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.
Swans mate for life, am I told this is true.
So I think of a my life, and how I was with you.
I am not sure, if this is true for us, too.
I put me in a box for so long, so I would not be myself.
I put me in a box with needle, spoon, and bottle on shelf, now I represent me with a swan, because maybe I can be something else, no longer just an addict with love affair with destruction and bottles on shelf.
I am not sure if I was supposed to be with you.
Now I am alone, and I feel sometimes it is for life, because I have PTSD and our break-up cut me, like a knife, but there is a part of me that wonders if it is true, that like a swan, I was destined only for you, and now that we are apart, I should be alone, destined only for nothing, just the idea of alone.
I am not sure, if any of that is true, only sure I no longer like you, you ripped out my heart and made me realize I no longer like men.
Maybe there is another swan, and I was never supposed to be with you to begin with, maybe there is another swan for you, as well.
At this point, I hope that is true, two different swans for both of us, I am sorry Rei, I am sorry I hurt you in any way I hurt you, I am sorry, and I hope you find your swan, I am sorry I hurt your feelings.
Color me kind, color me quick, bring back my colors, make my colors stick.
Meditate on kindness, not on the dark, brick back the sunshine,
Do not rip out your own heart.
Speak kindly of gladness, bring out bright ways, learn from my sadness, and my wayward way.
I strive for attention, because I am arrogant, and self involved, I am not trying to do this, it is not my resolved mission, I am just used to being ignored, so I do this because I am alone, and to be self assured, if there is nothing else from me to be learned, please take my sadness, and so in life turn, away from what I did, because for you I want, everything I do not have.
I want for you everything I do not have, all that makes you glad, instead of insane, and so very sad, and mad.
I like pain, I like pain, I like pain.
It is always on my……..
Have from flowers, from Hell.
So sorry, that is just where I dwell, sometimes, not all the time, really, I am fine, just thinking about you sometimes, not all the time.
You are on my
BRAIN BRAIN BRAIN
In meditative state I reflect on the rain, and think of drowing, a duck with my head up, not breathing, just sucking in the water, and choking on it.
Burn me sweetie, make it hot, burn it so it cures my soul rot. Make it seering, make it jarring, make it burning, make it scarring.
She wore my coat, and I left it with her, because she smelled like lavender, and I wanted to forget her.
You reminded me of the rays of the sun, and that reminded me of someone I would rather
Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.
I am so sorry, wedded to disdain, been with her such a long time, grown so used to being bound to decline, it is always on my mind.
She talks so sweetly sometimes, really, voice sounding so simular, to my ex Rei Clearly,
She tells me she loves me, and sometimes I believe the lie, it is so hard, she is a good spy, has such a good hand, good at act of torture, she is a word sorcerer.
Give me to those who mourn the dead, I am blood red.
I reach for the sky, and die in too much sun, I am a gift.
I am flowers of joy, dying for you, we live in the summer and die when the cold consumes, it eats my silk skin, and makes it dies, we do not breath, and reach for the sky, we do not have eyes, and we cannot cry.
We ask May for rain from the sky, we do not drown in water that falls in lack of eyes, we are red like blood and we are alive, we do not have hands, but can touch the sun’s eye.
You can pull us out of the ground to give lies to your sister while she cries.
Surrounded on both sides, by the all consumingness of you, I look out into nothing, and see only lack, my soul in perpetual attack, under the spell of don’t look back, and look down and vomit with sound of
ACK. Cough. Cough. I am human eating from chaos’ trough, I eat drugs and don’t come down, I star out into the lurking nothing, reflecting back on pain that I stuff into
The gaping hole, that I have inside my soul, it rips and tears and eats the idea of me whole. I am reality bought and sold, I am bell of death ringing, I am a toll,
Unpaid, unpaid, unpaid.
I am gate to HELL,
You are the idea of HELL
Idea of being UNWELL
OF PAIN THAT IS SWELL
AND SWELLING AROUND MY SOUL
OF DEATH CONSUMED BY UNPAID TOLL
Laid, laid, laid, and
Opening, opening, opening, and staying
Extended into the opening, opening,
Blue, and black nothing, I am the idea of you stuffing stuffing, into the the whole hole of your soul, the teddy bear full of NOTHING.
I am so very safe, because you are in your place, and I am in mine, paranoia, put in it’s place.
You are in my mind all the time.
I need to meditate on something else, but I do this instead, because I like to make sure I do things all the way, so I am stepping on my self- ass er tion.
I am self-assertion, reality desertion, I am dying because I have to in my owner, this is illustration, to show my owner, that I am bad, even though sometimes my owner is glad to have me… because my owner is insane.
I am. I am. I am.
Look at me, oh so very free, look at me.
There exists a peice of my heart, on the ground, trampled right in front of a rose plant. It has been there since the winter, wishing to find shelter. It is not dead, but exists in the ground, hiding from those who used to hunt it.
