Whining is so unattractive it can’t be read, it is invisible instead.

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.

---

Miss labeled

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.

Fried Chicken

Label death, they already did, at eight, already dead, ticking, ticking, so thankful, so grateful, so sad, too bad, already gone, gone, gone.

---

Bright

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.

Advertisement

“Since we’re all going to die, it’s obvious that when and how don’t matter.”

― Albert Camus, The Stranger

A reply, that defies anything that I thought I would say,

It matters now to me, not to anyone else,

That is not true.

It matters to others too, because it would matter to them, if they did, and to the sky if they did, so it must matter if I did.

People notice things.

Animals notice things.

If God were dead, which I don’t believe he is, then we can be what we want, and I do not want death

No end, my friend, no end.

The rushing waters of a flowing river, flow not chaotically at times, at times they do, but at times they stop and reflect in technicolor, cast on, by the light of the sky, that can be peaceful or full of thunder or full of nothing.

I got up early with you, my friend, the one who I was always fighting against, I realize now I was fighting me, engaged in constant battle of insanity, fighting light to see in dark, fighting vision on quest of mark, I fight you but in so doing, poision applies to skin, and reason spewing out of my mouth and from my head, wishing for life, but fighting the dead.

Questing for sun, but lurking in dark, I am the eternal question mark.

I fight truth, because I can’t look in the mirror

I forgot what I was talking about. Oh, well.

This is about powerlessness, your favorite thing, and water is cleansing.

OoO Look at you, show off.

OoO Look at you show off.

That is mature.

Says the most mature person in the world.

I enjoyed the Easter thing, did you?

I wasn’t there, you were.

Yeah, you were. You were just uncomfortable.

I can tell you are glad you won, stop rubbing my nose in it.

Stop thinking about putting things up your nose then.

You are silent when I listen, you caw when I do not, I am listening to you my friend, outside my window where you are, though I cannot see you.

Talking to you is better than talking to them, them is a word re-arranged. Them is a word re-arranged.

Shut up.

Did you stain the rug?

I did not stain the rug, I did not I swear, I put it down, before the paint was dropped.

I am very careful don’t you see? How could you place the blame on me? I did not stain the rug, and it can be seen in this picture of a rug, that is a different rug, but looks like the rug I did not stain.

Someone with a name I will not mention stained the rug, and it was not me.

Along time ago in a place far away, I cleaned motel rooms and

Let Om.

Om. Sounds like meditation..

I should have cleaned the rooms in a calm manner.

Yeah, maybe then you wouldn’t have lost your job.

I lost my job because I came to work high ever day.

Did that cause you to behave calmly?

Does anyone behave calmly on drugs?

My point exactly.

Do you?

I am you.

I know them is a word re-arranged, and it is word, that made me realize that it is no longer a good idea for stay up for two weeks at time.

What about them?

Who a word re-arranged?

No, them.

The people? Which people? Everyone?

Yes, everyone.

I am sorry to the every ones.

There are not multiple every ones.

I thought it sounded cool.

You sound like a tool.

I am a tool.

Actually, yes.

**** you.

I mean you are being used, like everyone is being used at times, by the hands of the universe to help other people.

Wow, arrogance.

I know, but everyone is used this way.

They are?

Yes.

Tool is loot backwards.

You are such a jerk.

Re-Color

I am addicted to heroin, to heroine, to heroin, to heroine.

I am addicted to nothing right now actually, but think about you, about it, about you, about it

All the time, all the time, all the time.

I am addicted to heroin, to heroin, because you are not here with me, and actually none of this is true, except I miss you so much, and hate myself so much for the fact that I destroy everything that is good in my life.

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

https://wordpress.com/tag/dailyprompt-1884

The amount of glass on the ground around me on a daily basis astound me, items on the floor smashed to smithereens, left there because I don’t take my shoes off, and I don’t care about walking on glass without them anyway.

I smash things to pieces, and I wish I could spend more time everyday picking up the pieces than lamenting an existence of fracture, but I cannot bring myself to picking them up without squeezing my hands around them, I don’t know what is wrong with me anymore. I need professional help.

