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.
The bridge over Hell, is frequented by many who live to tell, they come often, and stare down, and do not smile, and do not frown, the simply stare at the ground, and make sure always to keep eyes to ground, never looking up nor to the side, but deep inside their own souls, because inside burn holes, which hurt and ache, and are the reason they stare down, and do not smile, and not frown, but only meditate on death, and think about the lives they left, and it is Hell that preformed the theft.
I am frequented by all those lost, who ignore the idea of cost, for the sensation of toss, of hurling, and of whirling down, and love the sensation of pound and down.
I am sought by those who pretend and defend the act of loss of soul and act of bend and defend.
Look not at me, but at yourself, I am just defense of myself.
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
You glow with green fixation, you are pure agitation, you are pained resistance, you are my existance.
That is a little extreme.
Make me fast
Make me slow
Make me go
25, oh 25, how I love you so
25, oh 25, so fast, and yet so slOoOoOw
25, oh 25, a number oh sweeeeeeeeet
25, oh 25, you take me off my feat.
You are a number in my memory, for many a reason, you are a number in my memory, no matter what season, you are so…
I am done thinking about……
You are such an ***
I know, I know. I don’t know, but please, can I get out of this situation God, please, please, please, will I eventually get some peace? I really need some hope here, I am trying really hard, I just am losing hope that I will ever find happiness.
I am sorry to anyone reading this, this is not supposed to be anything other than a prayer that I am putting on here, please God, please help me, please God, help me.
We were in cahoots, she was my new friend, well not really…
She was my friend, for every minute we contrived, some plan to rip off everyone who as she, was not so divine. In truth, I cared for nothing, not even her kiss, just was on a mission to get a really good fix, for a problem contrived, by a mind addicted to mixed poision, if with her I could have stayed, I would not have not left…
Oh, silly girl, I loved you so, with my friend in love, say it’s not so. I loved you so much, but daren’t piss him off, now I think of you always and never, hope you are better off.
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.
You sit in an empty room, friends have gone, you linger on, wishing for those with your desire for a party dead, you turn your head to the corner of the perpetual lurkers, the pained smirkers, reality deserters, wondering were we go so late, how great a party that never ends, we could be your best friends, we party till we are dead. You think this is funny, because you don’t realize I am serious, and that is not fun, but mere compulsion.
We are those who lurk below, where time goes fast and go slow.
We are those who can’t say no, and slowly it has begun to show.
If you want you can come to Hell, where we the consumers always dwell, it is not advised, and you would do well, to leave us where we rot…
We are no longer at a party, baby, we are merely ****ing crazy,
I am pour, pour, poor
I am more, more, more
Such a chore
I am sure
and a bore to maintain
This level of perpetual
we drink till we fall down, we get up and continue to crawl the ground, we stand with powder dust, we have lost all ability to trust our senses, we exist in chaotic hell, under poison spell, we eat our souls through bitter consumption of acid bile.
I smile with the power of intoxication and fixation on meditation on the idea of eventual death. I am the quest for lie die fry. I am a funny lie.
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…………………
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.
Do you climb the sky?
Yes, I do with my I.
I climb, I grow, creature of light, I climb the sky in star flight, in the light of stars, I dance for you, I am a lighting lightning storm, that quickly moves.
In the stars I frantic dance, and if watch, you gain the chance, to see the sky frantic ballet, of dancing legs of bones that play
In shoes of light without trap of skin, they dance in bones spread sky thin.
Playing with color, playing with dark, I am light, I am dark, I am shadow, I am light, I am madness, I am fright, I am happy, I am sad, I am joy, I come in colors rad.
I make nothing, I make everything.
I am daunting, taunting, condescending.
Darkness, light, and the moon, paint the earth, paint the june.
The loon laughs alone, so do the bugs.
Crying to the stars, sleeping on nature’s pulled out rugs.
Do you swim with sharks or dolphins.
I swim alone.
You swim with voices, like always.
SCHISM. ISM. ISM.
I am, misery, I am pain I am a
I am the holder of grudge, and I am lost in this poem.
I like to make images different than are, by covering them in darkness.
Swimming in the water is hard, when it is riddled with sharks.
I am the voice of pain.
I am soul reeking disdain.
Mushrooms are a food that tastes good.
Dancing in light is hard, when you live in the ground.
Rising from the ground can be done over night.
I am a fledgling bird.
The smell of moss lights the way, for those with dirty noses.
Under the stars, is found a world, united with ground, but looking up at the night sky. U
Under the moon, is felt the light of the stars, in blue tones, it paints the ground, with the possibility of future lightning storms, the sound of thunder, and ability to hear and see, when before senseless.
I am more careful with my words now, because I never know who I am going to offend. I say this in response to the pandemic because whenever I speak about it, I wonder if I am talking to someone who lost someone during it, it has made me more conscious of others grief, and where they are in the process of grief.
Ever since the pandemic, I realize that I exist in a world with people who are also suffering at time, we all suffer on and off together, and I am more careful about what I say. That being said, I am learning, as of late, to be more conscious of what I say even than before, because I have been prone to rage on this very site. I am learning that I damage me by sending myself into fits of paranoia.
Finding the middle is key, honesty, without the hate, just critique minus the threat to belief or right to be.
Where do you go when it’s dark?
Do you go to the land of the stark
And light stricken chaotic dimension of pain? Do you meditate on disdain?
Do you cry of the life lived in vain?
I did once too, I cried just like you. I walked with eyes shut, and mind off, and feigned cough and feigned gasp, with hands clasped around my tools of fixation and dilation.
I have found a way out.
There are people in the lands that are outside this hell.
We are people that have been were you are. We have felt your pain.
