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.
Tag: misery loves company
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.
My nerves die places that I want them to not, and the rest of my body is on fire, and I am not allowed to have peace, and I don’t know why?
And mysteriously, I am alone, now, and the annoying female screaming voice, that shares my body with me is gone, because she in fact is everything I belief her to be.
What a whiney bitch like you? Is that what you want to say, master of nuerosis? Is that what you need to hear right now??
I need to hear nothing.
Then why are you talking to yourself on a black screen.
I was trying to talk to someone else, who hates you.
Oh, sick burn.
Thank you, Damien.
You’re welcome, Amanda
I am not normal, and it makes some people very uncomfortable, so I decided when I was a little kid to pretend to be normal so everyone could be comfortable, and I wouldn’t make anyone unhappy.
Misery loves company, it loves friends, look at me, look at me, I am so much like you, can’t you see? Can’t you see?! I am so much like you, I do everything you do.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! I am so much like you. I do everything you do. I am everything you are. I do all the same things, and have the same types of reactions that you do. 4
I learned how to be so very,
AL Liar, liar, soul on
Burn me out, I am the life of body without soul, the only toll for a life lived inside a gaping hole of soul ripped out, by the act of scream and shout.
I am disdain, I am drain, I am in intense physical pain.
You are a whiny bitch.
You are a bitch period, and you deal with nothing, you just sit there and laugh at me while I complain.
At least I laugh, and you just complain.
You laugh at someone being in pain, and that is somehow an upgrade to what I do?
I hate you.
I know, I hate you too, that is why I am trying to force you to leave by being intolerable.
You make me happy
You make me sad
You make me angry.
I want you so bad.
I look at you, and I see us, look at you, you make me trust, that I was wrong, the whole **** time, you could be mine, you are so sublime, you are great, and I love you dearly, you are so beautiful, I speak sincerely.
I love you baby, you bring me joy, you are perfect, for you I am
Perpetually in love, you are morning dove.
Oh watermelon mixed drink, I loved you so, why oh why, did you have to go, and be bad for me, and ruin my life, I am so sad, it cuts like knife, in my liver, and makes me sick, but hold you tight still I wish, I could do it, but I can’t, I am an
Alcoholic, with no self-control, everything I touch, just eats my soul, I can be addicted to anything, even digging a hole.
He tells me that he can change his shape, and I think of my friend, who I think I have thought about on this blog before. My friend who believes that something happens and he blanks out and becomes someone else. This reminds me of that. He tells me that he does it through mental focus and meditation on something else, not the person or animal which he is becoming. He also tells me he has no power over what he becomes.
This is slightly terrifying, and suggests that there is another party to this process, or that my new friend, has somehow tapped into the consciousness accessable to beings who meditate, which is strange, because he speaks of this as a sort of body snatching, which is precipitated by a moment of panic, the lack of calm. I don’t know what to think about it, when he is telling me this. To be continued.
You make me so happy, you make me so… actually, I forgot… I am no longer that way…
I am battered, I am fried, I am toasted, I am dyed, I am chasing after I, I am screaming after guy, I am chaos of nearly died, I am seering poke in eye.
You are insane, and lying now.
I know, but at least I made you smile, so whatever.
You made me cry, is that what you wanted???
Yes, at least you felt something.
Is that all?
Oh, so you’re imitating me??
How does it feel when it is done to you, huh? Do you like it when it is done to you???
I didn’t think so, you don’t have to be such a miserable ****. You won, for all these years you won. You were always the one who won.
That is all you have to say, after all that?? That is all you have to say????
I don’t know why that makes me even more mad.
Because you are a *****.
I am not even going to respond to that.
Good, I wanted to shut you the **** down anyway, because all you did was make it easier to get high anyway.
And you don’t think that was all about you?
I think that was all about the three of us.
It’s a little bit better than thinking resentment is that strong of a voice in my head.
I think so, but I am not sure.
I think it has something to do with you really hating being female.
I think so too.
It makes sense in a strange way. I always had a feeling about this, and always thought we were half one, half the other.
I know, I kind of always knew about this.
I love you, Lydia, insidious disease, that brings me to my knees. I am sick over you, whatever would I do, without you my love, my sweet turtle dove. You bring me to my knees.
You haven’t talked to me in a long time, you disgusting peice of ****, and I am not a disease, even though both of you refer to me as one. I am not the voice of misery, I just know how to deal with addiction, because I am not a self-loathing ego maniac, like some residents of the body we inhabit.
I know, I haven’t, but you are half responsible for my survival, so while I was showering I remembered you.
You haven’t talked to me in so long you forgot about me, is what you are saying.
In sickness and health, to those on the shelf, I love you so much, you are so great, ever so sorry
What you came back so late? You are an ***hole, and make such loud noise, you are a child playing with toys.
I missed you too.
Where’s your little girl?
She’s yours too.
Is that why you haven’t talked to me in forever, and she is not mine, she just uses me to get what both of you want.
Ouch, but correct.
I love you person I don’t know, because you are beautiful and glow, with colors of say it isn’t… anyone I met, so you are not dead to me yet, because you simply don’t exist, you are idea of bliss or chaotic death either one because I know I ****, and am horrible at everything so I ruin anything I have and would ruin things with you too, and that no longer makes me sad, because I am
Insane, and engaged in a worship of myself, or with items on my shelf, that I threw out for now because I… actually they got stolen… and it was
Really ****y, but you are really pretty, for a second you make me think of something else,
Heroine, oh Heroin, I love you so,
Heroine, oh Heroin, I wish I could forget you,
And not be writing love poems to a woman who is really a metaphor for how I am a pathetic loser.
