Work Text:
#1 Hungry aka FLESH
My hands quivered as i looked around noting a window with bars, the rubble from the fallen buildings slowly crumpled down in a landslide. My brain was fogged. What is going on? Where am i? Who.. what-my head hurts… my head? Bleeding- i took note of how the lights buzzed i and how the fading streetlights flickered in an almost rhythmic pattern. Was this how everyone felt? But.. where is everyone? The cold walls crumbled in on me like a cascade of endless misery. Why- why can i not move my limbs.. where chained down. The cold metal is only now prickling my thick, pale skin. My mind is coming back to me slowly. The footsteps in the distance reverberated in the echoy area. The door creaked open filling the dimly lit room with a bright white light, my eyes adjusted to it as my whole body shook- who was he, but he made the hair on the back of my neck prickle up. He tapped his cane on the ground and something snapped. More of an animal.. no, killer instinct snapped, my limbs flailed as my mind. Blanked and I thrashed, snarled and bit at this authority figure.
What the actual fuck is going on? My head hurts, as crimson red draped from my mouth, and my clothes filled with someone’s crimson red blood. Who did this- why? Why who the actual- no-no he’s still breathing? Did-did i? His pleas of mercy were met with a tap of the athoratives cane. I blanked again. Foggy.
Death… death.. MURDER… slaughter- pain ending.
No. Stop- bad…
but hurt.. orders-follow
no-wrong cant no- Before i could fight anymore my teeth ripped him limb from limb.