We are here to tell you, you do not have to walk alone any longer. We are here if you want to talk to us, and all we can do is share how we got to the other side of misery. Ask me anything and I will tell you.
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.
I need to live alone, the results of this oscillation are dizzying. I am not, nor have I ever been good at the whole living with people thing, it goes well at first and then they realize what I am like and try to HELP, or cure parnoid schizophrenia through polite suggestion of normal adaption strategies and ways to fit in.
I am sorry, I hallucinate, and am never sure how much of my reality is real. I do things that upset and scare people like
singing to myself
talking about innappropriate things because I do not know the difference between appropriate and inapproriate
not knowing the difference between emotional honesty and aggression
talking all the time, under my breath to myself, at myself, with myself
So now I because I live hear, and people couldn’t leave me alone, I get to feel uncomfortable for asking to be left alone, and not being left alone, and snapping.
I am accountable yes, it is my fault for snapping yes, but I just wish I knew when I was going to figure out a way out of this situation so I could do what is best for everyone and get out of here.
saying whatever comes into my head instantly because I no longer have an inner monologue
I need to get out of here, and to a place, by myself, before I lose my mind permanently.
I thought this was significant for me because it is close to 100, which is crazy. I remember we had to do something when I was a little kid that involved 100 days, I think it was the 100th day of school or something, we celebrated it. The whole thing was riddled with irony actually, because I hated it.
I told my teacher that the day counting was stupid, because it was just counting down your life, and who would want to do that. I think the irony there is amazing, for someone who would later go on to do the drugs that would tick seconds off my life and smoking and drinking. It’s funny I went from being completely petrified by death to being completely petrified by life, or maybe both are the same thing, and it is really just all the control thing? Dunno.
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.
Oh, now you can’t talk suddenly, well good, at least this helps clarify what the *** is going on here. Leave me alone, **** it.
What now? I wrote down your stupid thing you were saying at me **** it.
You are always alone.
I know, I am working on it… wait why am I still typing to you, get the **** out of my head.
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.
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.
I said kill me baby, would you please? I am on my freakin’ knees, begging honey would you dare, let me touch your pretty hair? I love you baby, don’t you know, do you really have to go? I want you badly, miss you greatly, have been thinking of you lately, so I say honey please answer me, I miss you so, won’t you please, please, please,
PICK UP THE PHONE
Don’t leave me here alone, I am sorry, I was drunk, I didn’t know what I thunk, I don’t know what I said, I was silly, soul so dead, please call me back back back
My soul I attack attack attack, tell me what I said, to make your eyes, oh so read, please please please.
I will stop drinking **** it. I swear I am done. This isn’t fun anymore.
I was talking to a friend of mine today, and I am not sure, how much of the physical pain I am in is even real anymore. I don’t know if I am just pacing, consumed with hallucinations and trying to meditate on something physical. I used to squeeze my hands till they would bleed, physically digging my nails into my own hands, until I dug holes into my skin. I wonder if this is like that. I wonder how much of this is because I am trying to distract myself from the things that make it so hard for me to be normal.
I wish I knew what it felt like to be normal. I am always thinking of running away, running back outside, I hate it out there.. but I have never known anything different. I have always been running to something, but when I get there.. I leave.. I just can’t stay still. I don’t know what it means to stay still. The idea of still terrifies me.
I wish I could stay still. People like still. They don’t like this, they want to help this, but I am not sure they can. I am not sure about anything. I am just hoping that something will change this time. I am hoping I can find peace somewhere and not hate it. I am so tired of hating happiness. I am so tired of searching for something, finding it and then not wanting it.
I want to want something, but I have no idea what that even means. I am so tired. I am so sick of this. I just want something to work this time, so I can finally be okay with idea of things being okay, I am so tired of ruining my life.
I don’t want the drugs or the booze anymore, and I don’t have any other way of ruining my life, which scares me, which is crazy.. I am scared by the possibility that I may be forced to be happy.. like happy is a bad thing.. I know how insane that is, but still I feel that, and it is the strangest thing.
I recognize the insanity of it, and yet, I still feel the desire to ruin my life, even though I don’t want to.
I am so thankful that at least I really don’t have it in me to do any drugs or drink again, I don’t think my body can handle it anymore. I am so tired… and my hands feel like they are on fire, my stomach is rotted away because of drinking.. I am so done.. I am just hoping that I will learn to know peace at night.
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.
I am alone in the woods, on a path, in the middle of the night.
It is around three in the morning. I am guessing, there is a complete blackness to the sky, and silence that suggests the birds are still sleeping.
Looking up at the sky, I wonder if anyone, or anything is awake yet, if there is another animal that is like me and drawn to frantic pacing at this time, somewhere anywhere.
I listen for any noise that would hint of any kind of life at all, but there is nothing, there is an absence to the air, that suggests lack.
I breathe and feel like sound is missing from the universe, unsure if there is something wrong with my ears, if I have lost my mind completely, if I am tripping myself out, what it even means to hear at all.
I cough. I can hear myself. There is sound.
Looking up at the sky, I trace the existence of me, as something separate from the night, I can feel my hands, they hurt. The coldness of night bites into them with every movement, a slicing that feels like sharp needles, sticking into them with every movement.
I cough again, and can hear the sound, radiating into the echoing darkness.
I sigh. I am relieved to have released that in this all consuming starkness of light, I am still separate, able to feel myself, as an entity which exists in a universe of parts.
It is very dark. I can see nothing in front of me. The moon is absent from the sky, and there are no stars, blinking, I think I am crying. I am not sure. I don’t remember what that feels like, or how long I have been standing here, and cannot tell if I am looking down or up.
Moving my neck, I figure out I am staring up.
I blink my eyes. Nothing.