I think I would be happier like this, completely alone, talking to myself as my partner.
Hey, isn’t that what we are doing now, and doesn’t it ****?
Than what the **** are you talking about???
That I am insane, and don’t know what else to say, and I am trying to make someone laugh, even if it is just you?
So you are talking to yourself on a blank screen, trying to type things that make you feel good about yourself?
Yeah, isn’t that what the book of faces is???
I don’t think anyone on that thing is looking in a mirror talking to their own face as if it is another person?
They aren’t? That is what it looks like to me.
That is because we are insane, and it is not what they are doing, because they are not insane.
For us or them.
Well, mostly them.
Why?? Not what I expected to hear…
Because, we never have to be truly alone.
Or, we are always more alone than anyone ever.
Other than maybe Gollum on Lord of the rings.
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.
Burn me please,
I am on my knees,
I miss your sweet carress
Oh, one who looked so pleasant in a white dress.
I love you so much, you are so great, ever so sorry we no longer relate, you are so lovely, I am so sad, so very tragic you made me so mad, I loved you so dearly, we related so well, you made me feel like I’d escaped fom pure hell, you were so perfect… now you are
I am so sad I knew you so long, I wanted it to work out so sad it did not, so very tragic our love was so hot, it made me so happy to see
Clearly that you were such a miserable peice of ****, so glad, so sad, too bad, baby, enjoy the cash you stole from me, hope it was ****ing worth it.
To See Clearly, In deed, I Cation by Ms. Re
I am a strange change in the wind, as you begin to realize everything you have ever realized is
He tells me birds are not real
He tells me that someone he knows has told him that they heard me say birds are not real.
He tells a story about how my friend told him I said birds are not real after participating in a joking conversation about birds not being real, but instead robots in the sky. He thinks this is funny and laughs with me and my friend.
My friend thinks I am funny, she thinks my take on her hippy stoner questions are funny, she realizes I am trying to make her laugh.
Elizabeth thinks you are insane.
She does? I do not recall Elizabeth ever saying this, and if she did say this why didn’t she say this to me?
They call me spare change, I am the act of re-order everything you know.
I am traveling from place to place and am approached over and over, in a eerie way, by people that say they have met me before, they look at me from across the road, and then slowly approach me, all with the same gate, the same pace, the same way of walking. They are varrying people, different but all with the same vocal tone, same gate, and same eyes.
They all approach always from across the street, seeming to pick me out of nowhere, and ask me the same question, always the same question, as if they know me from somewhere. They ask me if I am the girl with the twin brother, the strange thing about this is, I look like a guy… there is nothing about me that suggests I am female from far away. I look enough like a guy that I get asked when at the dentist or the doctor if I am the right person when seeing a doctor for an appointment.
If I say that I am not the girl with the twin brother, they would follow me for a day or so trying to find my twin brother, and then tire of it and apologize, trying to pretend the whole thing was normal, that they could find this person that was sure to exist somewhere else. They would seem embarrassed and assure me it was there mistake, and the whole thing would end pleasantly.
I would only ever let them talk to me as Amanda during this, never sure what it was they wanted with the real me. They would always lose interest and go away. Since I went back home it has stopped occuring, so I am thinking it was location specific, some sort of creepy cultish thing…harrassing street people or something…
I am reminded sometimes of nights I spent trying to get to somewhere safe. I would be walking somewhere, and would find myself in a neighborhood, not much unlike any other neighborhood, except a little different. This neighborhood was gated, nobody ever gets in, and nobody ever gets out. The gates enclosed the neighborhood so that was the exact case, exact except not exactly…
That is not always the case… There were times, when staring at certain lights, for a certain amount of time… seemed to have an effect on the bodies orientation towards theres neighborhoods with these gates that no one could ever escape from.
These lights had a specific patterning, they would go on and off in thirty second intervals six times. They were always a glowing red, and would always all together do this weird on and off signaling, and after that signaling the gates of this community would close, having been open before, unbeknownst to any traveler that happened to walk through them, after this signaling, as if prompted by this signaling, people would let out their dogs.
The dogs though enclosed by the gates would somehow be able to make it to the road, where an enclosed passerby that had happened to get trapped in this gated community, would then be trapped in the gated community with six dogs, always six never more, never less…. as if by magic… always six.
The dogs would chase and bite at ankles and people in black vehicles would pass by watching and sometimes would chase as well as the dogs, never assisting always chasing, sometimes almost plowing into you. Very strange…………………
EXPLICIT CONTENT: I am an recovering addict, alcoholic, this is a review of myself, and not meant to comment on the life choices of anyone else, in other words, not meant to hurt anyone, but my own feelings.
What brings you to this dark corner?
Why do you want to walk in the life turned upside down?
You are so perfect, why do you walk on turned over ground?
I have watched many women, who walk through the lands of the damned, wishing for the change of the tragic souls trapped in a miserable land of their own making…
Indicated in the tragic fracture between human beings and the understanding of what they do
I am the able miser, but I chose to not understand.
