I no longer know what the goal of the site is, I write horror fiction, and love letters to myself.
This site is a tool to facilitate the act of seeing clearly, written by hands that used to hurt myself.
Explanation: I am Damien, I speak to my split personality Amanda. I am two people in love with each other, and I am okay with that now.
I have paranoid schizophrenia, narcissistic personality disorder, bipolar II-manic/depressive- rapid cycling, depression, anxiety, hydrocepholus, narcissistic personality disorder suffering from alcoholism, drug addiction, alcoholic. with OCD and PTSD- was addicted to heroin, meth, crack, alcohol, cocaine, prescription pills.
I am drug addict/alcoholic/dual diagnosis/ex-homeless person.
Through dark horror fiction I rake the muck of the lives of street addicts.
Or in plain English this is an epic poem/novel about addiction told about low bottom addicts in horror style.
Sun kisses my form, I look back with eyes transfixed, and kissed by a light that fights night, by capturing it here, so clearly painted with love, beyond all, standing tall in form of a woman.
I am everything and one all at once, painted furiously, not with anger, but with fervor, capturing everything that it is to be human and be flower all in one, a form that is beauty incarnate, love and human being one and the same, all that casts away rain, and make love reign.
You are the maiden, of a sunny day, the woman with a face of the sun, from which I couldn’t stay away, with eyes so bright painted with brightness imbued in your entire form, casting out of your skin, as if the sun was crying over the seperation between it and you, inherent it was in everything you did, everything you do, oh to be one with you, but I am just a person on land, and your brightness, I cannot stand, being one of a damned mind, that is unkind, and so very unlike you, everything you do, being filled with such bright light, almost seeming, like it came from the eyes of something much higher than I have ever seen.
Renee, Renee, Renee, for you, I am blind, for you I cannot see clearly, for you I sound like a madman, ranting about nothing at all.
Renee, Renee, Renee, what more can I say?
My world lights up so brightly, with the sight of you, sparkling with wonder-filled glitter, and sparkling brightness, it colors the misty darkness, with the tones of yellow and pink of sunrise, of the end of the suffocating madness of a night that went on too long.
You are a the waves on the ocean, rippling over the sands after an intense storm, you and your beautiful face, are everything that makes it just okay enough, to stick around to see if all this is worth it, to see if there is any light in the darkness.
The warm sunlight on your skin, helps me know, remember, to look up, because the reflection of the light on you reminds me, that light exists at all.
I do not know you, but I owe you, for reminding me beauty exists, and for keeping me going, thank you.
You are the Goddess of the Rivers made of stardust, and light, you are a creature of reflection and of dancing in the night. You come to those who are drowning, and addictied to act of fight, you are creature of pure reflection, and save the infected, sick and addicted to spite.
I meditate on you often, even though I do not quite understand, being a creature of habit, I am sure of one thing only, and that is,
I do not understand you right-ly.
I am not saint-ly.
I am a liar and a theif.
I am a creature of swamps and of things that dwell beneath.
You are a Goddess that is above me, and so I am stuck looking at the skies, but it is hard to not go below, I am a creature with downcast eyes.
Baby please, get off your feet, and meet me on the ground.
Come back down, and hear the resounding sound of quiet.
You are daylight’s riot.
I wish only for quiet.
You are my fire fly. You are sunlight’s spy, a flashlight in the comfort of night sky. Hanging lights up so you can see, every bit of nature’s landscape clear to you, the lover of blue sky and morning dew.
Nothing of night pleasant or in view, you seek to chase away the dark vacantness, that is my permanent vacation nest. In everything you strive to erase or chase away, is every place I desire to stay.
I am the holder of grudge, and I am lost in this poem.
I like to make images different than are, by covering them in darkness.
Swimming in the water is hard, when it is riddled with sharks.
I am the voice of pain.
I am soul reeking disdain.
Mushrooms are a food that tastes good.
Dancing in light is hard, when you live in the ground.
Rising from the ground can be done over night.
I am a fledgling bird.
