Snake eyes, baby

Roll the die, I will bet we get a better roll, we the one with two souls, make it good, make it quick, maybe this time, the idea will stick, that we are one, but we are two, and we get one roll, not four or two.

Burn me

I am standing blaming you, blaming them, blaming something higher, blaming something below me on fire, blaming circumstance, blaming the wind, maybe one day I will begin to win, but not today, snake eyes now, maybe I should just stop staring down, get my **** eyes off the ground.

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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.

I am unnoticed

Hot air balloon that flies over HELL, below are those who do not even notice, beyond anything that spells their pain and suffering, they cannot see, they are slaves to their sweet misery, they live in resentment, and cannot look up, this is the state in which they are stuck.

In the muck and the mire, they worship fire, which belongs so sweetly, to their own pain, their lack of restraint, so when something flies over, that can save them from themselves, they are not watchful, looking only

AHEAD AND

DOWN

DOWN

DOWN

SYMMETRICAL

My soul burns for you baby, you make me so ****ing happy.

I love you, any of you, anyone at all

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

Isn’t it lovely, isn’t it great?

So sorry baby, I can’t relate, I am addicted to madness, to pain and slow death, that is what I have been given.

I call it time theft.

This is my life which I was given, from the time I was born, ticking time clock was ticking. I am to be thankful, I am to be glad, I am to serve everyone, because there lives are sad, I am to shut up, I am to be down.

I am to always smile, only laugh, never frown.

I am to speak kindly.

I am sorry that I cannot do, I hate everything around, sorry, baby even you.

---

Miss labeled

I want different cards, or I want to quit playing. I tried all my life in every way, to quit playing, every attempt came with failure, and people glad I was alive, while I sat like always wanting to off my life.

---

Label me chaos,

I am a game of chicken played in red and blue, not green, but blue.

I don’t know what to do, except scream, because I don’t want any of this, never did, never will, and no matter how much I try, I am not allowed to quit playing.

Label me doubt, label me contention, because I love to scream and shout. I love the human word, because I in perpetual fight to be not heard, because you know what I really don’t care.

Fried Chicken

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

---

Bright

I lived my whole entire life, on rock bottom from eight to now, on gravel, and sometimes jagged rock, crawling up. I was born with something, for those who do not know that gave me a life expectancy of 21.

21, 21, 21

Wish sometimes, that I had lost not won.

My life is all silver linings, and people say I should be thankful, greatful, for what, more time than 21 years?

Because I am somehow supposed to be thankful to have less time than most people???

Gravel. I am so fond of you. I know everything about every curvature, every outline, of the pleasant rocks at the bottom of the path that is my life, which I went off, because I am sorry…

I don’t like cutting my feet on rocks very much.

I obviously love doing this to myself? Can’t you see? It is so comfortable and has nothing to do with how anyone else treats me, because you know I am not a real human being with feelings, just a headless chicken waiting for surgery… or insertion of ideas into my head… same thing…

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.

That is literally my favorite holiday… ****! I think I forgot it, because I was supposed to, because other than the Fourth of July, it is one of the days I have the hardest time not drinking. The Fourth of July, I used to get hammered and loudly talk about what a good American I was until I almost got arrested, and then I liked to tell the cops arresting me what a good American I was, which would usually cause them to either not arrest me, or to violently arrest me.

It was hilarious.

But it is the reason why I have a bunch of warrants for failure to appear.

I don’t appear for anyone I don’t want to. Not even myself.

https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2023/04/01/weekend-writing-prompt-305-unrepentant/

She is crying, loudly, and annoyingly. I am tired of this ****. She keeps chanting almost, like an incantation,

Unrepentant Addict

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.

What are you looking at honey?

I am standing at the dock, staring out over the water, mesmerized by the way the moon paints the waves with light.

I am cold, not prone to waking up with jackets on, not sure why this is, but I am shaking, but it is alright because it is keeping me aware.

I am listening to a conversation that I am not sure,

Yes, it is real..

I feel hate running red, through my veins, through my entire body, unsure of the exact nature of this, I am aware that it relates to my passenger, Amanda.

She hates this woman, that I can hear now, her voice grating, she’s bragging about something, why would she? Why would she be shouting about drugs outside in the middle of the night? Understood. I get it. This person is a ****.

I am unsure of what the expectation is of my borrowing this body, I think they just didn’t want to be here right now, so screw it. I am going to the convenience store.

I began training my dog to help me with a personal mission. I wanted to hunt wild boar. It was not just for me, but for her so she would stop chewing on my leg and her leg, because I was paranoid she wanted to eat mine, so I thought maybe she could eat a wild boar’s leg instead.