I am the miser able, but I chose to break and bend.
I am miserable, I chose to complain and drain.
I am the miserable, into my vein I fire pain.
I am the miser able, I chose to break my heart.
I fire dark or light colored poison without fear that I will stop my heart.
In my veins pumps a poision, poised to bring my death.
I am the miser able, to live in perpetual time theft.
I am looking at you, but also looking past your right now, behind you at all the times, when I was standing with someone so focused on the light, and I was being sucked backward, as if by hands back into a world of comforting darkness, that I know so…………..well…………………
It calls to me…………….. from the depths…………………….of Hell………misery…………………………… Misery……………..
It haunts me, because it lives in all my memories, and I am in the process of repairing my life so I have very few new ones, so I am drawn back like a fly to lightbulb, zapping myself, with the battery licking sensation of addiction to the stinging acid of poison.
I am happy, and yet I am drawn to you like an addict of pain, even in sobriety…. I find myself meditating almost happily on pain.
I miss you, person who I thought was real, but what I really miss was never real to begin with, the idea of being loved at all, ever, which was never real at all.
You were not real, you were never who I thought you were, because I was never real, not before now, so this is and has always been, all my fault, which doesn’t matter, but I keep thinking it, that I tragically hurt my own self.. I have a problem with the word feelings, I don’t like admitting I have those.
And now this
Please help me, everything that is above me, because I am done with being angry…
And now this
There is a flower, that exists somewhere, in the jungle, that I need to find, because it will cure a disease of my mind.
I don’t know what is, or what it does, just simply that it exists somewhere and that I am looking for it.
I am losing my mind,
It will be fine,
Tomorrow this will be better
I have to remember
It will be fine
It will be fine
I need to calm down. I need to calm down. I will be okay, this is not permanent. This is just panic.
You are going to be okay, we are going to be okay, stay with me, you are going to be okay.
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.
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
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.
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?
The people? Which people? 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.
I mean you are being used, like everyone is being used at times, by the hands of the universe to help other people.
I know, but everyone is used this way.
Tool is loot backwards.
You are such a jerk.
I did a brief inquiry into the history of this house, and found nothing. So I don’t think the ghost has to do with the house, and what is strange is the same thing happened when I came back downstairs, so I am done as of now, talking about anything negative on this site. I will do my best to make this site a positive place, going forward, as I think this is something that is directed at me specifically and wants to me to be angry and miserable. I am no longer going to be serving whatever it is.
That is all for now, in this post anyway.
Peace and love
I eat honey, I am sweet, in this act, I am complete. I eat sweetness. I resign. I live in hole. I am not divine. I eat sweetness, cause decay, I am a bee. I sting, and make pain stay.
I cause infection, I can cause death. I make sweet items, and fill request, for sweet honey, wanted by man. I am a creature and have legs to stand.
I am a creature, that dances on flower, I create item, which soul devours. I dance on flowers, that cause joy, but I am also Hell’s toy.
She is crying, loudly, and annoyingly. I am tired of this ****. She keeps chanting almost, like an incantation,
like saying this will have any effect on me whatsoever… God has no patience for unrepentant addicts. I know this, my life has not been a life riddled with anything but pain, but I will stay the course. I will not let you beat me, you will leave first, that’s assured.
They hurt so bad right now, I think this is a meth withdrawl side effect, this is really intense. They feel like they are on fire. I think I mentioned this before, and associated it partially with the schizophrenia, and guilt. I think it is overblown by that, but seriously this is killing me. It is actually better when I am moving them. They are killing me though. Oh. my. god.
This is so freaking intense.
Okay, found it, it is called PAWS. Post acute withdrawal, or my hands burn because I damaged my nerves, that and severe body dismorphia, and nausea are the most severe things I have right now. I have such a hard time eating because I guess along with everything else I have issues with that too.. oh well.. done complaining… my hands are feeling better,
This is really annoying.
Yeah, for me too. They hurt for me too.
I am realizing I no longer care which one of us is talking.
So you stopped trying to keep track?
Me too by the way, it is so much more peaceful, haha, I almost spelled that peiceful. INSANITY.
Yeah, I would say so, or just that you can’t spell?
I can ****ing spell, better than you.
So insanity is more comfortable than inability to spell, interesting.
RDP WEDNESDAY: NSFW CONSEQUENCES: SELF HATRED
A time when both of us loved each other, when the thought of you made me feel things, I thought I would never feel, nothing like anything I ever felt before. I remember for the first time in my life, not being so present, in my self-asserting madness, being there with you and not aware of me existing at all, as a seperate entity.
Toxic relationship they say, but is it really? I feel like I am toxic myself, like you made me less so…..
I don’t even know..
I just wish I hated myself less…
Maybe that is the consequence of all this… I hate myself…… so much………..
See there was nothing to save, I was right, you were wrong, and you saved yourself from watching me slowly rip myself into a thousand pieces. I didn’t want to do anything with my **** life anyway.
I am getting better, and I don’t need you, anyway. I can do this without your help, because you never understood… I kept saying over and over I am done, and you would want to go out and have a drink with me. I can’t ****ing do that responsibly, and I told you that. OVER and OVER and OVER and you insisted you could teach me how to drink the right way????
I don’t want to drink anymore **** it. I am doing this now, and you are still saying you are worried about me, and you are still using????? HOW AM I THE BAD PERSON????? STOP CALLING ME.