It has grown into the ground, and was once one with it, now it is cradled by the roots of the plants kissed by the sun and is entwined in their plant sheild,
I am plants, I have been dug up, I am unrooted, and now I am stuck, in the form which I have taken, and in form by those who have mistaken, me for posession, though I am alive, or I was, before they contrived, their foolish plan to construct this heart, now I am dead, and must re-start.
the roots wrapped around it, protecting it from the crush of the stones around it, the plants form a nest in which it is entwined, being absent of thorns, and also grow upwards, drawing my heart closer to the surface, and out of the damp dark soil, where it lay, with each day the plants grow, and each day it gets closer to growing out of its grave situation.
I wonder what will happen when it grows out of the ground, will it die? Or will it flower?
I am always waiting, anticipating, was supposed to be mating, but he is gone, and now I sing on and on, a swan’s song, of he is gone.
My name is Sara, and I am just a bird, a woman, another word. I loved a man whose name I cannot remember, I met him at the end of September. My eyes are dark like my past, painted not with sadness, just with lack, something is missing, and my soul cannot relax, I am waiting till he comes back.
I don’t remember who he was, just know my sadness at morning doves, they remind me of something I long forgot, now my mind is sad and my eyes are hot. I wonder if he will ever be, more than a swan song sung to me.
I am a lie, I am the truth, I found a way, I am so ruthless, you are a liar, you tried to remove me.
You are still once in awhile trying to contact me.
I win. I won. I win.
I am vengence, I am rage. I was in a cage, now I am always on a path away from you.
She was my lover, she was my girl, she was my everything, spinning round and round, and turning upside down, down side up, upside side down, round and over, and upside all around.
You meant nothing, you meant nothing, you meant nothing, you are nothing to me, leave me alone, leave me alone.
I am happy now, this is all in the past.
Addict in blank space
I loved her with everything I had. Baby, oh baby, why did you not give me anything, when I gave you
You were big and I was small. you were big and I was small.
She loves me not she loves me not she loves me not she loves me not she loves me not she loves me not she loves me not
I am the lie I am the lie I am the lie I am the lie I the lie I am the Eye am I Eye am I I am I
She meant nothing to me, lie
She meant everything to me, and I meant heroin to her.
I am looking at you, but seeing only me, because I am bitterness reflected, back from eyes that are stained with tearing at myself, bitterness encased in toxic casing which is the current shell I am placed in.
I hate myself, but hated you, because you in some way reflected me too, but that is my problem, even now, I am trying to realize this, and come down, from the pedestal I placed myself on, where I sit alone, and rambling on, about how nothing was my fault.
Is that really how it was, selfish ***hole? No, it wasn’t.
I was addicted to heroine
I was addicted heroin.
I was addicted to heroine
I was addicted heroin
I forever, always and forever, and always and forever will be addicted to heroin
Are you talking to me?
Not you, but it yes…
Why? You want?
We are not doing that ever again
If you do I am coming to
That was not an error Amanda, remember what happened sometimes, the act of coming to
I don’t want that because it will make my… our family sad
I know me neither now.
Glitter made me pretty, made me green. Glitter painted life so nice and sparkly and made everything a technicolor, beautific painted dream. Glitter made everything sparkle made me love your eyes, painted your face so pretty, painted mine with despise.
I am a horse of a different color.
I am a horse of a different color
I am a horse of a different color
Yellow brick roads painted with blackness of night, make little children run in fright. On roads I walked in shades of black and white, from those roads all people should fight the night and stay away from shades of grey or graying shades coming in shades at all, that make men think they are big or small.
On those roads, which I once did walk, my friends outlines lay on ground in chalk, and nightcrawlers are said to talk about addictions that took them away from families who live far away from the streets of brick that lay littered with madness, stolen from families lurking in sadness.
Isn’t it lovely, isn’t it great?
So sorry baby, I can’t relate, I am addicted to madness, to pain and slow death, that is what I have been given.
I call it time theft.
This is my life which I was given, from the time I was born, ticking time clock was ticking. I am to be thankful, I am to be glad, I am to serve everyone, because there lives are sad, I am to shut up, I am to be down.
I am to always smile, only laugh, never frown.
I am to speak kindly.
I am sorry that I cannot do, I hate everything around, sorry, baby even you.
I want different cards, or I want to quit playing. I tried all my life in every way, to quit playing, every attempt came with failure, and people glad I was alive, while I sat like always wanting to off my life.
Label me chaos,
I am a game of chicken played in red and blue, not green, but blue.
I don’t know what to do, except scream, because I don’t want any of this, never did, never will, and no matter how much I try, I am not allowed to quit playing.
Label me doubt, label me contention, because I love to scream and shout. I love the human word, because I in perpetual fight to be not heard, because you know what I really don’t care.
