mark with stark blurry imprints with my ghostly silent presence. I haunt the living looking into their eyes that see nothing, penetrating gaze causing the slowly decaying madness of the human mind. I come in the night to bring frightening vision of the unknown to those who possess souls with hidden holes of weakness, I find them and poke slow decaying marks into their hearts, so my friend my hero may devour their souls with spoon.

I find them in the blanketed protected darkness of alone and chill them to the bone with the piercing eyes of recognition.

I do not know why, but I am beginning to doubt the sight of my eye or eyes?

Can they lie? I have come to see things differently, and this is not due to any lack of clarity or disparity between my ability to see and anything that exists in a world that is real. I have begun to see differently. There seems to be some level of communication between my eyes and light, that is different from the sight of most because it is communication and not in the sending light signals way.. I don’t really understand it, but in that…. I am not sure about the reality in which I exist as compared to ultimate reality or if there is even such a thing as a such a thing.

I am addicted to your saturnine face, your never changing gloom. I want to crush up the chaotic madness of your dilated stare. I want to consume your soul, I want to devour your gloom whole. I want to eat everything you are. You are night’s dying star.

I despise green eyes, like mine, she had my eyes, every time he looked at her and laughed… I wanted to cut them out…

The eyes of the beholder and also holder of my hand, I killed her where she stood, well not really… I don’t pay attention when I am extended in reflection you my ray of of the sun… she is nothing compared to you, my everything, my….

Look! Shh….

Bang. No onlookers. Silence.

Must carry them. And RUN.

Rei, open your mouth….

Oh, chaotic bitter twisting rage, how I love your crystal cage.

She was a drinker of glasses of Chardonnay and also partial to Rei, so we invited her to come over and play. Now at her apartment she will permanently stay, not because she’s there, but because her leg is bare of skin.

I cut it a little too thin I guess, she had such a pretty dress, I must confess, that though she cried… I could not hide….

WE NEED TO GO!!
STOP STARING AT THE BODY!!!

Oh, sweetheart, your poor heart…

I am on my knees for you

Begging, baby, please tell me what to do.

What do you need from me? I only desire to be

Everything you need, with every step I take, planned with precision

To do what you say. I desire only for you not to go away, for then where

Would that leave me? How would I get what I need? We are a team, inhaling

Shared steam, and dreams of the same GODDAMN DREAM!

No kill or damn it I am leaving, it is me who you have been deceiving…

This is all about you…. everything you do.. I am present in nothing….

BITCH! SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH OR I WILL RIP OUT ALL YOUR TEETH!!

I am misery’s wreath. I am a decoration of pain, I live in utter disdain, but I have an addicted brain, that thrives on the drugs, that with his hand he shoves in mine. I am not a murderous type, I am simply addicted to strive. I am a consumer of poison and poised for any fight. I need what you gives me you see, and if you

MAKE ME SET IT AGAIN I’LL SHOOT OUT YOUR KNEES!

Does your vision fail you?

In the darkness of night do you delight in lack of light or are you full of fear of the unseen?

Do you allow the passing of backs you have seen? Or are you tempted always to learn?

With mind constantly ticking are you aware of your surroundings?

Do you see? Do you hear? Do you taste? Do you smell?

Or do you tell lies?

Are you a deceiver of you? Who lies in everything that you do?

Are you like me and Rei? Who only wish pain and fear went away?

Are you powered by hate, so much so you can’t relate?

We are the hardened, we do not live in shelters, we do not ask for dollar

We are the haters of society whole, we are the stinking, pounding wound on humanity’s soul

We are the pebble in the shoe of America, we are the night criers and makers of hysteria, we are the eaters of garbage and have-rs of nothing, we are the pain stuffing of the garbage cans that litter pretty neighborhoods

We are the lackers of anything good

We are the havers of hate

The eaters of drugs

The carnally loved

We are the changers of change

We are the human draining stain.

Lives a girl with a strange face, that radiates grace, with arms that trace my heart and dance with my soul, and eyes that scream hold me for I bring calm. She wears in her hair flowers of plenty, and sleeps on fallen palms in a garden alone decorated with white stones. She is the sensation of shining, she is the light divining the nature of man. She is the goddess of love, she has eyes of a dove. Her presence screams love, ever silently so, but my heart tells me know. I am not able. I am not ready. My knees are unsteady.

I do know you, that I know is true. I have not met you, but for some reason I regret you. I want to get away, your eyes tell me stay. You are my desire to forsake, everything I know, even though I know not. My heart is fraught with pain over the sight of you, my dear, so much so I shed tear. You are a tearing, a breaking, a heaving, a dissenting an unrelenting screaming of my soul, a digging of hole in my chest, which beats with heart gone, for I have forgotten love’s song. I am alone, even with him. I am just me, I am blind, I am not free. I cost money to be. I am the servant of the weak. I am the desire to seek.

I am of no use. I am pain’s juice.