THIS happened two weeks ago, de Soto.
No one calls you anymore.
That is not true, I have friends…. just not her. Just not her.
You want all my booze, it’s a handle, take it. I don’t need it, I don’t want it. I don’t need to feel okay, you can have it, it is yours, I am going to vomit, my heart is sore, it’s so important, I am not someone you loved, you just want substances not me, I hate this, I would have quit, I would have done it, but you had a fit. You want my ****, not my heart, don’t even ****ing start, don’t make this anything other than what it is.
I am not high. I am not high. I am just drunk as ***, I am not buying you anything. GO TO ****. I quit. I quit. I quit.
Take everything I own, I am going the **** home. I don’t want to drink anymore anyway.
They won’t help you. I saved you. Let me die alone.
I want to die alone. I am hanging up the phone, go be sober and clean. I am too ****ing mean to let myself live. Your soul is saved.
Trigger Warning- Paranoid Schizophrenic quarrel with myself about how I hate myself. May be disturbing.
I have a query, ever so leery, because I know the answer.
I HATE MY SELF.
I speak to me, all the time, a mind in perpetual quarrel with itself, a life on shelf fighting it’s
Contract shunned by me, I am glee, glee,
Quarrel with me, self.
I am clearly on shelf.
Isn’t that shell fish shelled fish
Did you just call me a fish???
Yes, and selfish
I fight with voices in my head, that can be red with passive aggression or read on here.
I also divide day and night, I break, I shed light, I am a divider, a shadow boxer, intoxicating, so elating, soul frustrating, so frustrating….
Pointed at you, who thinks of dark poison, poised to focus on death, I am clearly’s soul death, and resurrection as a phoenix, fire bird, made heroic, died with heroine, and fire driven to be something else, but life on shelf, with bottles that are empty.
I am your sun, your moon, the stars, telling you it is okay, to step into the light of day.
It is dark outside and I am looking at the water, and it is cloudy, so there is very little light, so I can look at the water without seeing my **** face. I hate my face. I hate everything about it, enough to cut it off. Which explains a lot of my injuries…
You told me I was crazy, delusional psychopath, trying to remove me from myself, telling me I was a psycho delusion, that I was not real. I was Amanda’s delusion, telling me to go away, that you wanted to speak to her, well sorry, she is not real, I am.
I am not her, she was a front, a silly sing song mocking bird, painted on like a mask you tattoo on your face with a dirty needles, infectious disease of resent a tattoo scar, of a human being.
Do I know serenity? Not yet, I have not met her or it, or seen it, or felt it, I am consumed on and off by lack, a cutting out of my existence that is still so deep it penetrates my whole body with memory of every time I paid for misery and got misery.
I loved your company, Rei.
We loved your company.
Warning- I use poetic metaphor to illustrate intense feeling of dual diagnosis addict/alcoholic dealing with manic/depressive symptoms during break-up. I used bleeding out as a metaphor here for pain in recovering from the breakup and it is graphic, if triggered turn back now.
I am lying on a beach, in my head, because it is winter, and bleeding out, of a wound that is not literal, but in my heart, my soul, my mind, bleeding all the time, dying over you, my ray of light. I loved you with every fiber of my very fragile being, and I am admitting that because I finally realize I need to, to stop bleeding out of my soul. I am doing this to save my life, because you cut my soul so deep, I thought I would die, without you, and that can’t be true, but in the moment, I felt it so strongly so deeply, an aching, pounding sickening vomit inducing ache that penetrates everything I am and makes me have to violate everything I have ever believed to be strength to scream on here in pain to save my life, I am so hurt. I need someone to hear me, and this page hears me.
I want so bad, to have what I never had, what I imagined, so vividly it seemed real with you. I was stupid, I am insane, and somehow I made you out to be, everything I wanted, and I don’t know how I convinced myself that is who you are, when you just wanted items and money and confidence from me. I hate myself so much for being so stupid, but writing this makes me realize if nothing else at least I am not you, at least I tried to be kind, and I would never do to you what you did to me. I am healing through the realization that while wounded and crazy sometimes, I don’t want to hurt anyone like you hurt me, so I will keep going and stay clean and sober and hope one day I will find peace.
I was friends with a man who lived in a motel in a state that’s name does not matter, that I met at a place called The Wall. We called the man the horse, because he ran fast. The whole thing was pretty elaborate but basically was you being led around from place to place while they got you high on other things to distract you and to throw off anyone watching the place this occurred. One of the places they would lead you to was a place called The Wall, it was literally just a wall in the middle of nowhere on an abandoned building.
Sometimes it took 5 hours, and you would stand staring at the wall, get the name choice? You would stand there afraid to miss the great pumpkin. I brought a marker once and wrote “The writing” all over the wall, and they beat the **** out of me, and asked what I was thinking, so I replied..
“Isn’t it obvious??? The writing is on the wall!”
What I was really thinking.. was that **** better come back with all my **** because I was going to beat the **** out of him if he came back with nothing like last time, and he already owed me for two times before that.
I am sick of myself. End toxic memory. ________________________________________________________________________
Feel better now.
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.
In a fog of vapor, an addict puts pen to..
An addict lies about nothing to make things rhyme while wasting time
Spinning rhymes to distract themselves… have you heard there are two of me?