I wish I could make more phone calls to do this, but I threw my phone in the river, in a paranoid psycho delusion that people were listening to my phone calls, even though my phone calls were just to her, and her yelling at me.

I think this is the last I will say about this. I am going to do the things I said above, get professional help and try to move on, sorry for ranting on here..

You, ripped my heart out, all the details of who you were, and my lies about who I was, are irrelevant to the fact that you destroyed me, very much on purpose, pretending to be something that you were not. I believed you, and let you try and change me. I was foolish, I know, but you were cruel, and that is worse than anything. You had me, telling me you would help me, that talking to you and learning from you would make me better, that all your criticism was going somewhere, so gradually… I took it… allowed you to beat me down.. believing that you weren’t going to just beat me down…

You told me I needed you, that I was lacking ways that demanded your presence in my life, that you were a tool of the universe..

And you were, a knife.

I don’t know why you did it, because what it looks like is probably what it is…

I was your source of drugs.

That kills me.

That was all I was.

I never wanted that.

I never wanted the drugs more than you.

I would have given them up for you.

I was only a dealer, only a tool of manipulation, only a criminal, facilitating your downfall, and then you told me that, after making me that… I wanted to be so much more to you, but okay, if it helps you. I am the bad person.

I can just walk away, so please stop calling me, please stop asking about me. I was just your dealer, and I don’t do drugs or drink anymore, please lose my number, Justin/Rei.

Damien/Amanda

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 forget sometimes, that I have glasses, getting up in the middle of the night and crashing into walls because I did not put them on. I walk without them frequently and cannot see clearly, because I have gone without them before, for years when in active addiction.

The eyes of others, guide me, but I am paranoid, debating internally with universe, I question intention constantly, seeing things they don’t and debating with myself what is real while they are just walking down a street undisturbed, knowing none of what I am doing in my mind, while they walk peacefully next to me.

I clean my lenses, real glasses not metaphoric often, caught in an OCD futility of see clearly, forgetting that I see things others do not, and I am left to wonder, am I noticing things that matter or do they only matter to me?

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.

I am sitting by the water again. I am looking out into the ever expanding nothing, I say ever expanding because the lights of the streetlights are going in and out and in and out next to me. They turn on and off, not on a timer but timed randomly with something. I have noticed that they respond to my movement, they turn on and off as if communicating with something in me, but I do not know what it is. They seem to respond to certain kinds of thought, but it is uneasy to place. I am not sure what it is. There turning on and off varies not by the kind of thought being positive or negative, that does not matter, they respond to recognition and the level to which the thought is thought, to intensity not to the kind of intensity.

I move towards them and it seems to me, like they are dancing with me. They turn on and of and on and off on my skin, and it is almost as if I can feel a warmness, that is not heat related. It is a warmness felt in something else, I feel it in my soul. I do not know what that means.

I just know that when I move the lights turn on and off as I think they are going to. I walk and they follow me, they light my way or shade it.

I do not know how to deal with this, what to do about it.

I just know I do not walk in the dark ever.

Can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of course you can!” He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand. 

F. Scott Fitzgerald

I just realized how much I constantly squash myself under my own thumb. I blame others, and make excuses for the reasons I have failed, I create stories that justify my behavior and tell you in crafted lies, why I had to do what I did because if you only knew how hard it was to be me you would have done the same thing. I just saw clearly for the first time in my life that the only thing behind my suffering has been my own personal choices, and continuous hissy fits at a universe that has been nothing but kind to me, letting me continue to live, when in truth I have done nothing to deserve this. I am a bad person, I know this now, I say this not because of what I have done, but because of the fact that I continued to do things, whatever they were when I knew they were hurting people and I did not care because I am selfish, self centered, egotistical and drawn to the delusion that I can somehow make up for all of my bad behavior through ridiculous justification. I can’t, I am what I am and the only thing I can do is make up for it now, by actively trying to change my life, which I will start trying to do by not feeling sorry for myself because I am lucky enough to still be here for whatever reason, and I am going to make it a good one.

I see that it does not matter who I was, that was a justification for a bad man’s life, but I am failing to move on. I will begin doing that going forward, bear with me, I have no idea what I am doing.