I turn around and he’s gone. I hear nothing but solemn ding dong of clock not around, and the calling of hounds, from where I know not, but my soul it is caught in a fire storm mist, with skin writhing with twist of pain felt in in brain only, I am so lonely.

I stand, I meaning me, Rei, but also meaning you. I stand on the sidewalk, but anyone could replace me, and would. I stand waiting for him, the reaper of sin. I am the replaceable mate of the reaper of those who sow pain into their skin with the power of forgetfulness. I am the tattoo needle of the damned. I am the heroine of a story where the protagonist is agony. I am reality being brought to its knees by a generation, whose existence is a stance of weeping. I am self-seeking. I am the dying of the young in America. I am tears shed for heart bled out in suffering on the streets of every city, in the corners of darkness, dark nests are made for crows of the streets who eat pain and suffering…misery stuffing madness….

I witness everything because I no longer sleep. In my chaotic existence of sleep deprived madness, I am the stark raving mad mind of a chaotic new god. I am everything. I hear music in the clicking sounds of time, combining with the footsteps of every creature of earth. I am the mirth of hell. I am sent by the ringing bells of the reaper, to herd the souls of the damned to hell, bringing holed whole human beings down to the ground with sound of the prick of human skin, paper thing, cutting away with blood spray, human soul.

Behind tall bush she stood, it was no good. We aimed to get her, because she didn’t pay, well in truth just got away. It was not supposed to be that way. She was supposed to lay, dead with no money, she thought it was funny. She thought she could hide. She still fucking died. You should hear how she cried. How she screamed how she begged, when we cut off her leg. How she fought wrought with pain. How she complained.

“Oh, weak little flower, whom we will devour. You are so pretty, though your plan was so shitty. Did you think you would escape us, running to passing bus? It comes at 12:30. It’s 12:35. Too bad, you must die,” He laughed and pulled her from behind the bush and kicked her in the face. No one was around, which was strange given the time of day….

I am wondering why you thought, in plan that you wrought, in your pretty little head that you could avoid your obvious fate. It’s not because you missed bus, that you are going to lay dead in gutter.

“BITCH SHUT YOUR MOUTH! DO I FUCKING STUTTER?”

It is because I want your organs, and my aim torture, I will stop at nothing, until you are dead whore.

Your soul we devour.

We are demons of madness, we are lovers of torture, we are have-rs of more, sir or ma’am, we kill you where you stand, we collect the hearts of those damned with addiction, we are not fiction, we are illusion, we are a writer’s conclusion that her pain was too much, we are the lovers of stuff, we are the idea of suffering, we are love buffering, we are hate, we are greed, we are death seed. We are non-love, we are the chopping off wings of dove, we are sent from below, we are the dirt, we are human show, we are the existence of decay, we are the act of to make sway.

We are desire to go away. We are the acting of crying, we are hearts dying.

IF YOU DON’T SHUT YOUR MOUTH YOU WON’T LIKE WHAT COMES NEXT!

We are the act of hexing, we are perplexing because we are a question, we are not real, we are the desire to not feel. We are the onion un-peeling. We are the takers of make. We are the act of forsake.

I shot her, baby. I shot her.

I am glad we did not save a piece of her body, consuming it whole, we ate her flesh, now we can rest, just for a second because another beckons around the corner we are standing, with lances that are landing at the heels of those calling for death in solution of delivered resolution to partake in drugs, we are face drug across rugs. I am death’s hug. I am hole dug. I am the sprout of the idea to die. I am the tear in mother’s eye. I am the lack of the “Oh!”. I am the maker of ho. I am the existence of sell. I am the lie that you tell.

I aim at your heart. I hope that you start to realize grave mistake. I aim to take. I am forsake. I am to break. I am to lose. I take your shoes. I take your ability to not choose. I am the cost of the mind. I take sight. I make blind. I am the screaming will of the confined. I am the hell of the mind. I am the desire for secret.

Get on the fucking ground!!!!!!!!!!

Bang.

I am unknowing observer. I am the heart of desertion. I am lack of assertion . I am the desire to use.

Shut up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am your lack of feet to use.

We scream for ice-cream. We scream at the faces of the damned, the faces of man pleading and begging for things we are letting them eat till they die, in hell with closed eye, they live waking life riddled with strive, and try with all power to do nothing but devour, every minute consume, every second a tomb is not dug because we flesh of man, we do what we can to make loved ones disappear, we are the universe presenting fear, we are the devil’s lived appearance, we are the idea of occurring loss, we are the idea of cost, we are live down the drain, we are man’s brought pain, we are the human stain.

We are DISDAIN.

D-I-S-D-A-I-N

d-i-s-d-a-i-n

D I S D A I N

d i s d a i n

I add sin!

I add sin!

I am contempt that comes from within. I am wrath. I am rage. I contempt’s cage.

I am the is not.

I am s-i-n.

I am the will not be. I am not free. I am the churning of death wrought. I am death sought.