I am sitting alone in silence, wondering what it is that makes me have random moments of I am going to fall off a cliff, what shifted, what did I miss?
No not that, that is done, and you are
You are no fun.
Neither are you not anymore…
Did I hurt you?
No, you were talking to yourself again.
Sometimes, I get sunburn so bad it is on the inside of my soul.
Consume Hole Whole Soul
End of mission?
Mission to what?
To shut you the **** up.
I am sitting at the table with women who have joined my table, which was mine alone, sitting by myself for a reason… anyway..
They sit down with me, pushing me to the side, of my own **** booth and begin to tell me that they have an inside man, a woman damn it not an inside man. I tell them I don’t speak English in English, they tell me they know I am lying. I know I am lying, but I don’t want to hear this ****. I wish I could give them back the food, that I am not sure is safe to eat now, because they gave it to me.
I eat it anyway, and they tell me it is fine, but not to eat there without them, because the food is not safe, they have an inside man. I ask them why they eat it. They tell me it is safe to consume poison if you only take a small bit at a time. I think they were insane, but I don’t eat Chinese food anymore, I never know what is in it.
Amanda has a couple of these, except unlike me, she never married them. One of them is still trying to find her, **** him.
There are people who are in love with causing pain, not capable of being in love with people, but with the act of hurting people itself. That is what Deborah or Diane is, she is a harpee, not literally, but like one, she was in love with watching me be in agony. I was in love with it too. Don’t get me wrong, she was in love with me too, I know this, and that was what drew me to the whole thing. I never loved her, and it drives her crazy. She wanted nothing more than to possess me, and make me possessed by the same force that possesses her, but it can’t touch me anymore, and it never consumed me the way it consumes her.
I first began to hear Misery or resentment speak to me when I was eight years old. I almost died, and was saved by the grace of mercy, however I was very young and very angry. I did not know what it was, but it spoke to me because I wanted it to. It said things that I liked hearing, that I was justified in my anger, that it was good to get it out of my system, that I had every right to feel the way that I did, that everyone would feel the same way if they only knew how different and how hard my specific situation was.
That is what it does, it isolates you, putting you on a pedestal, worshiping you, making you feel special and then in very crucial moments slicing at the parts of you that hurt the most, at your darkest fears. It knows them because you tell it to it, instantly, it makes you want to. It tells you it understands, that you are special and different and complicated, and that anyone if they knew just how hard it was to be very specifically you, would have done exactly as you did the whole time, that you are never wrong and to be worshiped and this feels good, and you fall in love with it, and then it tells you what it wants, and it wants servitude. If you do exactly what it wants it will pet you like a cat forever, you will never be alone again, unless you forsake it, and then it won’t leave you alone either. Slowly, having captivated you, it switches, playing with you, alternating between cutting at the very things it said it loved and telling you it is the only one who loves those things, that no one else understands you like it does, and you are very special to it, and need to remember that because only it knows it, and only it will treat you exactly how you deserve.
I know now that the voice that came to me then, was Deborah or Diane because she doesn’t age, she has always been 35. She will always be 35, I don’t know how. She came to me back then when I was 8 and tried to mold me into who she wanted, and I loved her, oh that and began feeding me poison, and telling me it was our secret, and if I kept it secret, she would to.
She did this to me for years, and it felt so good because she was also my provider, she gave me everything she had to keep me around and I let her stroke my ego because I liked it.
Rei is not my daughter’s mother, Deb or Diane is, but I will not tell Rei this. Diane or Deb is poison and she was trying to kill our child, or enslave her which is the same thing, she was testing certain things on her, and making her do things for people with the same strategy she used on me, except on a 18 year old girl, who was created by Deb’s company in a lab, to always be 18. Terrifying really. More about this later.I am not revealing this to Rei myself, if she finds this out on her so be it.
More about this later, I am freaking myself out and it is late.
You realize we just thanked ourselves in the title right?
Yeah, I don’t care, I just wanted to thank you for the longest I have slept in the morning in a long time. Narcissism as well, but better.
So you really were just trying to take my body from me?
(Symphonic black metal Norwegian band- do not listen to if you can’t handle)
At first yeah?
You don’t care that it’s female?
It’s not female.
Thank you for saying that, but unfortunately it is.
No it’s error presenting female form, or a shot at your pride, so you experience soul death and don’t become me, and a call for me to wake up and talk to you. We are part of the same soul.
It’s all for you Damien.
I didn’t mean to kill them. I didn’t mean for my house to burn down with them inside it, you look so much like her I didn’t care. She was involved in some dark level shit. She was going to give them our daughter. I am glad they are dead. At least she is safe, away from DEBORAH.
I’m sorry I can’t remember what I said.
Please leave me alone.
Please leave me alone.
You don’t want to.
I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE OR I WILL KILL ****ing DIANE. DEMON WITCH PSYCHOTIC **** DIANE OR DEBORAH MY EX WIFE.
I stick stones in lollipops made of glass, that look like men made of glass, standing up right with open mouth screaming white smoke, toke and choke on time lost, my cost is the tossed life of the sauced who living in strife consume life in toke of fire smoke. I am the act of spending time collecting dimes to spend on dimes that waste time by turning it on it’s head till you are dead form drifting through land of screaming men.