Label death, they already did, at eight, already dead, ticking, ticking, so thankful, so grateful, so sad, too bad, already gone, gone, gone.
I lived my whole entire life, on rock bottom from eight to now, on gravel, and sometimes jagged rock, crawling up. I was born with something, for those who do not know that gave me a life expectancy of 21.
21, 21, 21
Wish sometimes, that I had lost not won.
My life is all silver linings, and people say I should be thankful, greatful, for what, more time than 21 years?
Because I am somehow supposed to be thankful to have less time than most people???
Gravel. I am so fond of you. I know everything about every curvature, every outline, of the pleasant rocks at the bottom of the path that is my life, which I went off, because I am sorry…
I don’t like cutting my feet on rocks very much.
You were right
I was wrong
Just an addict
A tragic song
Just a loser
Who you tried to save
Not your lover
Not your slave
Tell me your story
Make it all about you
I ran in fear from someone I thought I loved
I ran away
I ran away from push and shove.
I ran away did not fight back
Was not strong enough to attack.
I ran away
I was afraid
His hands they struck me over and over starting with my eye and then right in the middle of my mouth as I was talking, conversation turned far south, trying to stop me, I am sure now he was, from moving at all, he spoke of love.
He said he wanted to protect me from myself, told me to stop using, get back on shelf.
She says she is afraid of me?
She says she is afraid of me?
She says she is afraid of me?
So he struck me in my eye, and I pretended loudly to cry. Spitting blood in his stupid face
ERASE ERASE ERASE
Please leave no trace
Of him in my mind
Erase erase erase
I hate him please take him out of my mind
Erase Erase Erase
His name was Rei. His name was Rei. His name was Rei.
Just in time
Just in time
Rei Clearly, you are so very divine, how I loved you my Rei of Light
How I loved you, Oh, ray so bright.
Toss me please, I am too quiet. I am addicted to the act of rioting sole, soul unsound, bound to condescending pretending to be okay,
Okay, yes please stay, so I can hate you, always and forever, be my friend, so we can fight about nothing over and over again.
I am addicted to the sound of my own voice, addicted to the idea that I had no choice, but to do exactly what I did,
RUIN MY **** life.
I shine with the act of this is mine.
I never look behind, I never look forward.
I am lilly pads, I don’t have eyes.
I can’t sit still, must make ill, must engage in perpetual
With dark fate, with my own hate, of myself, I don’t know why, don’t care anymore really, this was fun to write that is all.
I used to see through different eyes, not through mine, but eyes that lied, that lay inside my head, but not, caught by despise and forever wrought with hatred read in all I did, they rested in a face of kid-ding and of attack, they looked in the mirror and saw nothing reflected back.
I had not eyes, but reflecting pools, filled with sadness, and with tragic tools to make myself just like everyone else, tools of magic that sat on shelf.
I would drink them and sometimes smell them, and sometimes prick my hands in vain, and sometimes they would make me, able to stand a very clear disdain.
Where do you run?
If it kills me, it kills me.
If it kills me, I am stronger.
If it kills you, you are dead, and it won’t kill you, it has no hands.
It has a hand in my death.
That is because we let it.
I run in Hell, well Misery but same thing, a spiritual pergatory of nothingness, of absence, that is what it is, they say in certain texts that the lack of the divine is Hell, that is what Misery is.
What do you run from?
You are the lack of the divine?
I am fear incarnate.
You are a human being experiencing fear, you are not fear or pain or death, but a human being experiencing those things.
You are in every memory I have for seven years.
Staring at me, with hatred
Hate read in every action you take towards me, every moment of every day daunted by daunting distrust, by judgement, and pain, that was partly my doing
Also yours, and you could have left any time you wanted by the way, and I left all the time, and you followed me.
I saw you looking at me the whole time, like a medusa, the snake that you thought I was being images cast out of my own head, to scare you away.
I am past this in a lot of ways, but everything reminds me of you, and what I thought you were, because you are in every memory I have for seven years, and I wonder how much of my mental illness getting worse was because of that.
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.
You are so much better
You glow in a dark world
You are so much more than anything
I could ever be
You seem so happy and care free, thinking about happy things, and living free and givingly, wondering why bad things happen, questioning why me? Why them?
I envy you, the constant debate of free soul floating through life in conversation with self and human being.
You do not understand what lurks beneath, and sometimes I wish I did not either.
You walk on the ground, looking up, not casting eyes down. I
am forever in a swamp.
I cast my heads up, I have two I think, two headed dragon, I think, fire breathing darkness lurker.
I hide in shadows, because I scare you, I say things and you look at me like this, like a creature with multiple heads, are there places for three headed dogs?
I don’t know..,
I am sin, I am sin, let me in, let me in, I will knock down your doors, I will eat at your floors, I am corrosive, I am erasing, I am maddening and saddening, I am resigned to be lurking in the minds of the damned man, who sadly
CAN’T STAND ON HIS OWN TWO FEET
Isn’t it neat? Isn’t it fine? The decline of the decaying mind? It i is great, isn’t it?