I am still shrouded in the all consuming darkness.
It is very cold, the cold has spread from my hands to the rest of my body, feeling like a bitter aching, hurting like sharp knives with each movement, but without the sound of reassuring wind, that makes me aware of passing storms.
I am not sure if this bitter cold, if it is something characteristic of the season, or of it is something I am feeling in this spot, right now that is very much specific to me.
I have been thinking a lot about my resentful nature recently. That is why I have been revealing who I am on here slowly, instead of sticking with my original rage fueled fake persona. Something somebody said today at lunch really stuck with me. I am not going to get into the details of it on here, but they basically revealed to me through what they said that I have been killing myself with my own hands, by refusing to give up resentments I hold towards myself and others, and that it is literally the equivalent of me being more okay with choking myself out, instead of just simply telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
I felt today so far like the universe through the power of something higher than me has been trying to save my life, because of how close I came over the past couple of days to deciding to give up on myself and go back to getting drunk or high.
I am so relieved to know that does not have to be the way it goes, and I simply have to be willing to do what people tell me to do.
I used to be chained and bound, to tree with roots on poison ground, soiled with years of heroic consumption of heroin, meth alcohol, and death, and destruction.
I used to fire fire in vain effort to inject in vein with deathly effort, now instead I have developed a new addiction, a mesmerization with words and fiction, instead of misery mercy through diction. Thank you wordpress for keeping me sane, for saving my life, and keeping from destruction in vein in vain.
Mercy is found when, reflections are made, that bring the eye from ground to sky, that cast the eyes to that which is hire than anything I can fire in vain effort, to fill my blood that is so vital to my survival, with poison instead of being what it is, a gift of life to a soul in diseased strive.
I thank you from the misery of addicted souls everywhere
A journey through MISERY
PUSH PLUNGER GO ON THE EYE OF A NEEDLE RIGGED WITH SPENDTHRIFT DEATH
Forgetting is a tragic problem I have, but it is getting better, as my ego dies, and I open my eyes to the fact that I could not see, because I was sick and deranged by a disease strange and prone to mange and change human form, to distort and contort the human body, and make it unrecognizable to the have-
er of one.
I have been know as a chaos chaser of dragons, a pusher of substance, and prayer in holes of foxes, in ditches, in alleyways, a shooter of heroes, and a placer of ins and outs in acts heroic so I can go without doing them, pushing them in with sowing needles that stitch me out and in to a quilted madness in the bed I was making and would have to lie in and lay in, in death.
I have come to a place now where I can go home as well, well too.
This home allows the chaotic night to continue without my pushing assertion of madness, and it is a little quieter minus one night crier night crawler, who now sleeps and dreams.
I say I am never touching you again, and I am being childish, but you don’t want to know what I meant, and it was nothing against you.
I was in love with you, and I know my hands are dirty because they always are, not physically but metaphorically, that is why they are usually cracked and bleeding and prone to infection, aside from old habits done with fire and shot in vain.
You told me you knew how to help me, I told you I didn’t need your help, and you said I was being selfish, so I let you unpack the suitcase of dirty laundry that is my aching bleeding cut, open wound of a soul, and you donated them all to charity and bought me new clothes, I am not going to wear your new clothes, I am a human being with feelings, and bad as I am, I am still a human being with feelings, and if you hated me so much…. I am starting to be glad you are no longer around, because I would rather be lonely the rest of my life, then ever have to fight with someone while high on my own supply with you who contributed nothing but criticism, when I kept trying to get clean and sober.
Here, you would say, giving me some of yours, which I didn’t know you had, when you were going line for line shot for shot with me, on money bought with gambling that no one figures me out.
I am so tired of thinking of you.
I am so ugh….. I don’t even know… I embarrass myself constantly, this is so hard. I am constantly anxious, I can’t sleep that much, and then other times I feel like I am on top of the world. I guess this is why I used to sedate myself, because I sound like a lunatic, and it is really freaking embarrassing. I just can’t put this nowhere, so I feel like here is better than out loud, because then at least, I don’t have to hear myself. I just want to know what it feels like to feel normal. I have never felt that way in my whole life. I am so done with all of this, but it is not out of my system, because I am still so **** insecure, it is embarrassing.
I wish I could just shut my brain off sometimes. I can’t even do that when I sleep, and I am nervous because I don’t want to do this to myself ever again, but I don’t know how to feel without this intensity. I don’t feel without the extremes. I wish I could be one of those “let it go” people, but I am not. I am just not, and I can’t keep lying because I know I will just drink or get high if I do that, I see that now… and I ****ing hate how the drugs and booze made me feel at the end. I hate who they made me be, I hate what addiction did to my life. I am trying to move on, but this is so hard, and the longest I have ever been clean and sober since I was 18. I am 35.
17 years. Of this.. on and off.
I am so done. At the very least I have that, never again. I don’t want to drink/get high ever again.
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 am beginning to feel better, hands that perpetually around my own neck, ringing it, and choking without realizing that I can just let go. I am so tired, exhausted from the chaotic pacing in the middle of the night, to find a safe place. I am reminded of my friend from California, and a night we spent huddled together under his jacket, crying while smoking to stay awake, we wanted to sleep so bad, our eyes heavy with the act of finding safety, away from the burning abandoned building were fires were started and blamed on drug addicts who fell asleep with fires started. No one knows the truth, there is something or someone out here, and it is hunting us, and I am afraid all the time, so I spread a rumor that I am dangerous, hiding behind perceptions of people like me, it keeps people away enough that I can survive.