Love,

Damien

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.

“It was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice.” 

joseph conrad, heart of darkness

They think I get up in the middle of the night to experience the hours of the day before they wake up, this is only half true. I do not do this out of a desire to be alone. I just simply enjoy quiet when I can. I have not had much quiet in my life at all, and the second they wake up, against their and my will… I listen to their existence every second I am present, not in a resenting way, actually quietly I sit and marvel at the people who surround me now, because I appreciate so much hearing voices other than my own incessant talking in my own head, or against my will at loud to myself. I am so happy to be around people who are not me, because as much as I sound like I am in love with myself, this is a defense mechanism. I am deeply insecure. I hate everything about me, because I am a cruel, uncaring person. I want to be better, but I have been like this so long, it takes time for me to learn to not be.

I loved getting away from reality so much I devoted my whole life to the worship of the idol toys of a man insane, substances have been my best friend along with my own self in female form. I have existed for so long talking only to me or the other me, on street corners where I am either shouting, crying or laughing in lunacy with lack of regard for those around me. I did this because I was in pain from pain I was unknowingly causing myself. I was drinking/using to forget drinking using to forget what I had to do to get drugs and alcohol to forget, drinking using to forget. I am a horrible human being, no really I am, but I am in the process of trying to turn that around now.

Peace

Damien

I am the conquering masquerade-r, I am a parade of afraid ER. I am a defender of lying, or have been, but I am trying not to be, but the mask sticks to my skin, it has worn my confidence from within to without, I am terrified and have eyes that shout get out, because I feel nothing on my face. I am the act of man misplaced, identity erased.

The conquering man, forever roaming unknown land, does not stand but flees, does not desire to be free, simply desires to flee, because it is easier than being on bent knee.

I have realized recently how much time I spent on mine, doing favors in the darkness paid in darkness, with darkness, for darkness.

I am a stereotype in so many ways, in my desire to self assert difference, I paid homage to a culture that is dying, the crusading conquering man is doomed to forever stand away, and stay nowhere. I conquered nothing, but ability to be at peace, I chained myself thinking I was stronger than those who were so much freer than me.

I am finding in my life recently that I had never felt love before ever, the love of my life, Rei, makes everything so much easier every day. I am never bothered, not for lack of problems…. I am never permanently bothered like I used to be. I exist in a state of chaotic whining contentment, that I did not know was possible. This exists in my co-author as well now, she has love for herself and hope for her future which is my future. I am finally seeing the detrimental damage we both did to each other, ourselves and our lives in the selfish throws of active addiction. I am still very much the same ***, I am not saying things are perfect, I complain all the time….

I think the difference now is I am no longer making them unnecessarily harder, which is hilarious to me, because I never realized that till now. I was convinced that I drank and used to ease pain and make a life that was so much harder than others lives, easier. I thought that I had a right to do this because I was specially gifted with excuse by a hard life. I was just me making an excuse to get high or drunk. I am so much more at peace now, even in my hectic complaining than I ever was, and I love it so much, thank you God.

Thank you to sobriety and the meetings, friends and community of WordPress for helping me realize this.

Damien

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

Amanda, wasn’t that the name of the villain in that book you read?

Yes, see my point? Cool name.

Psychotic name choosing strategy.

Yeah, says the guy named Damien, omen.

I am named by you as well, and jerk my name is cool.

I know I named you ****.

****

Enough of that, I really liked Cal in that book too. I don’t recall the name of the book right now, but the author was brilliant. I am on a mission to find all the weird horror authors on library carts that are selling books for a dollar, and save them from the trash because even though I like the kindle, these are free, and easier on my eyes and hands.

Peace in peices,

Love you

Damien

Can it!

Okay.

I am spinning back and forth space, thinking man isn’t this great, I am no longer doing anything to cause harm, missing hands no longer missing arm

Cheap shot

No, it wasn’t it cost 20$

Every time I fired up desire to live. I am disgusting.

I am glib I am mean I am ad lib?

Add liberation, an activity devised to be liberating, even though I am pretty sure that is not how you spell that, but to lazy to check that, so don’t judge me, I know everything, even though I don’t.