The smell of moss lights the way, for those with dirty noses.
Under the stars, is found a world, united with ground, but looking up at the night sky. U
Under the moon, is felt the light of the stars, in blue tones, it paints the ground, with the possibility of future lightning storms, the sound of thunder, and ability to hear and see, when before senseless.
I could never see true north, never in my life. My compass was broken, as it would have to be, going south.. smitten with chaos I sought only dark, and tried to re-define light. It was a tragic re-color of misery painted in silver over inner darkness, to look like stars, but really just was silver bullets aimed at my soul, that was addicted to pain, so I could kill it with things that kill pain. My margins were skewed by spindles, metaphor, Now I am nimble and free to be me, through being me, Damien, not Amanda, in upstream.
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.
The mist ascends over the river in the dark light absent night of a missing moon, that is not missed, simply missing, a vacant blankness with no space indicated that marks its blankness, no spot where a moon would even be, a blank canvas of lack of light.
I am standing staring out over the water, knowing only that there is even water there, because I am familiar with the place I am. Other than my presence of mind and awareness of where I am placed in time, there is no indicating factors that would suggest that I am anywhere at all, the night is black and I see nothing in front of me, and nothing below me.
I stare forward into the nothingness, keeping my presence of mind, by meditating on the painful cold that pounds in my skin, the rain is falling down on my hands and arms now, I say it that way.. because they are bare, I can’t feel it touch the rest of me.
I look out over the water, the only thing letting me know there is any separation between me and any of this, any perceiving instead of being oneness, is the fact that I remember being a being that sees.
There are slight beings of light on the water now, they dance in the nothing, looking like shadows, which is strange, because there is nothing to cast shadow on, they are dark, as dark as shadow and reflecting to my eyes or to my knowing, not sure which, and they speak to me, somehow I know them, I know their pain. They pace across the water saying nothing, and I can feel their pain, and then, it all fades, a light comes on, and I look up at a street light, there must have been a power outage.
A man is sitting on a bench alone, he asks me how long I have been there, says he didn’t know there was someone else watching, like him, the dancing on the water. I tell him I don’t know, and we leave it at that. He walks away.
I am also reminded to freakin’ eat, I just felt sick and realized that was the stupid problem.
I mentioned before something about red lights that I would see on occasion somewhere else, that I don’t like to speak of here in Misery. It is a location, which does not need to be discussed in specificity to its exact locality.
The strangest thing about this place is that it seems forever set in motion on a trajectory of the damned. There is some sinister purpose that pollutes everything in the area, from the needle filled streets, to the garbage lined sidewalks, to the very eyes that look at you with silent disdain. The land is full of angry souls, reeking of resentment and writhing in such visible agony that is only not visible to them, what is truly terrifying behind all of this, is most of these people speak with the same voice, as if possessed by something, or thinking all the same thoughts, I am not sure what it is, and do not mean to suggest only demonic possession. I relay only what I have seen.
I am going to leave it at that for now because my cat is losing it, and it is very distracting, and as always my stomach hurts.
I wasn’t supposed to tell her she could go to the foot party and now since I said it, Rei can’t not let her go because she doesn’t want me to be better than her which I most obviously am, because who never lets their kid go anywhere, then they are just going to bail or just do whatever they want. I am mainly saying it is okay, because I want to know what the heck the thing is about. If she doesn’t go, I will never know. So, I am letting her go for research purposes, and it’s feet how dangerous can they be?
I once stomped a man to death… I take that back..
I don’t think it is going to be anything like that, it sounds like some hippy barefoot dance festival, and they are not harmful, and I don’t care if she smokes weed or whatever, it is better than running to the bathroom to do other things…
I think there is a chance that in some sort of cosmic way the feet festival thing has something to do with the night pacing. I am not sure why, and if it helps her great…
Rei, my ray, what can I say? I am so glad we’re okay, so glad you decided to stay.
I pray it is true for I exist for you, you are my truth, you are my sun
Reflecting the light.
In the darkness of Misery, where I live currently, you are my one window