I am prone to foxhole prayers, praying to anything that will listen, saying over and over, please help me, if you help me I am done… but I am not done, because I can’t rest, because it is not safe, because they come while you sleep. I don’t know who they are, I just know people I know are disappearing and they keep pointing fingers at us, and it is not true, we love each other, and are so afraid, and would do anything to sleep. I am so tired.
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.
Re-vision- Soul re-stitching, threads of misery replaced with kindness.
I used to lie, cheat, and steal
In Misery, only would I deal.
Suffering was my main course meal.
I did not eat, I lived on the street, and in pain and suffering I did deal.
I was a cheater, a liar, a thief, if you met me I would make sure you fell beneath…
Me in every endeavor thinking, I was so clever, but really only
Now, I am trying to be different.
ER ER ER __________________________________________________
ER ER ER _________________________________________
I love those around me, it makes me uncomfortable and I use horror to deal with it, because it scares people and makes me feel better because
STAY AWAY I AM SENSITIVE LIAR LIAR
Who do you think you are?
An addict trying to redeem themselves.
NO ONE CARES.
I do, so I am posting this.
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.
“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 can still talk to you though we exist not in the same dimension, all the time at least, I visit you because I see you, you see me and you speak and I hear you because I listen. I listen to everything, to the mutterings of the under spoken word, to the shouting to mad dark night, to the words callously yelled into chaotic dark night, because they used to consume me, but they don’t anymore, because I realized I can cast them out on here.
I travel back and forth to Misery through my mind, and through others, who I see, stuck there, and they speak to me from there. I can see it in them speaking to me, speaking through them now, this came to me last night after a dream, I have been having strange dreams.
I am thinking that ghosts sometimes just want to be heard and are not used to being heard so say thing that they have always wanted to say very quickly and it is up to me to decode them because the universe is showing me them and them me for a reason, positive being the key over negative.
I hear things, I hear phrases, they come to me, constantly. I get stuck on them, a decoder of messages coming into my mind, that could mean something or nothing, who knows, but I decode them on here because it helps me personally deal with them, and not shout them on street corners, or talk to myself while pacing around in decaying madness. I noticed with this one, that I put in the title, reckless abandon, that if it spelled like the above, wreck less abandon, that it means something different.
the broken remains of something wrecked or otherwise ruined. (dictionary.com)
The broken remains of something of lower rank or importance
Wreck less Abandon
Read this way
Someone of perceived lesser importance, removes prior restraints causing lesser importance, and turns to mission of more importance, which is removing inhibitions or restraints, or the chains of addiction and helps the abandoned or lost of society.
Just a thought, through language dissection of schizophrenic thoughts.
The mist ascends over the river in the dark light absent night of a missing moon, that is not missed, simply missing, a vacant blankness with no space indicated that marks its blankness, no spot where a moon would even be, a blank canvas of lack of light.
I am standing staring out over the water, knowing only that there is even water there, because I am familiar with the place I am. Other than my presence of mind and awareness of where I am placed in time, there is no indicating factors that would suggest that I am anywhere at all, the night is black and I see nothing in front of me, and nothing below me.
I stare forward into the nothingness, keeping my presence of mind, by meditating on the painful cold that pounds in my skin, the rain is falling down on my hands and arms now, I say it that way.. because they are bare, I can’t feel it touch the rest of me.
I look out over the water, the only thing letting me know there is any separation between me and any of this, any perceiving instead of being oneness, is the fact that I remember being a being that sees.
There are slight beings of light on the water now, they dance in the nothing, looking like shadows, which is strange, because there is nothing to cast shadow on, they are dark, as dark as shadow and reflecting to my eyes or to my knowing, not sure which, and they speak to me, somehow I know them, I know their pain. They pace across the water saying nothing, and I can feel their pain, and then, it all fades, a light comes on, and I look up at a street light, there must have been a power outage.
A man is sitting on a bench alone, he asks me how long I have been there, says he didn’t know there was someone else watching, like him, the dancing on the water. I tell him I don’t know, and we leave it at that. He walks away.
Breathtaking, most focus on love in this, not theft of life, air stealing theft.
What happens those who trade time for items?
What happens to those who don’t remember might is might and mite is bug?
What happens to those who are them they speak of fearing with them being a method of OD? Why can’t my generation see clearly that clear is blurry vision?
Because when you don’t sleep you have no dreams anymore.
I spent my time on rearranging words, I am human surge of pain in vain in vein. I am a heroine addicted to heroin bought from them or meth rearranged, I am brain drain from rearranging words- them sells meth, them is meth. How do you know they are out to get me? They sold it to me don’t you see? I buy time and sell mine back. I buy nothing but life spent in lack of time consuming dimes of nothing but pain stuffing into skin of ripping out with sensation of go without.
I am the act of breathing poison air, while staring into nothing, because I am not there, I consume joy in chemical form,
Ode to serotonin spent on the forlorn scorn of human addict to tragedy porn. I am buying dying while lying to self that this feels good, I am purchasing the act of attacking soul while doing what no one should. I am them whose method is to be, afraid and running and OD. I am the ER in screaming we are! I am the act of forming heroin scares. I am the dropped eternity from heroic female, I am the street that beats with feat in fete of defeat.
I am a bad dream no one has because we don’t sleep. I am the act of dying when you forget to eat. I am forgetting that dreams are wonder, I am hours spent on corner instead sleeping or in act of wonder, I am thunder that clashes in nightmare land that makes it hard to sleep or hard to stand. I am the death of an entire generation of dreamers or so it seems. I am Gen Y’s never ending nightmare fueled dream.
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.
I am sitting on the edge of a cliff, which is not really a cliff, but it feels like one because everything in me screams jump. I feel my legs beneath me as I sit in front of this screen, but I don’t…. I am so numb.