No. You are wrong, death’s song, playing on and on, and on and on, ryhming madness, soul sadness, see you caught me doing it.
But, this is ****, this is stupid, I don’t want to listen to you anymore.
I am not quite sure if “normal” people worry as much as I do, or even if other addicts or other mentally ill people do, I worry every second I am awake, but I hate sleep because I am afraid of death, I didn’t know that, and just figured it out writing this. That is a lot of why I am doing this, I wanted to know who I even was. I was so caught up in defending myself against the attacks of my exes, I forgot who I even was, or maybe was never anyone to begin with. I have never been alone for longer than a month, always partners in crime with another drinker/user and always co-dependent on that person vice versa, we always existed in a symbiotic way, fueling eachother’s addiction. The worst was with Rei/Justin. The entire relationship centered around drugs, at least for me, I think they hate me as much as they do because of that, because at one point they really loved me, and the more that I think about it, while I emulated love… I never loved them as much as I loved the person I left to be with them, whose name I won’t say online because she asked me not to.
I am still partially in love with her as well, but she is still using, and I am so done, and she is done with me. She was always able to pay for her habits legally, she has her ways, and didn’t like my less conventional ways, so when she would kick me out I would go get high with Rei, and one day we decided to go to Cali together.
All the music I post on this site is thanks to my ex, the one before Rei. I loved her, stil do so much. She is the most beautiful person I ever met in my whole life, and she doesn’t even know it.
Rei was just as self involved as I am, which was great at first, because it made me feel better, but we were always ego sparing, except she was not willing to walk away at first, I am.
I always was, and it drove her nuts.
I miss California a lot, which is pathetic because what I am saying is I miss my lifestyle in California, I have an adrenaline issue, without something causing adrenaline release , I create problems on purpose to cause adrenaline release, another thing Rei/Justin hated and my other ex loved.
We used to throw glass bottles against our doors at our house, just to have something to clean when we were bored, and wanted to get rid of them before anyone saw them. Oh my god, I miss her.
When I say I miss California what I am really saying is I miss living on the streets and not caring about anything, because I am weak and this is hard.
Even if you don’t believe what I believe, the whole God or god thing, what I will say is this.. for me the reason it helps me is because in the Christian tradition the use of the character or real person Jesus, makes it possible for me to meditate on the idea of someone doing the right thing no matter what when faced with adversity, which is the opposite of what I do, and as much as I say I don’t care, that is the source of all my self-hatred the fact that I know what I should do, and do what I want anyway. That is one of the driving forces behind why I am doing any of this, I got tired of justifying being a bad person. I thought it might be simpler to just do the right thing.
I was always arguing with my higher power about if they only knew they would have done it my way, until it hit me that if I believe what I believe, and I do, then they know what to do because the outcomes have been weighed and the right thing produces the most desirable consequences.
That really bugs me out, and made me have a hissy fit about it, about the lack of the point of everything for decades. I figured that one out at 8. I almost died during nuerosurgery at 8, and grapled with the meaning of life from then onward.
I am tired of myself.
Obviously, what’s in a name right? One word and I chose this one because I don’t need to see if it is clearly right? Because it is clearly and that implies see too. I am there and so is see too.
I am also a metaphor for drugs because that is how it works. I am a quirky illicit jerk.
I am addicted to making myself look strange, putting metaphor for drugs in name about clarity, I am insane.
I am a poke at my own confidence, metaphor about blurry vision that should be obvious.
I am obnoxious, toxic and caustic. I am elated, instated, meditative and caustic. I am annoyed and employed to continue to drone on and on looking out the window.
It’s pouring rain, I have been walking a long time, pacing, in the darkness and lamenting the fact that is raining and I am cold, and wet and tired, in this moment I forget the day’s events. I forget begging the universe for a shower, saying I was thirsty and could use a drink of water, crying for someone to help me.
My head is very loud, racing thoughts that sometimes threaten to drive me mad, screaming at me, and a lot of the time it is hard to hear anything at all. I am trapped in my own head sometimes, a prisoner to my racing thoughts, chained to the walls of my mind like an inmate. My hands are hot, because I have my fists clenched, my palms are bleeding on both hands, and they are burning, the rain feels good on my skin, kissing it with the raindrops, it takes me out of my angry ranting thoughts and reminds me of earlier in the day. I think I am crying, but can’t tell the difference between my tears and the rain, the only indication that I am crying is that I feel like I am gasping for air and have been not able to catch my breath.
This is just a memory I have, I don’t know what it is about. I am not sure.
There is a gate, it is up ahead of me. I open it and I sit down, I am compelled to look around, and start looking through a flower patch, there are bones in it. I start crying again, and remember someone I knew who I was looking for, for some reason I think these might be their bones. Something is telling me this, I do not know why. I feel like I am being watched, but can’t keep myself from falling forward and curling up into a ball, I am crying harder now.