W-why do this to me? I tried to speak.. only to be met with a sharp pain. I grab at my neck trying to make out words, smearing crimson red liquid on my neck. The raised scar straight down the middle… in a surgical pattern made my eyes water. What-what happened? A deep voice spoke, ridden with ill intention and that of satisfaction “awww- did you only now realize.. our little pet- cant speak.”
Horror shook through my body as it thrashed against the chain around my limbs. The one around my neck dug sharp spines into my neck. Earning and thrash and a drawback of defiance.
Take my eyes, take them aside. DESECRATE give me what I know I rightfully deserve.
No. That’s not-
yes. Yes yes yesyesyeyesỴ̶̃e̵̢͍̗͖̱͇͇̦͇͖̊̀͒̓̆͆̇͌̋͗͗̔̚͘s̴̹͇̯̮̐̇̎̌̂͌̈́̃́̏̕͠͝y̶̭̌e̵̢̙̖̱͍͎͍̾ͅs̶̮̮̟͇̞̪̠͕͈̫͛̀̆́̌ẏ̸̛̫̍̍̓͗͛͌̽̇̏́̉͘͠ȩ̴͓̪̰̖̹̈́́̈́͐͒̾́̀̄͑̄̔̓̚͜s̸̲̪̆̽̅y̶̢͍̻̲͚̗͎͍̖̗͕̼̥̤̍̊͆̽͌̎̚͠ḛ̵̢̨̛̺̲̜̭͕͖͆̆̌͒̒̐̄̄̔̕͜͜͝ͅs̷̝͔̩̞̥̜̃Y̷̺͚̤̜̺͍͖̠͚̹̞͚̖̱̔̌̐̒̓́̋͑̄̈́̒̈̑͘͜͝e̸̡̛̛̺͙̖̹̺̥̙͙̺̪͈̲̜̰͓̙͗̑͌̍̅̀͗̐̽̓͐̈́̀̔͒̆̅͂̅̾͋̎̏̇̎̎̄̽̓̅͌͊͘̕͝͝͝͠͠ş̴̡̧̧̡̧̢̳̱̺͚̼̹͕̩̮͚̗͙͙̫͓̠̣̥̜̥̬̙̭̰̞͔͈͚̝͖͍̝͔̞͑̒̉̌̌̿̍̓̏̐̐̄͗͐͘͘̚̕̚͜͜͜͝ỵ̷̧̢̛̰̳̖̗̲̭̜̻̠͕̬͓̬̟͉̹̫͈̻̂͌̔̅̿̋̄̽̄͗͐͂͜͝ͅĕ̸̡͈̰̗͔̬̦̬̞̣̯͉͔͔̯͉̭̹̠̖̱̱͎̥͌̂̍͗̋̔̓̇̃͐̌͗͆͂̈̍͊̈́̑̈́͗̔̂͑̽͛̉̓̾̊͛̐͘ṡ̴̡̨̧̢̢̛̠̞̞̲̯̤̣̟̟͈̫̥̞͈͚̳̭̤̞̈͋͒̆͌̐͊̋̂́͆̀̌̍̈́̉̾̉͌̿̉̈̍͑̓̌̏͑̆̋̓̋͘͘̚̚͜͝͝͝y̶̡̢̨̛̛̛͙͓̣͚̘̜̰͉̺̟͕̙̼̗͎̗̣͓͙̞̻̞̯̰̟̯̹͎͇̹͉̦̱̙͉̹̬̗̍̏̎̅̃̐̃̄̂͐̌́͑̉̈́̃̐̔̈́̀̿͗͂͌̆̉̾̽̈́̀͊̐̇̚͜͠ȩ̴̡̘̞͙͇̳͕̜̺͉̫̼̪̙̲̻͚̬̤͚̘͓̭͎̫̖̬͈̱̥͎̬͚͎̙͇͂̿͛͌̇́̈̚͜͝ͅͅs̴̢̛̛̾̐̄̐́̀̀̔̊̑̓͗̈̾͂͊͌̌̀͌̌̎̑̆̀͂͑͗̏͗̓̉̔́̅̓̚̕͘̚̚͠ỹ̶̡̛̰̻̬̼̪̻̹̾̅̽͊͐̏̑̓̽̈́̄̌̓̅̔͌̊̇̽͐͌̓̀̉͒̔͂̑̚͠͠e̴̢̢̢̨̛̛̪̩̪̖̘̙̘̺̙͍͚̭̺̹̪̖̭͕͓̺̮͚̙̱̐͊̔̄̽̆́͆̌͂͗͂̉̾͐͒̓̇̔͗̅̆̈́̈̇͑̓̿̏̓͑͛̂̎̑͋̓̈́̓̚͘̚͜͠͝s̶̢̡͍͓̮̼̞̪̦̟͕̱͚̻͇̫̺͚͖̤͈͍͍̭̱̪̥̯͈̖̝͎͕͖͍̖̬̭̬͔͈̅̈́͜ͅͅͅ
Please no i dont mean to hurt you Ì̶̘̤̺̦̙̑̍̍̀ḿ̴͙̙͙͊̀͐̊ ̸̨̛̓̄̅͒̀͝s̵̞̯̫̮̗̱̗̳̆̀ǫ̵̙̞͓͖̙͗̀͋̋ͅṛ̵̱̝͇̬̋͑̎͛͊̉̎͌r̷̢̈́̈̋̐̐̚y̸̧̛͍͍̭͚͙͐͆̀̋͝͝͝!!
I cant hold it i need- I can’t.
NEED FOOD
The sound of my teeth sinking echoes in the now quiet and dim room.
I puked.
My whole body quivered. What did i just do?