That I am unlike them, I am the bender of men, I am that which transcends the desire for life. I am the remover of strife. I am one who shifts sands below the evil which stands on lands that are created by the perception of those fated to begin to exist in them, with misery persisting within. I am the birds dear, I am your ear, I am your eye. I am everything, but to die.

I stand and I listen, to the voice that shouts mission, and I lean in an kiss him, as he stands ranting about what we are chancing and chanting what we do versus what they do. I am a grim reaper, I am a soul keeper. I am the darkness of men, I am to transcend. I am a bender of minds. I am a chimer of chimes. I am not the divine but the human bind. I am made of skin so I sin. I rot from within. I am to make thin, the pockets of those drug addicts and whore’s who eat sinister hors d’oeuvres. I am the action of the score, I am man’s aching sore, I am the universe’s whore. I am your human desire for more.

We are batters of lash

We are store-ers of stash

We are the sourced by hate

We are to abbreviate life

By shortening it to if

We take out the l and the e

Who needs lungs, who needs, energy

Who needs long, who needs eternity

Who needs live, who needs evolve

We bring you energy that can dissolve

All your problems they solve

NOTHING

They are energy stuffing, they are pain killers that instead kill you

They are habit forming clocks that chime with everything you do.

Prostrate for consumption, I am shunned for giving body to man in relation in exchange for carnal sensation and for me for fixation on drug arrived elation. I am de-humanization of man’s very desire for love. I am sent from below not above. I aim to shove all desires away, I am hearts decay. I have nothing to say. I want not your pleasure, but desire only payment. I say your lame man. Put in my hand.

I am in a hurry to die. I will take out your eye, for I am a sinner, and a winner of battles, with men with weak knees, I am disease. I aim to please, I steal all you love, but look like a dove. I will say anything you want, your memories I haunt. I am carnal. I am fake. I am mistake. I aim to take, all real love you have because in truth no one loves me. I am not free.

You have to pay sir because I am a virus. I do not cry for this. I am in no pain. There is no one to blame. I shoot in vein. I am insane. I dull pain with sowing needles. My skin is crawled on beetles. I sleep on sandy ground and stand in the night. with men taller than you I fight. I am fulled by spite.

I am the ever-presenting questioning mind of God. I am the one who makes rod. I am sod. I am a liar, I am none of these things, I am one of the fallen, and have no wings. I am a bringer of pain and death. I am riddle, I am your quest. I am request for lack of pain stolen with lies. I am despise. I am darkness. I am pain. I am disdain.

In a world so sore, with remorse, I am the source. I am the darkness, I am your kin. I am sin. I bring you in. I am your maker, I am liar, I am fire. I am deception, I am deceit. I am replete. I am judgement. I am hate. I can relate with no man, because I steal from plates. I aim to please, I cut at knees. I am disease.

I aim to chop off all that you love, I fly on wings stolen from doves. I act like I come from above, but I come from Hell, I aim to tell you that you are weak, but it is me of whom I speak. I am fear. I am loss. I am to be shunned at all cost.

Breath. The electric way it dances on my neck, zinging electricity through my spine, drawing my mind to your dark eyes.

In the dark holes, where your supposed soul lurks, I find only dirt and earth, and buried grave intentions where you have opened hearts of those with long hair.

They penetrate my soul with stares that pinch, prick and dig for every inch of humanity I have, because secretly it makes me sad, because I hate to say

Damien, I want only you, and to be the only one who gets to look at you, so keep you secret, I will do, by dragging dead bitches back to dance with you.

Like playing cat I bring rare treat, I bring you food for soul to eat, I am a good girl who cooks red meat.

I am rare, a special treat.

In sanity I find vanity, in blame I find shame, In death my pet, don’t fret, it will be fine, but your time is mine.

Addiction

Who are they, do you say?

Ask me and I will just say go away.

I’m not like you, I am a rare breed.

I have something inside me,

It’s called hatred’s seed.

I am addicted to pain, yours and mine

If you fuck with me I will take out my eye

And throw it back at you fucker ‘cuz I don’t need

The world is boring I have already seen it.

I come for you and the ones you love.

On wings of black and wings of white

Of wings of clear reflecting light through pipes

Of madness that cannot scream

When heated by fire that kills dream. I come for everything

You have, my aim is only to make you mad.

Look what you made me do, you messy bitch

I fucking hate you!

You make me scream! You make me cry! You make me want to take out your

Pretty eye! Now its mine and I smash it here, right near the grave

I dug, my dear. At least, I know that you are dead.

Now, I no longer worry my pretty head, better than yours…..

You fucking whore, your head lies in fucking dirt.

I laugh at your weak hurt, he loves me bitch not you.

I hate everything you do. I am not like you.

I am present

Every breath you take

I hunt you, in every decision that you make

I try to influence every step

I take every penny you let slip

Into the hands from whom you purchase bliss

I am your setting sun

I am death, you filthy addict, run!!