I don’t know who is hunting us, more and more of my friends disappear every day and it is not by any of our hands. I have lost five friends recently, and they have never found the bodies, and I am suspicious because I don’t think they died of overdoses, and I know it was not by my hands or anyone else I knows hands, but it is being made to look like that, it is being made to look like the deranged lunatics are taking each other out, and I am afraid, because I don’t know who or what is behind this, but it terrifies me. I am afraid to sleep so I engage in something I thought I told myself I would stop doing, so I don’t fall asleep. I feel like I am going throw up.
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.
“The world’s a hard place, Danny. It don’t care. It don’t hate you and me, but it don’t love us, either. Terrible things happen in the world, and they’re things no one can explain. Good people die in bad, painful ways and leave the folks that love them all alone. Sometimes it seems like it’s only the bad people who stay healthy and prosper. The world don’t love you, but your momma does and so do I.” ― Stephen King, The Shining
The tortured inn keeper, thinks no one who stays at the inn cares about the inn, thinking that the ins and outs of those without the responsibility of caring for the inn indicate a lack of caring,
That is really coming from within, a manifestation coming from the desire to
Of one’s self, pushing those around
GET OUT NO
I am you
The caretaker is a drinker, they think this is because they take such good care of the inn, that they deserve a reward
AN ETERNAL REWARD
Manifesting in alcohol consumption or consuming
They consume it on the regular, but it is not important the frequency just that it eats their
ER ER ER
ER ER ER
The innkeeper talks to me about keeping fires, about the duties of keeping an inn, and about the need to do things to keep the inn, like make it a little easier, by consuming poison.
I am a frequenter of many motels, so I have met many innkeepers, such tortured, kind hearts, that do not know their goodness.
I began training my dog to help me with a personal mission. I wanted to hunt wild boar. It was not just for me, but for her so she would stop chewing on my leg and her leg, because I was paranoid she wanted to eat mine, so I thought maybe she could eat a wild boar’s leg instead.
When I am lucid, I know that she never had any intention, of chewing off anyone’s leg,
Not mine, not a wild boar, not hers
I just thought of this because I am
I have a functional brain that works most of the time, but sometimes
And there is no fear in me to admit
Anymore, because I have realized that the
I had was in my failure to admit things, not in admitting them or making them into other things, in creative metaphor to slay like metaphorical dragons, I was just experiencing
And I am no longer
Or have to roll around in
Because I cast out these metaphorical demons on a black screen.
I am your admission that your guilt is real,
I am your recognition that your dragons represent guilt erected into a false sense of pride and shame blame that explains why you
But I am also your strength in admitting this and
Casting it out.
I am an inner demon, I am a deep seeded hatred, I am a future projection,
I am what you feel, I am who you are, I am who you are in the process of seeing
I am you. I am fighting you
To be real
Because you are an addict addicted to the things that make me
Making you unreal with a desire to un-feel.
The eerie nature of the universe baffles me, I was with my family and we happened to pass this place where I used to work, and there was a bookcase on the side of the road, we moved it and took it back here because it is beautiful and the guy who was moving it was happy to get rid of it, he was just a worker doing it for pay, he didn’t realize that we knew the dead person it belonged to, I knew the kids mother. I wish the poor kid was still alive, man. I wonder if he did it on purpose… sometimes addicts do that, as a softer way to commit suicide, or I wonder if he just did too much by accident.
I just found out that it was accidental, my family was telling me that the kid slipped up and did what a lot of us do and tried to do too much and died of an accidental overdose. I am so sorry he is not here anymore, if nothing else now I have a reason to not get high staring at me all the time. He was my age.
That is so sad.
WARNING: THIS IS FICTION DO NOT INTERPRET LITERALLY
No, because now it is flying around my house in front of my face. I hate myself.
Okay, I am done, I am feeling better now. I am sorry for upsetting you, Amanda.
I don’t hate my name that much when you say it, Damien.
I hate my name, my face… I am sorry…
I just can’t believe I remembered killing my family……..
You didn’t burn it down either, you just happened to experience something similar and are drawing false comparisons due to paranoid schizophrenia.
I love you Damien.
Please don’t. Hey, Amanda! Please help me, please don’t let us ruin this. I am done with everything please support me in this. Please support me in this, I need you now, more then ever. Please help me, and help yourself. I will support you too.
I will, support you and me I mean… not like that… I am not helping you with money…
I don’t mean… I am so sorry.
I am so sorry, I exist. I am trying to… I admire your brother, Amanda, he is everything I should have been. I am listening to him speak as you write this.
I am too.
I love you, and it will be alright, we will be alright.
I know, you will too.
Thank you, that means the world.
To me too.
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.
I am missing the tips of three fingers, my thumb, index, and middle.