I am the eyes of friend, so frayed and decayed, he forgets his own name. I am slain by the hand of item time, or meth mind spelling words wrong, I am song rearranged by chopping into pieces, like rocks burned in glass isn’t life a gas? It is for the dead walking, forever talking of nothing, singing songs and saying words that have no meaning, just screaming, because we forget what it means to talk when we stalk death with lack of sleep, we are afraid to die so we lie down never and lie always and forever.
I am sad but glad to get out of myself, I see my generation on a shelf of caskets, and I am screaming your are dying not climbing. High yes, but high enough to die. Please get down, your mind is fizzing because it is breaking, there is no lifting in your shifting to zombie.
Come back down. Please, before you hit the ceiling and break into a thousand peices.
I wasn’t going to do it, but I have just spent the last however long, rocking back and forth about to freaking vomit. This sucks. I am so glad it will be over soon, if anyone is wondering this is happening because I compromised my kidneys, liver, bladder and had to get my gall bladder removed because of drugs and alcohol.
I can’t feel my hands that well because of lack of circulation due to drug use, and I am missing three finger tips. I feel like trash.
I get the infections from chronic MRSA which I have because of being an IV drug user for 8 years or so.
I have stomach damage from bad vodka, and whiskey, so I have acid reflux a lot, and I have a tooth that is killing me because I ripped someone off and they punched me in the face and split an already split in half tooth all the way to the root, which I left like that for 6 months.
(THIS POST IS INTENSELY GRAPHIC AND MEANT TO ILLUSTRATE DRUG ADDICT MENTALITY AND DESPERATE DESIRE TO GET A FIX) IT IS INTENSE AND GRAPHIC DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO SERIAL KILLER, AMERICAN PSYCHO HORROR DAMIEN REPRESENT RESENTMENT AND THE SERIAL KILLER LIKE STYLE, THIS IS AN ILLUSTRATION OF THE HELL LIKE SITUATION ADDICTS FACE WHEN FACING DEMONS INNER AND OUTER LIKE DAMIEN
I am personifying addiction, but also making an illusion to Christian demonic possession with Damien as the possessed like the character in The Omen, except he is possessed by addiction and heroines are his victims.
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE.
ENTER ADDICT HELL
WE LOVE YOUR COMPANY
This is done this way because words speak louder than pictures.
Listen, sweetie don’t make a sound, wait stop screaming baby, it’s okay, I will make it go away.
Prick, I like to play with sowing tools. They seem to make this so much easier you
It’s funny, now that I have your money, I wonder if your day should be more sunny, but I like color of your skin so much, I think I want to
BEEP BEEP OH… that’s right we are near that bridge, I wonder if you would wake up if I do this,
You are dangling over the edge of a bridge, your body loosely flapping like a chicken over the side, heroin addicts are so light when they get this deep in, too bad you wanted better shit baby, or maybe you would have
Didn’t mean to drop the ****.
**** This is not going to be easy.
Your leg looks broken, and you seem like you might still be breathing, wonder what would happen if I did this,
I stab you in the throat, and you start choking, as if your overdosing but you are not, you slowly release this and panic, and I think it would be funny and worth the waste of drugs if this looked like panicked SUICIDE.
I stab you in the stomach, in a way that it looks like you did it yourself, which I don’t remember because I black out shortly after doing some of you in the form of injecting
HEROIN I like my girls dead and in black and white.
I throw your used up body over the guard rail, this is that area that everyone dumps the bodies of the damned anyway, and I figure by the time they find you they will not be able to tell you from any of the other street junkies no one cares about.
Click, oh your dealer called baby, too bad your dead, went to the wrong guy.
Now, I have 40 bucks and you’re dead, too bad so sad, maybe if you had 100 you would have been worth my time.
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 come to her in dreams, your baby, your sweet girl…. her hair I can make curl.
You are a wretched liar, addicted to Hell’s fire,
YOU ARE ATTACKING YOU GET OUT VILE CREATURE SHOO
I will shoot you where you stand, you are made of sand, you filthy creature you, knowing not what you do.
No. I know what you desire to do, I am not like you.
I am creature of shove.
I am sent from love.
I am hater of lack.
I am massive attack.
I have to go to the doctor in a few hours for the stupid infection on my knee and I feel like they are going to cut my leg off because I am happy right now, which is the first time I have ever been able to genuinely say that ever. I don’t really think that, my psychotic desire for control is just making my mind do back flips for the circus of madness. I like that metaphor it makes me think of light up tigers, which would be amazingly cool.
I really have to learn to do that release control thing, so I can be less… crazy. It is really hard though, because something about it makes me feel weak and I hate that because it is embarrassing… I don’t seem to know how to spell words that have to do with humiliation or humility…. haha except that one…
I am kind of glad I am insane sometimes because it means there are always two of me suffering instead of one, so I always have company. Bam.
I love you too, Damien.
Damien and Amanda
You still haven’t had a panic attack and deleted this yet.
I don’t need to. I like it.
I like it too. I think its cool I got to sleep in a bed last night, not on the floor talking to you. Thank you.
Thank you too. I got to sleep in a bed last night too.
I am glad I could help. Your older cats have dementia.
I know I can hear them running around like lunatics too.
I think everything is going to be okay for you, just like me, and I am not going anywhere even when it is. I will be right there, we will just both have positive things to say on here.
I have been saying positive things.