My mind aches in writhing agony. I do not know why I remembered any of this today. I have not know. I just had these horrific flashes back and forth to a dimension of exaggerated chaos. I know that I am not the one responsible for killing anyone with my own hands, but I am numb and don’t know how to interpret what I actually did. I can’t stand to face myself when I have this happen, the flow of nightmares that are indistinguishable between real and unreal flooding my mind and making me quiver in agony.
I walk through life now, a twisted twig of a human being. I am numb and propelled by a voice that is not my own that hangs over my head like an un-holy halo of chaos. It screams at me all day of times when my desire for something that I do not even have anymore, something that was not worth the 30 seconds it felt good, was it worth giving up the ability to save my friends lives. I have lost touch with everyone other than Rei. I exist in a world with her and my daughter alone, where sometimes it is good and sometimes I am so haunted by my inner demons, my soul feels like it will collapse on me, a chaotic implosion, that like an aching black hole, will consume me from the inside out. I am not an evil person now, but I was and I have no idea what that makes me now. I am so empty.
I am just, lost I guess. I don’t know where to go with this. I don’t know what I should do with everyone I remembered hurting. I am leaping from feeling to feeling unsure of the reality of any of it anymore, how much of it am I responsible for. How much of the killing is my fault? I mean this in the metaphorical sense. If I knew that me turning the page to skip over a friends agony and pushing them to keep using or trying to get them to give me money to perpetuate both of our drug use.. I was killing both of us…
I am told that life will get better, but I am going insane right now over this, I am haunted by bad dreams of times I could have saved my friends lives and I pushed them off a cliff, by telling them we should just get high one more time, and now they are gone because I perpetuated their addiction so I could get high. I want to be serene about the whole thing. I experience moments of serenity, but isn’t it supposed to heal you? I don’t know what I am doing wrong. I want sighs of relief for me and those around me to turn the page on all this. and for the voices in my head to stop, so I can hear my own voice again. I want it so bad, but I don’t know if it is possible.
I am so sorry for any pain I caused. I hope this is fixable. I know I am so back and forth about this. I am like multiple people, I get it. I want peace so badly.
God, help me.
My mind is numb, I am leaping in it off the edge of a cliff. I have heard the sighs of my family as they watch the back and forth happy/sad movement of my face.
I don’t know how to truly forgive myself.
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.
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
I made friends with foxes because we used to pray the same way in the same holes, not the same way, I am a human being who cannot speak animal neigh
I am a lunatic who stares at the moon and dreams of clear streams that are for swimming not fire and speed. I am the lack of blood on arms that were charmed enough to live not charmed but gifted by the lifting of chosen curse or eating dirt, because child heart I am also arrogant as Hell. I aim to tell you things because I like to talk because I am a narcissist who made a choice that if I am addicted to my own voice, why not at least say something good?
Owl City-“Shooting Star”
Fill the darkest night with a brilliant light
'Cause it's time for you to shine
Brighter than a shooting star
So shine no matter where you are tonight
Instead lies for crying eyes who hand me DRUGS, I am stronger than street thugs, but weaker too, a lot of them sell drugs to feed families, I shot heroin to commit calamities, acting out of complete insanity, I am vanity on a death terror ride, through illusion cycling through past for you, so you can see what I say and not go where I went and do what I did, because I don’t kid, I am kid who got saved by my creator, I am a pained footed waiter, not a metaphor an admission. I am just one suffering addiction speaking divine inspired truth that is inspired by God.He saved me.
I do not want to preach or teach, just simply save lives, by screaming the whole jails institutions death thing is real
and I feel un-punctuated and so elated by getting to tell you this.
Do not take death’s kiss people love you, please stay, if you listen to any of my psycho ego babble, I am playing scrabble with apples with words for you. I want you to know wherever you go, whatever you do, just say no to drugs, I want much more for you, because I love you and don’t even know you. Imagine how those who know you feel.
Love yourself. We recover.
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 am here just for you, I am wise and I am smart
I will eat your daughters heart
I come in colors, I come in song
I come in pink so follow along
I am the best
I am a test
I am act of never rest
I am present all the time
I exist in song
I stink in rhyme
I am human spun in time
I am chaos of the mind
I am infliction
I am not fiction
I am just speaking in clear diction
I am the best I am the quest
I am the act of never-ness
You are mine, don’t you see.
Everything you love belongs to me.
Your name indicates to me, the sun
Some come my dear, let’s have some
I speak to you in reflection
Of one you love so much you desire affection
Thinking not of affected soul
Being loved by such a hole
You think you’re such special folk
But you’re like him a cruel told joke
Deceit filled girl with name of shame
Who speaks of light but reeks like stain
You smell of fear, now get out of my way
Or of course with him you stay
For I like food and your soul is mine
You refused to run when placed in line
With me and him, or him and I
I don’t know
Now you must die
I am walking through the woods, and I can’t see you or tell, if you are with me or in Hell. I do not speak of the religious place, but where you go when you lack face, without a trace you disappear, eaten is your soul with fear, and I long for you and hope and pray that you do not there always stay. I think I have caught a strange infection, it lies in me without ability to present infection, it is instead disease of mind, and I am guessing this because now I rhyme.
I speak to thee not out of want, but mere desire for fire, and to taunt. I am the act of the never-ending. I come in cover of the night, and when you don’t have candle bright. I am an infection of your soul, a dark all eating consuming troll that seeks to taunt and bring your pain. Now you are among us. Human stain.
I don’t know why I typed that. I am scared. This is Rei and that has never happened to me before. I think it can talk at me now too.
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.
I make men sway, I make women sit and stay.
I kill those who play in May, I am dismay.
I am the dissing eye of the spying lie of die, I am everything you didn’t try. I am Hell’s cry. I am the art of the life spent in the sensing perception of I.