Ṡ̴̟̖͙̻͇̖̼̟̗̫͇̪͖̥̘͕̯̺̣͂̍̈̉̆͛̀̽̎̾͂̉̌̋̾͘͘̚͠͠͠ơ̸̳̄͐̔̍̑̂̽̌̃̏̐̀͐̔̓̎̄̿̀̎̌͑̋͒̀̏͐̓̚͠͝ ̸̛̰̟͎̩̻̼̱̮̟͒͌̂͊̾͐͐̎̿̒̓͊̌̉̂̈̓͑̃͑͋͗̽͝͠͝͝v̸̛̱͙̲̙̜̜͇̫͉̬͈̰̟̣̘̜̺͉̈́̇͌̃̋̏͑̓́̅̍̉̂͋̀̐̓̍́̍̈̚͘̚̚͝͝͠ë̵̢̺̼͖̙̽̔̑r̷̨̪̩̼͇͉͇̻̫̣͙̱̜̖̠̭͕̪̫̝͍̦̫̠͚͓͇̗͙͎̳̱͇̜̮̲̻̪̪̺̣̣̻̖̖̓̏̀̔͊̄͛͑͐̋͊͛̓̎̈́̒͌͊̀̂̀͋͑̀̕ͅͅỵ̷͓̥̫̒́͗ ̵̛̬͖̹̦͎̜̬̬̈́͂̽́͌̍̄͂̂̌̓͆͗͑̊̌̐̾͗͂̋̾͌̀͂͒́͋͆͋̅̉͐͒́̋̋̄̇̃̆͐͘͝͝͝h̴̨̨̨̧̝͕̻̦͎̭̪̜͙͑͐͛͋́̅̓͘͜͠͝ư̶̡̨̡̧̡̡͚͉̮͇̥̝͙͉̣̰͉̳̤̰̜̩̟͍͕̟̺̥̗̮̱̦͉̲̳͍̠̼̰͎̤̜̟͒̾̓̏̔̓́̇̈́̆͛̾͋̊́̀̂͋̏͊̉̐͒̉̆̐̅̈́̀̆̎̆͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͝͝ņ̷̡̡̧̡̢̡̧̡̢̛̪͙͈̗̰̙̺̭̰͕͈͚̘̞͕̳͔̻̘͍̹̘̪͎̺̉̈́͛̓͂͛͌̀͊̌̓̇͆̿̇͋́͆̿́̈̓̐̓̚̚͜͜͜͠͠ͅͅg̷̫͍͔̈̋̽͌́̉̿́͛͑̆͒͑̋͗̈́̃̂̽̽͂̌̈́̇̉̍̍͌̀̓̋̌͒̃̊͆̂̈́̕͜͠͠͝͠͠͝͝͠r̷̢̢̧̛͖͉̱͉̮̙̱̮̤̦͎̪͕̫̩̹̱̝̺̖̱̺̥̜̺͈͕̺͙̯͙͙̭͚̱͚̈́͜͝ͅͅͅÿ̶̧̨̢̢̘̤͉̼̗̥͔͈͓̲̹̦̗̭̪͚͓͎̰͖̻̲̣͈̙͔̤͚́͂͜͜ͅ ̸̢̧̡̧̡͍̮͇̪͓̦̖̜̮̗̳̺̖̜̮̖̱̟͌̊͆́̂̈́̎̉͐͊̊̂̍͌̾͊͛̌̈́͐̌̈́̐͒͛̐͌̔̓̀̌͘̚̚͠͠͝͝͝ͅ ̵̨̢̢̨̛̟͓̥̱̖̦̩̺͇̳̘͙̮̮̣̣͚̖̬̪̱͔̥͕̫̦͓͔̲͓̹̹̼̳̗̖̹̞̞̜̰̄͂͊̉͛̔̉͆͗̋̓̄̄͂̆̂͐͗̋̃́̐̎͘͜ͅ ̴̢̡̨̢̨͍̻̳͕̱̯͎̫̙͓̹̪̜͙̣̟̖͚͔͕̪̗̫̭̥̫̮͖̩̠̥̥͖̣̣͍͎͚͖̗͐̂̑̌́͆̊̃̉̓̈́̒͜͜͜͜͝͝ ̷͕͚̉ ̷̛̯͒̊̉̾̽͑̿̑̐̔̂̈́̀̅̃̉͌̓̾̄̃͗͊̉͂͘̚͘͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝ ̷̢̢̛̳̭̗̗͈̖̤̜̪̦̲̜͎̜̲͓͓̣͕̝̻̞͕̗̱̺̟̞̹̦̳̰͔̗̝̪̓̉͂̅͂̈́́̃̇͋̈́͘͜ͅ ̶̨̡̢̡̨̧̛̛̛͎̟̥͕̻̞̭̯̙͓̭̞̜̪̮̰͍̺̗̯̬̣̗̺̥͕͕̮̲̹̭̞͍̔̈́̆͋̉̽̌̏̀͗̎̉̍͊͛̄͐̿̍̎̇̅͒͊̃̓͒́͐͑̔̒̈́́̅̋̀͒́͝͠͝͝͝ͅ ̷̧͍̙̱̙̘̲̝̖̮̫̬͇̘͖̞̱̠͕̱̝̻͖̹̆̽͐̍́̅̕͜ ̶̧̡̨̡͍̳̣̹̹̝̞͔͖͎͍͙̳̭̫͙̠̜̖̰̞̩̲͓̤̹͎͕̼͙̝̭͔̫̰̳̙̬͈̬̣̋̈́̾͐́̐̀͑̊͑̓́̌̃̀̌͊̒͒̎͛̑͂̐͘͜͝ͅͅ ̶̡̨̡̧̛̛̟̙͕̬͚̩̣̪̩̟̲̦̯͔̰͍͚̭̠̥̤̦̭͈̘̻͎͚̮̟̤͚͓̣̹̻̗̠̖͍͙̯̐̓͊͐̀͛̽̍͂͊̕̚͝͠ͅ ̷̡̧͍̠͎̹̹͚̝̹͖̙̱̗͇̙̮̰̼̥͎̜͈̳͎̩͎̭̙͓̻̩̣̭̝̭̱͈͖̎̽̈́̽̇̔̄̿̅̉̐͂̍͗̅͛́̆́̽̓͗̀̀̓̿̚͠͠͝͝͝ ̷̡̗̫̫͌͂̀̔̓͌̈́̈̈́̂̑̎̓͋́̊̈́́͋̚̕̚͝ ̵̢̡̡̧̧̛̭̠͙͚͔͈̤̜̤̺̩̯͎͇̼̥̟̖̺̯͇̬̳̥̩̭͇̰̹͎͎̼͎̖̻̜̞̃͒̀̍̈́͒͛̄̾̆̊̆̋̑̾̏͗͋̅̒̀̓̓̀͒͒͆̆̚͘̕͘͜͜͝͝͠ͅͅ ̴̛̛̰̈́̏̒͒̆̔̈̐͋͗̂̄̐͗̍̒̑̅͗̑̆̕
PLEASE STOP THIs it- it hurts this is so very wrong.
But i cant help it I haven’t eaten for so long as the emptiness of my stomach begins to eat itself,i rip and eat more. But i cant help but puke and repeat. Eat..puke.. repeat.
These thoughts riddled my head of any good intention.. it wasnt long before I didn’t puke at all. I ate. And ate.
I finally lost any sense of normalcy and good left in me. I snared at the hand that fed bit at the roses at my feet. Clawed at the chained… scratched at the scars that bled.
No more humanity was left in my angry body. The cloudy sound of the wiring drove my mind to the edge. My mind span and the lack of food drove me to less… acquired tastes. My mind was filled with rage. I have to kill killing is pourpose. My chains fell. As i revenged.. i killed and killed any taste of blood and flesh drove me to more.. more more more more more. i was bleeding as i dragged chains around.. matted with blood and my eyes shot. The white halls with organized rooms and gourds were left painted red and pink. Organs strew as my teeth and hands ravaged and tore into everything. I gorged myself only now slaughtering for my only and sole purpose was to kill and eat.