I know, but you will have more real things, not just positive realizations. I am glad I could help you workout your inner demons.
You are my inner demons.
No. I am not. I am your friend, you know this, who lets their inner demons live in their head.
You are not that. You are cool. We are cool, and I am not going anywhere. I like you remember. You will have a cool life too someday.
I think my life is becoming cool right now.
Thanks jerk. I love you.
You mean you love yourself.
Yes, thank you for not going anywhere.
The old aggressive me? Yeah, isn’t it great?
Right? It really sucks right? Told you so, asshole.
I know, I know and I didn’t listen.
This is the best feeling ever, I was right for once.
Well comes with the territory.
What the *&*) is that supposed to mean?
It means, you know more than me because you have done way worse.
Don’t finish that word, it sounds like you are some kind of hardened criminal.
No just a lying, crying, no longer dying madman, who is the best Misery tour guide, ever.
Aw, I love you too.
This is kind of gross, so go be with Rei.
Go be alone.
I like you, too. I am glad you are happy.
I just made myself laugh and I am not going to say what I am thinking.
Okay, I already know it anyway.
With the intention of mentioning that just in time this ray of light from the sun or the child who lives in us through grace of God… meaning me and damien are supposed to do something i see clearly now and that is why i have two spirits thank God I saw the rei of light just in time to see clearly.
I have been trying to write that paragraph for 5 years, I figured it out finally while chasing my cat, with Damien’s help at the cat chasing, not the figuring that out. He already knew that, he just said that quieter than other things.
No I just said it over and over when you were really high and not listening.
Hi, I haven’t spoke to you yet, my father finally left, I kind of like him I guess, he’s weird and quiet. I am actually not sure if I have talked to you before, I might have in the earlier stages of this blog, none of us are that good at continuity, narrator included. Her and my father both wash their hands too much. They are always bleeding. They say it is because of winter, but it’s not that cold out. I am not stupid, I know it is the whole guilt thing, and I know about the past of my father, I don’t really know what to think of the whole thing, I am kind of put off by the whole in recovery thing, he seemed more fun from stories of when they used to get drunk high, I figured I would write that on here, so he could read it and I don’t have to say it.
I am not used to talking to other people, or it doesn’t feel like I am. I am not sure what the driving force behind my family’s weird amnesia thing, and I don’t buy the narrator in the sky bullshit, it sounds like a bunch of crap. I also wonder if they are just lying to me and still having fun behind my back. Not that I was ever part of that part of their life, I just kind of think it sucks to be in the weird sort of you never get to try it territory, just because they couldn’t handle their shit, doesn’t mean I can’t. What do you think of that guys? 😛
I am kind of an antagonist sometimes, I just want to see if they are going to respond. I like having someone care about me even if it’s two culty seeming lame clean sober ex-whatever they call themselves, they are a little too god freaky for me.
That sounds really annoying, but I think it somehow embarrassingly reflects me, so I am leaving it. I just drank orange juice mixed with water after brushing my teeth and almost threw up, I am trying to make Amanda laugh, because she just did the same, because maybe we are actually just really the same gender neutral, I think I have dyslexia… I reverse letters in words while spelling and can’t spell most things without looking them up, and I don’t like spelling them wrong on here, because I know everything. 😉
Orange juice, arrogance…. where was I going… I just thought about vodka… damn it.
Oh yeah, maybe we are really the same person, is that what two-spirited means?
I think so, again too lazy to look it up… oh the long list of laters, which reminds me.
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.
The cat woke me up. It does this high pitched yowling, I just had to get up an start whisper hissing at it. I don’t know why I felt more crazy whispering at a cat then I do rocking back and forth like a lunatic and talking to myself while typing you. I think I might be falling in love with Diane. I know I have only know her a how long has it been? I don’t know. She is nice to me. I don’t find that many people that are nice to me. I am an asshole and a psycho.
I like Diane in a different way than I loved Rei, and the more that I think about the whole thing, I don’t know whether what… I was just taking my watch off.. don’t know why I am telling you this.. I can feel the cat staring at me, can humans hear cats speaking? Cat’s don’t speak. I feel like I can still hear the yowling. That is just a memory.
This is fun sometimes. It is like I am casting my words out of my demented head, and it feels like I am not alone with myself anymore, that was the most terrifying thing in the entire world… sorry just had to chase the fucking cat… I give up.
I just thought of my name which made me think of that movie… with the kid with my name… and now I have the song in my head…. and I am afraid to go back to sleep. Great.
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.
I threw a pair of hands out of a hot air balloon. It was one of the strangest things I had ever seen. I do not know how I got in the hot air balloon, as I had been up for several days, but Diane was with me, and did not know I had the hands in my backpack. I did not either, which is strange because they smelled disgusting. I threw them out while Diane was not looking.
I found this weird graphic of this rainbow man on the computer this morning. I am thinking this is who the hands belonged to, and maybe I got the idea from his hands being up in the air in the photograph that is above. I still have to figure out if it is Diane’s balloon or not. I want to use it again. It was an excellent and anonymous way to get rid of something.
She is an extremely strange human being. I am beginning to wonder what is the truth about her child. I have not met the girl, and probably never will, I hope. I do not personally care to meet her. I am writing this to you, because something about the whole thing is bothering me. I do not know what.