I am the ever spent lacking stack of attack, I am human stain on the soul of man. I am Satan’s garbage can.
I am death’s pan.
I am the spinning of tails, the driver of nails, the painter of walls. I am the clutching gall of man that spins ever-present in the present eye that is the dying I. I am high
Above but below, I am loved ones go. I am the toe
Of the dead man blue.
I am your shoe, sticking on gum, I am please baby come
To me as speak sweetly and stay
I am dismay.
It is silent. I can think. I am really stuck on this. I think it is who am I even? I have no idea. I am an act, in a lot of ways, an act of pretending because I want something, and I don’t how to be in a situation where I am not coning someone. I am obsessed with this concept recently, but I don’t think I have talked about on here. How do I move on from what I have done? How do I do that without losing my entire self, and why does it matter if I lose my entire self if my entire self was built on being a lying drug addict who would do anything to get high. I don’t know how to live with myself. It is not my family that is driving me nuts, it is me. I don’t know how to stop driving myself nuts.
I hate myself so much. I don’t know how to move on. I think the idea of myself as a person, is rooted in resentment, so if you remove my roots don’t I die? Is that healthy?
I don’t know. I don’t want to die, for the first time ever, but I don’t even know what being a good person means. I know how to get what I want. I am an act of bad faith a trying at everything because I am not really ever trying, I am always coning everyone, and I am just starting to realize I drank and got high in this cycle of madness to forget things I did to drink and get high so I could wash rinse repeat. I don’t even feel anything from drugs anymore. The last time I did either one of the ones I used to do, I felt like shit because I have no serotonin and I didn’t have enough of the other thing and whining about something I don’t even want to do anymore because it sucked. I have no interest in any of it, because I don’t but also because it would make no sense to be the person I don’t want my daughter be talking to outside getting the things I don’t want her doing, and she already did it, and I feel like that’s my fault because I was on here saying stupid stuff I can’t take back because she already read it.
I am such a moron.
I love you, Joy. If you read this please don’t ruin your life. You and your mother and my friend are the only thing that matter to me anymore. Please don’t be like me. I am a miserable pathetic jerk with no serotonin. I don’t want that for you. I love you so much. You saved my life. I am so sorry. I am so sorry I was not a better person before I knew you existed.
Please don’t be like me. I am not a good person, but I am trying to be better, because I love you.
That sounded like an attack at me for a second, Amanda. I think that is just because I am insecure. I have heard you screaming all day, I can make it out sometimes, your desperation so like mine, cuts through the fabrics of space and time, painting my world with purple glow, and sometimes I step outside of my protected rays of light and hope you hear me.. I may be a step ahead of you, but I am gunning for you my friend, and I will make that very clear to all that we have a brotherhood of that is unlike that which is known by the dwellers of the warm places of the world, and I don’t think Rei understands that.
I won’t forget.
Please rest easy, knowing as always I have your back without any intention of reaching up your shirt.
I don’t know how to explain this to someone not in our current predicament, but I can see through Amanda’s eyes and she can see through mine, see clearly in fact. 😉
I liked it.
Have you noticed the change in the voice of misery, oh that I think might have been me and Amanda speaking, with both of us thinking through superstition that the other was demonic. I am very superstitious and so is she, both of us had Catholic grandparents. I never met mine, or did I?
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.
I am deviant creature, I pretend to be a great teacher, I speak through the addict as preacher, I am of infernal design because I am not kind and write of the peril of men and women like me, because I am the blind one I cannot see that who I am undoing is me. I am going insane, merely documenting my brain, and its moral decay.
I live in a world with fake creatures, yet pretend to be a learner and teacher, while pretending to reflect, sit back and reject that the person I hate gets clearer and clearer with every look in the mirrored reflects of me seen in my work. I am a developer of murk. I am also an arrogant jerk, who is obsessed with themselves and creating this hell that I pretend to use to make points even though I still am conjoined
In my heart and my soul with resentment. I am not that far from those of who I speak, I have the same soul and cannot teach anything to anyone because I stopped just because it was no longer fun.
Damien to whoever is writing my story.
Ps. I can only speak in letters, sorry.
I have recently come to find out that Rei did not overdose, she did not kill herself, I did not kill her. She was murdered by Diane. Diane’s company has something to do with it. I do not understand what yet. I am not sure what the God is writing my story revelation has to do with any of this or if it is just madness. I am not sure about any of this. I have come to a place in my head where I am just taking things as they come and trying to find out more about this girl who says she is my daughter, why she looks so much like Diane, and if she is Diane and my daughter, which would make no sense, because it just did not happen that way. It feels good to finally know that something truly fucked up is going on and reality is breaking or something, because now I know I am not broken.
I thought it was me. I was convinced I was responsible for all this, and now I know I am not, well not all of it anyway, just my part in it, which is okay enough to me. It feels way better than thinking I am responsible for everything that happens in the whole universe….
I kind of like this weirdo. He is very strange. He is like a feral cat, that has no idea how to be inside or around anything that has eyes, and can see it. I like watching him while he can’t tell I am, because he is writing or in the middle of some sort of psychotic delusion. I don’t let myself laugh at him in front of him, because I am not laughing at him to be cruel. I think his behavior is cute in a way, he is like a chicken with no head, who I am putting a head back on, excuse the gruesome metaphor, but I think you must be used to that. I have looked over the other works on this site, and I am really glad I found him. Now if only I could convince him I am not out to get him, that people like him, and he is welcome here if he wants to be. I am not one to trap and cage animals, but my door is always open… because like him I am lonely, and my friends have all gotten tired of me.