When I am lucid, I know that she never had any intention, of chewing off anyone’s leg,

Not mine, not a wild boar, not hers

I just thought of this because I am

INSANE

I have a functional brain that works most of the time, but sometimes

IT DOESN’T

And there is no fear in me to admit

WEAKNESS

Anymore, because I have realized that the

WEAKNESS

I had was in my failure to admit things, not in admitting them or making them into other things, in creative metaphor to slay like metaphorical dragons, I was just experiencing

FEAR

And I am no longer

AFRAID

Or have to roll around in

AGONY

Because I cast out these metaphorical demons on a black screen.

I am your admission that your guilt is real,

I am your recognition that your dragons represent guilt erected into a false sense of pride and shame blame that explains why you

FAILED

But I am also your strength in admitting this and

Casting it out.

I am an inner demon, I am a deep seeded hatred, I am a future projection,

I am what you feel, I am who you are, I am who you are in the process of seeing

I am you. I am fighting you

To be real

Because you are an addict addicted to the things that make me

UNREAL

Making you unreal with a desire to un-feel.

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, see my point? Cool name.

Psychotic name choosing strategy.

Yeah, says the guy named Damien, omen.

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

I know I named you ****.

****

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

Peace in peices,

Love you

Damien

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.

Damien

I find myself yelling at this computer sometimes and telling it to stop telling me what to do, because I have already gotten yelled at by Amanda’s parents or my parents heh.. for doing weird shit like yelling at inanimate objects.

Hacer means to do, which is weird because for some reason I always thought it meant to work, which speaks to my lack of understanding of Spanish which speaks to my laziness and self involved nature which highlights why doing anything is work and I yell at objects for talking to me when they are not.

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 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.

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.

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.

To the stench of vomit, and realize it is lying beside my head and I am unsure of whether it was the smell or the coughing which woke me up, there is a woman next me and she is coughing. He stands over her, staring at her fascinated with her…. I hate him for a second, always fascinated with the eyes of women other than me. I punch him in the face, and he smiles, spitting blood in my face.

“Did I wake you, baby?” He says, not parting his gaze from the coughing woman, who lays on the cement below him.

“She did, I think… who is she?” I demand, a little too harshly, I realize on second thought, but I can’t draw the spoken words back into my mouth, and hear the echoes of them radiating and echoing with my embarrassment through the lonely darkness of the bridge we are underneath. He is like this bridge to me, forever bridging a gap in my mind between me and the angry man, who desires the unattainable woman. I hate him, sometimes wanting so much to be this woman, lying on the floor. I wish he would stare at me with the fascination that he gives the dying. I wish I could be enough, but I am never enough.

“Don’t worry, she will be dead soon, I am watching her die. I wanted to watch her die, slowly,” He says, in an unnerving calmness. I sometimes wonder why I am not the woman on the floor, what separates me from them, the bodies that he worships so much?

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.

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

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

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

I was killed where I stand. I stand still. I took the wrong pill. I made the wrong deal, should have instead bought a meal. I dealt with a steal-er. He made me a meal here. I stood on the ground, hearing not a sound, but a pound, that came in my ear, shattering conscience, conciousness…spelled it wrong… bitch…

Foolish hands that write of man, who stands as me, I am herder of swine don’t you see. I am a liar and host of deception-ist sort. I am a maker of words, singer of cries…. I am the dying of dies.

I lost my train of thought, who was I before. I was someone. I was someone.

My name is Miranda. I was a writer and then Ms. Rei.

Misery, don’t you see….

Cut off my hands.

You were using them wrong, you were writing death’s song.

We consume items

That make life go fast and slow

We know, we know

That while we do this

We eat

Time rearranged

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.

Four words and back words

For words and back wards

Four wards and back wards

For wards and back words

Four words and back wards

Do you even know what that means???

He screams, as she lies dead on the floor. I don’t know what you mean, please don’t fucking scream. Why am I? Am I talking to you or me?

I am on my knees for you

Begging, baby, please tell me what to do.

What do you need from me? I only desire to be

Everything you need, with every step I take, planned with precision

To do what you say. I desire only for you not to go away, for then where

Would that leave me? How would I get what I need? We are a team, inhaling

Shared steam, and dreams of the same GODDAMN DREAM!

No kill or damn it I am leaving, it is me who you have been deceiving…

This is all about you…. everything you do.. I am present in nothing….