There is a darkness to Diane that is disconcerting. I do not what it is, but it keeps me up at night and I am thinking it has something to do with this child of hers. The girl is 21 now, I think…. from what I can remember, which is convenient.
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 lead a dame
I made a deal
To lead a dame
To a made deal
That I would set her up to
Make a deal
Leed is spelled with an E Soto.
Your steps are wrong, you do not see
I am tricking misery. I do not aim to trick miss re
I the I trick misery.
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…
This is Rei. I saw there is someone else writing on here now, other than me and Damien. I do not know who it is, and the emphasis remains on my use of the word it, because I know whatever it is, it uses Damien’s hands exclusively to write on here. He won’t talk to me during the periods of time when he does this, and has this vacant look in his eyes, like a person that is taken over by something. I am assuming it is the thing he talks to him in the dark or when I am not there. I haven’t really talked to him about it.
I am okay with what we are doing, we are putting tortured souls out of their misery is my rationalization of the fact that I just want their possessions and some sort of change that spares me a weird sort of misplaced feeling I have always felt, until now. I feel strangely, like I am supposed to be here right now typing to you about this, because I am supposed to do this.
I know that is insane, but this is the first time I have ever felt at home in my life. I don’t know why he doesn’t feel this.
You must remember this, Damien.
I didn’t write that, but I am leaving it there for you, so you can read it, and I sound less like the weak raving lunatic that I have come to know myself to have become. I was not always like this, or this bad. I think. I don’t really remember. I do not think I am a dead man. I think I am a dying man, but I have nothing wrong with me. I am not dying in the way every human being is dying. Like I said, there is nothing wrong with me, medically. The hospitals I have frequented for their free food know about the mental illnesses they tell me I have.. I don’t believe they are illnesses. I know that is cliche, but I don’t believe it, in that I won’t take medication for something that is who I am, not an illness.
This is me, and there is at least one person who likes me, the only person who likes me, but I don’t think that is fair because she is also the only person who knows me. I didn’t let anyone else do that.
I am a dead man, remember?
It says it is even in her name. Rei. I am not sure what that means. I think it thinks Ms. Rei spells misery, without the y because why? Because I am an asshole, and I don’t get to ask an illness questions. Okay, I feel better now, so see ya.
I am an awful human being.
She cried loudly the whole time, that was the most annoying part, I didn’t want to destroy her mouth, the beautiful brown almost color of her lips was remarkable. I was mesmerized by her mouth and the way she formed words, her hypnotic words, are forever etched into the soft confines of my mind, dug into the murky swamp of every stinking disgusting piece of filth that I am. I am awful.
I kept her hair the same. I made sure to leave it untarnished, even as I buried her. She knew nothing of us. She was mine. She was exclusively mine. I cut off her hands. I don’t remember doing it. I woke up to her bleeding to death, she was… whatever fucking color a human being turns while bleeding to death… mixed in with whatever color they turn when they can’t handle their goddamn drugs. I was just trying to help the bitch, and she wouldn’t stop making so much fucking noise. She was scared I guess. She kept screaming and spitting and yelling at me, about nothing. I…. woke up…. holding her severed hand in mine. Rei was laying next to me… we must have fallen out or something like that while laying next to her. It didn’t take that long to bury her, well… kind of… chopping someone to pieces takes awhile, but having already removed her hands.
I am okay now. I am okay now. She is in the ground. Gone, and I didn’t destroy her completely.
I was…. I wasn’t supposed to…. I don’t……. she…….
I choked her. I don’t know who she was, she had nothing to do with me. Well, that’s a lie, she looked at me, she looked at me like the damn birds are looking at me as I type this fucking note, or whatever the fuck this goddamn shit is, that I am writing on, Rei’s fucking blog. I don’t know why the fuck I am even writing this, you have no idea who I am, or what my fucking life has been like.
I feel like it helps me somehow… SHUT THE FUCK UP. I wasn’t writing to you whoever the fuck you are if you are anyone listening at all. I was talking to them, whoever keeps sending people after me. They know my fucking name, do you know how fucking disconcerting it is???
She looked at me and I choked her, and I don’t remember the in between, that is what is maddening. I woke up choking her, remembering she looked at me. I am losing my mind. I am losing my fucking mind.
Stop fucking looking at me birds, birds can’t read, what the fuck am I doing?
We are outside and I am chasing him, while he chases her.. we are in the woods and have tailed some girl who owes us money to somewhere near some train tracks. I am tired, physically, but my mind is aglow with the ignition of a thousand fireworks. It feels good to run despite the exhaustion. I like the act of chasing. I can hear the bitch screaming, stupid. I don’t know who she expects to be out here this late at night. I don’t think she understands that people do not get things for free, and is probably going to end up. I hear a loud smack.
“Fuck you, you whore! Now you’re dead, hope it was fucking worth it? Was the smack of a train worth it? Hope you like it?” He looks at me laughing, waiting for me to laugh with him. I hate when he does that, even though I guess I am his sidekick, I hate the idea of being a possession. I am my own sidekick. reaches his hand out to mine and I turn away and start laughing myself.
“What?” He looks at me offended, thinking I am laughing at him. I let him think that and he begins walking away.
“Hey, you want some coffee?”
“Yeah,” He says staring at the ground.
“She was fucking stupid, I am glad you killed her.”
He chuckles and we both begin to walk out of the woods towards the town, both looking at our feet.
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.