I am like him, in case you are wondering, I am on and off with being in recovery, because I am tired of the mindless assholes, with meth burned minds, and desperate hands that have no heroic gestures, I have retired from that life, not because I don’t love drugs or alcohol, but because I am so lonely in that sea of morons, it makes it all not worth it.
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 can’t seem to sleep through the night, ever. Not surprising. I have never had a good time sleeping. I am kind of just glad I woke up without blood on my hands, Diane still alive, in the same place, well sort of. I half woke up and flipped the hell out and came out her to write this down, in an attempt shut off my questioning mind. I think I had a nightmare, I had that word and other admittance of fear….. anyway I had some sort of a dream that I was sitting up half asleep and my hand was missing, it wasn’t missing per say….spelling… I have OCD.
Anyway, I am still rocking back and forth, so it is hard to type as fast as I am thinking, and it is insanely disconcerting to be listening to my stupid voice chant words as if trying to cast them on a screen.. screen not scream.
My hand is numb partially, and what… the fuck…. now I am missing… what the hell… I am missing three finger tips… and I think I… I think I had only cut off the one, that one time. Yep. still three. Still three. I check things three times. I feel like I an idiot. I am still rocking back and forth…… I look a joke out of a movie.
I wonder if the fingers have something to do with anything….yeah still
I made this. I feel like I am 5, showing my teacher something I made in class. At least I am still only missing three fingertips, can still use my hands and have not completely lost my mind, given that I can still type words on this screen. She, Diane hasn’t realized I got up yet, so I am going to try to go back to sleep before she does. I really feel like I am five or have no……
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.
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 writing to erase whatever was on here when I logged onto whatever the hell this is. Something had left and open page, that I will not publish to this site, because I know who wrote it, but you don’t and I don’t want you to. I don’t want anyone to. If it is my one quest, I will stop at nothing to keep its eyes on me, and bring about my own demise, to save the one thing I ever gave a shit about. She is the only one who accepts me as I am, and that was a hard thing to attain, possibly the hardest thing I have ever attained in my whole life.
I am rambling, sorry. It is nice, sometimes to have someone to listen to me… and not have to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings. I can’t see you, so I can say whatever I want. I don’t have to face consequences, of hurting anyone’s feelings.
The presence that wrote the note, does not know Rei. It only talks to me. It talks through me too, which is why I used to torment Rei. I think it is new at human speech and speaks in this annoying sing song way, that makes me want to drill my eyes out of my head. I guess I am telling you this because I am trying to explain away anything before now that was written on here. I can’t do this, but I tried.
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?
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.
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.
We consume items
That make life go fast and slow
We know, we know
That while we do this
We eat spare change
We quarters and dollars
We eat lovers and followers
We eat pain swallow-ers
We are death eaters perpetual feeders on human soul
We eat you whole, we are the addicts of the consumption of human being
We are the unknown chasers of dragon, we are the setters of traps, we are societies collapsing questing for live everlasting, we are liars and cheats we are the men and women who eat feet of the lost we are the meaning of cost
we are exhaust.
Behind tall bush she stood, it was no good. We aimed to get her, because she didn’t pay, well in truth just got away. It was not supposed to be that way. She was supposed to lay, dead with no money, she thought it was funny. She thought she could hide. She still fucking died. You should hear how she cried. How she screamed how she begged, when we cut off her leg. How she fought wrought with pain. How she complained.
“Oh, weak little flower, whom we will devour. You are so pretty, though your plan was so shitty. Did you think you would escape us, running to passing bus? It comes at 12:30. It’s 12:35. Too bad, you must die,” He laughed and pulled her from behind the bush and kicked her in the face. No one was around, which was strange given the time of day….
I am wondering why you thought, in plan that you wrought, in your pretty little head that you could avoid your obvious fate. It’s not because you missed bus, that you are going to lay dead in gutter.
“BITCH SHUT YOUR MOUTH! DO I FUCKING STUTTER?”
It is because I want your organs, and my aim torture, I will stop at nothing, until you are dead whore.
Your soul we devour.
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.
Prostrate for consumption, I am shunned for giving body to man in relation in exchange for carnal sensation and for me for fixation on drug arrived elation. I am de-humanization of man’s very desire for love. I am sent from below not above. I aim to shove all desires away, I am hearts decay. I have nothing to say. I want not your pleasure, but desire only payment. I say your lame man. Put in my hand.
I am in a hurry to die. I will take out your eye, for I am a sinner, and a winner of battles, with men with weak knees, I am disease. I aim to please, I steal all you love, but look like a dove. I will say anything you want, your memories I haunt. I am carnal. I am fake. I am mistake. I aim to take, all real love you have because in truth no one loves me. I am not free.
You have to pay sir because I am a virus. I do not cry for this. I am in no pain. There is no one to blame. I shoot in vein. I am insane. I dull pain with sowing needles. My skin is crawled on beetles. I sleep on sandy ground and stand in the night. with men taller than you I fight. I am fulled by spite.
I love you and all your whores. I love them too, don’t you see?
You should stay with them and me!
I am nice to have around. I am useful, I am wise.
I am okay with all your lies.
You need to tell me nothing, dear.
I simply desire to be right here.
Your right hand man, though girl I am.
I can trick your whores, I am sure I can.
I can catch them for you baby, see.
I can bring them to on bent, knee.
I am useful, don’t you see? How very much you need me?!
I am standing watching him talk to a man named Ted,
And before long it seems that Ted will be buried in grass
Below my feet or anywhere for I do not know where it is
We intend to go.
Ted’s face! Ted’s face, hits window shield
We stand right next to a big field
So now I see I say to him
We’ll bury him next to this guy, Jim.
Who’s Jim? Who’s Jim? What the fuck did you do?