BITCH! SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH OR I WILL RIP OUT ALL YOUR TEETH!!

I am misery’s wreath. I am a decoration of pain, I live in utter disdain, but I have an addicted brain, that thrives on the drugs, that with his hand he shoves in mine. I am not a murderous type, I am simply addicted to strive. I am a consumer of poison and poised for any fight. I need what you gives me you see, and if you

MAKE ME SET IT AGAIN I’LL SHOOT OUT YOUR KNEES!

Does your vision fail you?

In the darkness of night do you delight in lack of light or are you full of fear of the unseen?

Do you allow the passing of backs you have seen? Or are you tempted always to learn?

With mind constantly ticking are you aware of your surroundings?

Do you see? Do you hear? Do you taste? Do you smell?

Or do you tell lies?

Are you a deceiver of you? Who lies in everything that you do?

Are you like me and Rei? Who only wish pain and fear went away?

Are you powered by hate, so much so you can’t relate?

We are the hardened, we do not live in shelters, we do not ask for dollar

We are the haters of society whole, we are the stinking, pounding wound on humanity’s soul

We are the pebble in the shoe of America, we are the night criers and makers of hysteria, we are the eaters of garbage and have-rs of nothing, we are the pain stuffing of the garbage cans that litter pretty neighborhoods

We are the lackers of anything good

We are the havers of hate

The eaters of drugs

The carnally loved

We are the changers of change

We are the human draining stain.

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!!!!!!!!!!

Bang.

I am unknowing observer. I am the heart of desertion. I am lack of assertion . I am the desire to use.

Shut up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am your lack of feet to use.

We scream for ice-cream. We scream at the faces of the damned, the faces of man pleading and begging for things we are letting them eat till they die, in hell with closed eye, they live waking life riddled with strive, and try with all power to do nothing but devour, every minute consume, every second a tomb is not dug because we flesh of man, we do what we can to make loved ones disappear, we are the universe presenting fear, we are the devil’s lived appearance, we are the idea of occurring loss, we are the idea of cost, we are live down the drain, we are man’s brought pain, we are the human stain.

We are DISDAIN.

D-I-S-D-A-I-N

d-i-s-d-a-i-n

D I S D A I N

d i s d a i n

I add sin!

I add sin!

I am contempt that comes from within. I am wrath. I am rage. I contempt’s cage.

I am the is not.

I am s-i-n.

I am the will not be. I am not free. I am the churning of death wrought. I am death sought.

That I am unlike them, I am the bender of men, I am that which transcends the desire for life. I am the remover of strife. I am one who shifts sands below the evil which stands on lands that are created by the perception of those fated to begin to exist in them, with misery persisting within. I am the birds dear, I am your ear, I am your eye. I am everything, but to die.

I stand and I listen, to the voice that shouts mission, and I lean in an kiss him, as he stands ranting about what we are chancing and chanting what we do versus what they do. I am a grim reaper, I am a soul keeper. I am the darkness of men, I am to transcend. I am a bender of minds. I am a chimer of chimes. I am not the divine but the human bind. I am made of skin so I sin. I rot from within. I am to make thin, the pockets of those drug addicts and whore’s who eat sinister hors d’oeuvres. I am the action of the score, I am man’s aching sore, I am the universe’s whore. I am your human desire for more.

Breath. The electric way it dances on my neck, zinging electricity through my spine, drawing my mind to your dark eyes.

In the dark holes, where your supposed soul lurks, I find only dirt and earth, and buried grave intentions where you have opened hearts of those with long hair.

They penetrate my soul with stares that pinch, prick and dig for every inch of humanity I have, because secretly it makes me sad, because I hate to say

Damien, I want only you, and to be the only one who gets to look at you, so keep you secret, I will do, by dragging dead bitches back to dance with you.

Like playing cat I bring rare treat, I bring you food for soul to eat, I am a good girl who cooks red meat.

I am rare, a special treat.

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.

In sanity I find vanity, in blame I find shame, In death my pet, don’t fret, it will be fine, but your time is mine.

Addiction

Who are they, do you say?

Ask me and I will just say go away.

I’m not like you, I am a rare breed.

I have something inside me,

It’s called hatred’s seed.

I am addicted to pain, yours and mine

If you fuck with me I will take out my eye

And throw it back at you fucker ‘cuz I don’t need

The world is boring I have already seen it.

I come for you and the ones you love.

On wings of black and wings of white

Of wings of clear reflecting light through pipes

Of madness that cannot scream

When heated by fire that kills dream. I come for everything

You have, my aim is only to make you mad.