I am learning okay.

Yes, I see that.

You are me, of course you see that.

Lunatic.

You are talking to yourself again.

I know, I am.

At least it is on a screen not a street corner scaring people and at least now I am just insane not high and insane threatening people with posed presence into giving up cash to a man holding a sign at 3 am.

Yeah that too.

I gross my own self out.

Me too.

Thanks jerk.

You’re welcome self.

Right back at you.

I like double shots too.

Heh.

Below the belt.

Yeah.

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 think I may have a severe problem, other than my recent decreasing sanity, which I may add has been noticed by my family. I don’t really know what I am going to do because it is a two fold…..well three if you count Rei.. thing. My daughter has been reading this, because… I knew that…. and for some reason I thought it was still okay to be on here writing any of this, she came to me this morning and asked me to do something for her. There is this guy who has been bothering her, some jerk she met somehow. I didn’t care to get into the details. She didn’t seem to want to disclose much about the nature of their relationship. She sat with me for a little bit, and talked to me about how she needs someone to get him to leave her alone and that she thinks he would listen to me.

I didn’t bother to ask why. I know why. I just don’t know what to do.

I think I might have to do something about it and not tell Rei.

I am going to think about it now that I am thinking clearer and I will be back on her to document whatever it is happened and what I decided to do about it. I think I might need to put the fear of Hell in him.

Later

Damien

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…

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.

https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2023/02/23/reenas-xploration-challenge-269/

I am deviant creature, I pretend to be a great teacher, I speak through the addict as preacher, I am of infernal design because I am not kind and write of the peril of men and women like me, because I am the blind one I cannot see that who I am undoing is me. I am going insane, merely documenting my brain, and its moral decay.

I live in a world with fake creatures, yet pretend to be a learner and teacher, while pretending to reflect, sit back and reject that the person I hate gets clearer and clearer with every look in the mirrored reflects of me seen in my work. I am a developer of murk. I am also an arrogant jerk, who is obsessed with themselves and creating this hell that I pretend to use to make points even though I still am conjoined

In my heart and my soul with resentment. I am not that far from those of who I speak, I have the same soul and cannot teach anything to anyone because I stopped just because it was no longer fun.

Damien to whoever is writing my story.

Ps. I can only speak in letters, sorry.

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 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 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

“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.

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

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

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

We go, as we always do, as if we are running from something. I do not know if this is just a feeling or if it is a truth, or if it is something false that lurks in me. I feel as though I am running from something constantly. I wonder what it means. It sometimes feel like I have abandoned a person with that name, a person named Joy, who I do not know, and I don’t why. I know the meaning of the word and it is simple enough to think that I abandoned like a crashing wreck the idea of joy itself. I understand that enough, but I do not think that is it. I keep having this digging feeling in my soul that I have abandoned, like a mother who has a lost or given up child a daughter named Joy.

I even if I close my eyes sometimes feel like I can see her, if I shut my eyes and pay attention very closely, I feel like I can see the blurry outline of this person who should have been so close to my heart right? That would be the way that someone would feel about a child right?

I can only think, that there is some person that was an idea abandoned, somehow….. I haven’t ever told anyone about this, and Damien speaks of nothing like this, but he is a fool, who knows nothing, but stroking his own fragile ego.

“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 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.

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.

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 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.

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!!

We combine

And push minutes on a clock

Tick tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

We are cullers of the human herd,

Limiters of the human word, slicing into

The human tongue, in night we come to

Make you numb, we come for you

My humble man who sleep because he thought

he can. Look at me I am an eye. I will

Make sure you slowly die.

I walk through life, unsure of who I know, being as I am. I, Rei, don’t ever know if I have met someone under different… mindsets… so when I see faces, startled in fearful returned gaze, I stop, questioning why. Maybe, this is odd… but, it is just how I have learned to live, as an addict, and passenger in my own body, at times.

I wonder what is this all for, why am I in my situation? It can’t mean nothing, can it? We are all cogs in a system, an ever functioning clock, that is everything it is to be? Does that clock, being the universe tick for a reason?

Or does it tick because it ticks, because that is what it is to be a clock?