This fucker here staring at you. His name’s not Jim,
That’s just the one I picked. I do not his name, his face makes me sick.
And I am his, I am sorry it must come to this, and now your wrist
I must take, and only a tiny cut must I make.
Now see my dear, though you don’t seem to hear…. I am telling you in words quite clear.
It must look like suicide, because we need your money, and you must die.
I need my fix baby, not to go down, I am sorry please don’t frown. Bitch, look fucking down! Your eyes, your eyes cast them to the ground, don’t look at me! Now don’t you see! I am not doing this, it’s him not me!
You whore, you slut! I hate you, bitch! Why wouldn’t you listen, It didn’t have to be like this…. Now look at the mess you made?! Now I have to dig a fucking grave.
I am not too good at this I know, I am not like him Does it show? But, I did good…. She’s dead I swear, She lays on the fucking stairs.
Now I must move her and dig a grave, if I were him the time I would save, She could have been left here on the stairs and look like she had not a care, just taken her sweet life away, and people would probably say, no wonder poor addict… isn’t sad? But, you know most people would probably just look away and in their lack of care say,
Too bad so sad, so see….
I did the world a favor, well him and me. Now as I bury, this dirty bitch…
Damien, give me a kiss…
Put in whole Soul. Make soul hole. Consume. Consume. I am your tomb. I call to you in time of night, in day I speak in voice of they. I am the thing that makes you use, drink, consume. I am misery. I am your tomb.
I am the thought that cuts your mind
I am the voice of the unkind
I am not like you, for I cannot cry
I speak only when you give me time
Days I have none of these
I exist in kind men and in thieves
In the desperate
In the brave
My aim is only to make you SLAVE.
Rei, my ray, what can I say? I am so glad we’re okay, so glad you decided to stay.
I pray it is true for I exist for you, you are my truth, you are my sun
Reflecting the light.
In the darkness of Misery, where I live currently, you are my one window
And the only way I know
Anything at all
Your absence a stall
Of the beating heart of mine
Though I am nothing but swine.
I am trying to stay busy, because I have noticed it helps me stay distracted enough to not have time to think about how lonely I am. I hate being alone every second of every day, and can’t seem to remember what it was I did before this, or even who I was before this. I also do not have any clue to what this is, that I keep referring so incessantly, like there is something there to be referred to at all.
I feel like maybe if I start doing something, like take up a hobby maybe I will be happier. I keep having the strange sensation that if I take up a hobby someone will begin to pay attention to me, and stop shunning my meager and pathetic existence with lack of speech. I do not know who I think is shunning me though, as I can’t remember any person of note who this would refer to.
I miss. I do not know what I miss, or if there is any particular thing I am missing, but I am beginning to want to cut off my own…
I am sorry, I do not know to what I was referring, but figure I would leave it for documentation of my mental state, for my own reference because I am looking into therapy.
I am sorry. I know I have been an asshole, I need you. I am losing my mind. I do not know how to do this without you. I am not able to distinguish reality from fiction anymore. I am no longer able to tell if anything is real, and I need you to help me with this. I know it was you that I met that day on the beach. I am sorry for shunning you and posting about you online, and making it look like you were not a real person. I know that was unkind of me.
I want you to know that I really do value you and love you. I like having you around and did not mean to make you feel less human, by questioning that you are real. You are a human being, the man I met on the beach that day. and I know this, but as we not know, I am not having an easy time. I think I need help, and I am going to look into therapy.
As the bell tolls
Do you think of your soul
Or do you think of your soles
Do you think of mine, swine
As you dance on my heart, you a part
Walking on me, do you see clearly, you joke
Of me. You maker of lies, whom I…. you can’t even spell the word, Rei
I am…. forgetting…..
Delete Path ray
Fuck you, bitch.
Who is talking does is show?
Who is talking is it you?
Or is it me?
I win! I win!
See fucker, I can do it too.
Sign off, asshole.
Darkness. Darkness. Darkness.
T the truth t the truth t the truth
In truth I mispell. In truth, I misspell. In truth, I missed spell.
Dispel dark nest. Dispel dark. Dispel dark nest.
Eat me, bitch.
How do you see through dark holes into darkness?
How do you see through dark holes into darkness!
How do you see through dark holes into dark nest.
You have to see Sparkle in action, they would say. You have to see, have to see her. They would say, and people would, or would they… because what does that phrase even mean? In action, which action? Did they see her when she caressed the small part of there backs, hands dancing on the spines, ran her hands through their hair, and breathed excitedly on the ears?
Or did they see her when she stood staring out the window, waiting for something, with deadpan eyes, that died waiting so long ago….
Did they see her salty sweat mix with the blood underneath her fingernails as she dug into his back?
Did they see her pierce his neck with the pointy metal ring she kept in her pocket?
Did they hear him scream as she jabbed him over and over?
Is that what they call action?
What happened to Sparkle?
What happened to sparkle?
Into my deepest depths you dive
Every night I am alive
You dance with dread
In spite of a love of pure light
In your dreams
I take you away
For I am your true lover
You’ll have no other
Of misery will be your grave.
Harbinger of the lame
Thriving on fire, on lust, and desire,
I revel in your despair, and disdain
I love discolor, death of mother and brother, of father and uncle, aunt and friend,
For you need no other, I am the truest lover, and your pain I can end.
Develop a taste for my poise hun,
And seek only destruction of the day and the light and you will see
You are safer in darkness
You would be wise to let spark
This desire for destruction of peace.
For the calls that go unanswered, right? Surely the ringing pay phones, they are paid for by someone? The pay phones that ring when no one puts quarters or phone cards in, they are paid for by the caller, but what if there is no caller, what about the calls that ring and random strangers walking by answer, and there is no answer….