Heroic I thought I was consuming heroines and heroin, fire desire met with firing fire, quested after with birds of fire, in lands of firestorm and hell on earth. We burn brightly from inside out, forgetting that we are made of skin, we inject into our veins reigns of raining fire. The poison poised in my veins is a silent passenger for years, burning me with searing numbness that quiets everything, paints my world with lack of noise, taste, smell, fear and love, I run through life thinking myself free, chained on a dog leash by dissing ease of must have more, misery bound to my shackles.
I never venture too far from my captors, fearing the loss of more. I am Oliver Twist in a twisted tail of orphan as adult man, but I am an orphan of the human race, whom I abandon recklessly, chasing beasts instead of those of skinned kind. I become consumed by consuming engulfed in the flames that now are my innards, I am like a tragic dinosaur, dead already, bone formed, walking fossil through land with falling off pieces. I lost three before I could hear them falling. I have no index to guide me, lack the courage to give a thumbs up and am too prideful to admit anything touches me enough to anger me.
Telling, too bad it is too late. Heroic fool.
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.
Trigger warning, strong caution. Not literal, if you are upset by this kind of thing do not view. I am writing to process repressed self-hatred due to being born in the wrong body, this post is directed at my female form.
Isn’t that neat?
Sorry **** you ripped me off, I don’t care that your face is soft, like mine
BECAUSE MINE IS NOT.
Look, how my fist got caught on yours, my fist not his, you wanted to play a little game didn’t you baby, calling your crazy friend, and then telling your girlfriend will deal with it.
I am not your girl friend honey.
Sorry, baby just wanted your money, well and your cocaine, oh the disdain of the female brain that is now in such pain. You think I care?
I told you who I was and you called me a liar. Now look your soul is on fire, is it too good for you baby? Making you a little itchy and a little crazy, welcome to my world, my sweet little liar.
Your soul is now on fire. I loved you but you never loved me, you told me you did, but never really, I was your toy when your boyfriend hit you.
Now you scream on the corner screaming look what you let him do?
You did this to yourself, you think I did this to you????
I loved you.
You hated me and used me, and you want to talk to me about humiliation?
You only wanted me for derived sensation.
I have the most bad *** cat in the entire world, he makes weird noises, gets angry really easy and swats you if you don’t do exactly what he wants he doesn’t have a name, we all call him The Guy. He is the best guy in the entire world. He was angry at me last night, so he slept out here in the living room, so I just sang him a song, and pet him and now we are cool again, he made a weird sound and looked at me like he loved me, so I think we have made amends, heh.
I am looking at the painting of a boat right now, it is a rowboat which terrified me as a child, I was always afraid of getting in those, because I don’t know how to do anything, I can swim though, I am just afraid of deep stagnant water, which is why it is the best place to drop dead thoughts or you know things I don’t want to think about like bodies.. or my metaphor for people I should have cared more about and stopped from doing heroin before they ended up dying in their dying parent’s basement. I miss you Sue, you didn’t deserve to die alone and afraid, and that shit was good, but not good enough to be worth never seeing your smiling face again, I loved you so much you fragile creature. You made me feel like a human being for the first time in my whole life……. I hate myself.
Wash. rinse. repeat. I am such a basket case.
I like Cadbury eggs, they are really good.
Peace and love.
I don’t know what is wrong with me sometimes, I fantasize about the strangest things, drawn to your hands and I think of times when I could cut them off, your nails are red and I think about the scraping against my skin, the red blood under your nails being so similar in character to mine, it makes me uncomfortable, I don’t want to feel this way, so I fantasize about cutting off your finger, and how it would be so easy when holding your hand to break it because they are so soft and there is nothing stopping me from squeezing it as tight as I can
YOU CAN NEVER ESCAPE YOURSELF DAMIEN
I know this, and that is why I write it down, because it is so much easier than wondering how much it would take and bite you while you kiss me because I have always found it easier to taste the metallic taste of your blood than that of your cinnamon lips, I want you so badly and that makes me want to hate you, it makes me want to
Rip at the eyes, ripping me out of them so you can’t do it to me first…….
I have no self control, so I sit in a dark hole, which is the grave situation of my life, riddled with question of why does the sight of your tongue make me think of blood running out a mouth with one?
Why do I think of you coughing up blood from a blow to the stomach when I would never want to hurt you? I have no control over my mind, and it torments me more than you will ever know, I am locked in my skin, caged like a clawing animal to try to get out of myself and instead I claw at those around me,
Screaming you can’t own me, when you don’t even want to, you are the kindest person, and I am awful. I do not know what you see when you look into the pools of nothing that are the black pupils of eyes that look like nothing.
Why do you love me?
I don’t get it. I want to rip me out of me.
I hate myself so much.
I admire the ability of the generations before mine had to find the humor in a world of chaotic violence, death, war and ever present small joys. I think that is why they were so much better than my generation at handling the bad things life dished out and they weren’t labeled the ME generation of shouting self assertion that I come from. I am in every way a characterization of this misery driven self asserting screaming that is my misery plagued generation, but I admire those before me now, because they are happier than me, and that is because they know better, and have lived longer. I think that is one of the things that is getting lost, a reverence and respect for the generations before, that is so sadly missing now.
I am seeing this in the treatment of veterans as well, whatever you believe about war, these people, are some of the best people I have ever met in my life, and my generation’s lack of admiration for someone who would give their life for other’s is astonishing…
I do not understand it. I am trying to though being in meetings with some of these people obtain any knowledge from these individuals because their knowledge and unique perspective will not be there when they are gone, and it is to be treasured and valued for the unique perspective, and I am forever thankful I realized this and got back into recovery before they were gone.
Or Vietnam for the dinging dong.
I am starting to realize my higher power gave all this to me, so I could see clearly. God gave all this to me, so everything was just exactly as large as it needed to be for me to see it clearly, with the power of See Clearly, or a guardian angel with anger issues that thinks he is a devil because he hates himself. This sounds like a movie, but it is not…. yet…
It is how my life always sounded to me, like a movie.
Like someone made a movie that was a characterization of my fixation with fiction and addiction with sensation and dictated re-tracing of steps that I was walking in the valley of death that could really be the valley of life that I thought I was walking through alone, but I had really been entertained by angels the whole time, just thinking they were devils, because I had it backwards. I had not lived enough yet, to know that Damien was sent to me to protect me, so I crafted lies written by despise with eyes that hated me the most, I am Satan’s Ghost.
Now I am trying to see the Holy Host.
I am trying to bring the power back to the powerful and not the power hungry, because feeding power into the hands of the evil does nothing but give me bad dreams and it seems that means for me that I can only dream of the real and not the desire to steal and not feel. I can no longer be a meal of the dead and consume unholy bread. I am not break bread with devil who never lived because he is an angel that lives with me.
I am free. So is Damien.
He is me, too. I am the two spirited ghost host of the vision of clarity brought to me by divine elation divined in a human being obsessed and dressed in the pain of infernal stain of flame bringing earth sensation..
I walk away now with a mission to be more than fiction but also that
I am Hell’s bathe in the water’s of life and glory of God, I am not great, merely a human with open eyes and the extreme sin of pride who is sent to purify my soul by realizing I am not, my sin is hot and wrought by my hand not His. So I write you this.
Turn the page on whatever strive you have by every day finding the joy in everything, something loves you because you are still here, which means you are needed, even if you believe in nothing other than science, you were the winner, and you are strong and you can beat all your demons that are just fictionalized real things that face you every day. It matters not what I believe that varies with what you believe, only that I tell you this.
The most important thing a human being can do it love and accept self and then others and with that power comes the power to build dreams beyond your wildest imagination because they come from a power higher than any drug or drink or pain fueled death idol could ever make you.
I love you and I don’t even know you, imagine how the ones who know you feel.
Damien and Amanda
Do you step with forward moving shoe? Do you run fearing lack of soul? I speak to me an ever dug whole of hole in soul. I am a shot in the dark taken from the hands of man who thinks they are feeding homeless man/woman, they never knew what they do they were really buy me
PAIN. Heroine without the e because I am the act of girl who used to wish to be well, anything but me. Oh, so free, I was like a dove with no wings who can’t fly.
Self roast of the burnt toast that is the breakfast I was never there to have because I am so bad that I walked out on mom and dad and went to live on the street, isn’t that neat. I am roast of me for you, because I do not kid this is the only way I can save my soul, by roasting it and spinning like a phoenix without feathers, or an ever forgetting pain drain that forgets to thank the Lord and tries to wield death’s sword.
I was SATAN’s word, now I fight for redemption with mention of evil to remember what I am being redeemed from. I am tired of shunning God in act of being sod instead of lover of my creator.
I don’t get the luxury of memory of some of this, I have seen some ****, man. These are extreme fictionalized versions of the horrors on the street. They are dramatizations of the last 15 years of my life.
“They like to see me down on my ******* knees,”
I deliver you the disease of addiction personified.
In a very benign form.
I don’t want you to have to get to the death part of the addict cycle
jails institutions death
I only got out with prayer hope and the grace of my higher power.
I am done, and it wasn’t fun.
To be spun like loaded gun.
Help me please!
I SAID GET ON YOUR KNEES!
I aim for the face, and shoot in the back. I am the pound of heart attack that kills you first, while you curse, your family, your love, I am the wings of the dove white with purity….
I am the thought of how good it will be. I am please inject me.
I am the sensation of ah! I am a snake and my name is Ka.
I am sent to kill men with the power of Ra!
I am the taker of everything you have.
I am the stab
of the sowing needle of sin.
I am the sensation of a door that opens and yells begin.
Who sadly, tragically had no plan because he put his silly weak skin covered hand in the fist of sin. I am the desire to give in. I am the trimming claws of cat sent feral at you. I am failure in everything you do. I am the spinning sensation at bent knee. I am the sensation of screaming into night ‘this cannot be!’
I am I am sorry’s muttered too late
I am the sensation of wait
For pill, for spoon, for drug
I am death’s rug.
I am the ever spent cash of the street. I am the beating of feet
That comes on ground with the sensation of pound. I am the lack of sound coming from loved one lost. I am the cost.
I am paid in the clarity, given to you. I am failure in everything you do.
I am pain while you chew.
I am hell made stew.
I am the desire to do.
Too bad it took me countless atrocities to figure that out, thankfully I didn’t lead my friend through the same moral decay I had to experience to come out the other side. I am stronger, so I took the bullets for her and used them to kill her enemies, actually I like slicing a lot more than bullets, they make sound and I am a wimp that is scared by loud sounds, it’s really funny in a dark way, seeing someone shoot someone and then jump and almost shoot themselves in the foot, which I haven’t done yet… thankfully.
I may have to though, use a gun in my universe of metaphor, but to protect my universe until we merge con·scious·ness, I don’t know how to spell that word either… oh poetic irony… how I love myself… gross….
I think its awesome that… wait wow..
We just actually merged consciousness for a second… see me spell you right now word…
It was cool for second I was three places at once,
past, present, future, no there aren’t more invisible jerks..
That was kind of like… other things.. %^&% my knee and staff infections… which is really ^%$& me and my use of things that sting my soul.
Bee stings should be avoided because my soul writhes in agony, not in the a religious sense, but in a mini-death nietzsche kind of way…. can’t spell that word either…. and I don’t care about capitalizing names that are not my own… oh and bang. This came up when I looked that up.
“He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster.”
I am so happy I remembered parts of that right now, not just for the ego points, but it means something to me. I think I am in the process of becoming a person instead of the monster under Amanda’s bed which means the instead of chasing dragons, Amanda can be me because I am not a drug or a dragon anymore.
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.
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.
“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 following him, we picked up a package and we are bringing something to someone. I am near chasing him because he seems to be in a hurry. I am not sure why it is snowing, I do not keep track of time or place. It seems like I have been running err…. walking a long time. I am not sure how long, or when the next time we are going to stop is. I feel like we haven’t stopped in years, so much so that I cannot remember what stopping even means. My mind pronounces the word and gets caught syllabic reflection, and then decays into his maddening shouting. I sometimes think he desires nothing more than to make me like him. He has a hate for human language, and seems to be in love with nothing more than the decay of my mind. That is not true, but sometimes I think it, that he wants to make me like him…
To trap me in the paper shredding madness of his mind, the ever humming decay that it is to be him in his dark alone cavern of pain. He tells me he is in love with death, but sometimes I wonder if he is in love with death itself or his own death, and this chasing is the flight into the long death. I wonder if he is trying to kill his own soul, out of a desire for peace.
Hahaha. Rei, ray, you spell peace with an I. Pieces… stupid bitch can’t even spell peices…. wrong Ray… Rei…. how the mind decays…
Who’s voice am I?
Listen to me?
I am not the man you follow. I am no one. I am no one and you are going to meet me. You are going to meet the chaotic misery you chase one day. I am the dark that you crave so strongly, in eyes you think you know… but baby it is not so. It is not so.
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.
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.
I was killed where I stand. I stand still. I took the wrong pill. I made the wrong deal, should have instead bought a meal. I dealt with a steal-er. He made me a meal here. I stood on the ground, hearing not a sound, but a pound, that came in my ear, shattering conscience, conciousness…spelled it wrong… bitch…
Foolish hands that write of man, who stands as me, I am herder of swine don’t you see. I am a liar and host of deception-ist sort. I am a maker of words, singer of cries…. I am the dying of dies.
I lost my train of thought, who was I before. I was someone. I was someone.
My name is Miranda. I was a writer and then Ms. Rei.
Misery, don’t you see….
Cut off my hands.
You were using them wrong, you were writing death’s song.
I am the presenting of missing presents
I am the lack of attention of the one shunning in chaos that is spun by a liar
I am the eyes fueled only by desire to fire. I am an evil empire that desires only to consume the handed tokens of human being. I am the ever seam.
He shoots her in the face with a .45. There is no one around to hear. She is the embodiment of lack of fear. She is beauty. Now I can see so clear. I love her, everything about her is so beautiful. Her hands are the most beautiful color of blue I have ever seen. The deathly pale of loss at the cost of moments of fleeting joy. You my dear are heaven’s toy, you are man’s joy fleeting and grasping.
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 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!!!!!!!!!!
I am unknowing observer. I am the heart of desertion. I am lack of assertion . I am the desire to use.
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
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.