#2 humming
The lights hummed a mechanical wirr, it hasn’t stopped. I’ve counted the days 2 meals beginning and end of day. The smell of mildew and blood mixed quite unpleasantly as the dark corners crawl up on me every hour I spend thinking of what got me here. Hoping for any other sound than the reverberating of the lights and the footsteps that happen on pattern. The only breaks are the screaming of the dammed. This was a pain. I wish for any end whether it is to be killed or to kill. My eyes have been blurring with each day I stay up. I haven’t slept for days, my mind wount let me. It haunts me, every waking moment makes me quiver and shake more. My limbs were weak and my mind was growing weaker. The thin patience was fringing as my stomach began to eat itself, and my body paced increasingly faster. The worn pattern of the pacing in the ground was comforting. It’s been about 5 days 6 hours and about 6 minutes. The guards change every hour on the dot. They check in on the coms every hour. The cold floor against my red, bleeding heels was bringing me to reality. I whispered songs of comfort to myself. As fuzzy colors and dots filled my vision. I love any touch i have with anything. What day is it again? Year? Where am i? Should i seek help? No last time i asked for help the guard gave me this scar on my neck. Not sure what happened though? Not sure. Should i talk?wait am i whispering songs to myself? But its not me? Or the guards . Who was whistling. The tune carried thru the room. The guards didn’t seem to take notice. A black figure encroached on me as i stop pacing and lay down on the ground. My limbs hurt, my head hurts more. Everything is funny. I laugh a putred, gut wrenching cackle.. though it didn’t sound much.. why not? I cant stop laughing, but its not making noise. Why not? Speak.. speak! Why cant i say anything? Very little noise is coming out.
He gripped his neck, he didn’t realize how hard he was grabbing.. with each grab he would rip skin off pulling blood, revealing deeper skin. He wanted out. The mechanical humming of the lights, the inability to make coherent noises. It irritated him to the core, the smell and feeling of his own blood was soothing. It was a change from the dusty, eroding smells. The fading memory of anything other than the walls that contained him was nawing at any feeling of security and human empathy. Histhoughts where filled with nothing but the smell and feeling of the blood that seeped from his neck. As his muffled, odd sounding screames where coming from his lungs. Unfiltered by a voice box they sounded ethereal and unsettling. Almost of a nightmare that couldn’t be escaped. He clawed at his neck, blood seeping to the floor, voices and figures filling his head telling him things no man speak of. He was too far gone, he screamed and clawed, writhing on the floor in pain. The guards took no note. The cement was cold on his warm, bloodied skin as he toor at his muscles in his neck. Blood flowed like rivers, filling his paced indent in the floor. It looked like a river, it reminded him of what he saw. He’d forgotten. He wanted to forget now, the scene of his family, mom.. dad, wife, kids all slaughtered before his eyes.. why, his vision blurred as he scraped and clawed at his neck finally.. his eyes laid in the back of his head. His movement and screaming ceased as so with his movement. He was no longer alive with the world.
#3 tainted memories
The forever faint memories, and ever serael feeling of a pit of emptiness. Not remembering what the real world felt like, cascaded by a self induced dream that was unobtainable and barely tangible. Foggy memories and deluded truths and ever fading feeling of happiness shrouded by the darkness and uncomfortable feeling of misunderstanding. Who was i? Where was I again? What led me here? Why is everything blurry? I just wanna go home and sleep. My dreams scare me. Every dream I have has me killing myself? Why is it like this… why can I dream of something else? I'm deluding even my own reality. Altering every word I said and feeling I felt to ilude to any form of true happiness id have ever felt. But i don't remember what it felt like, so it feels fake and unsettling like being in a room that plays old slowed music that you remember but have never heard. A bright room that feels happy, but its dark and ominous, the happy screams and laughter echoing thru the room, reverberating as if like a ghost of the past, emanating and forever still there unable to be erased bring old sad, yet happy moments up to surface. Like a desolate, deserted park at night, lonely and sad yet so fulfilling. What ever happened to the laughter i think i had. Or was that a memory to? What’s this feeling of ever so fading happiness and fullfilment?
#4 why couldn’t you see?
He looked around, the feeling of unease made his hair stand on end. He didn’t know where he was, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna stay. This place felt wrong, with a feeling of far off happiness and once a place filled with joy and jovial, nieve happiness and contentment. This always happened, as soon as he’d try to remember a far off memory he dreamt of this place? What, and where was he? Why cant he understand whats going on, why cant he see what he’s trying to tell himself.. he knows what happened next. He would be brought into a group of people and snap his own neck to realized he cant die, then wake again.
#5 want
The smell, taste and feeling of the warmth in his stomach drove him to always want more. It washed away his anxiety and unease, but he refused himself the satisfaction of it as he knew once he got more of a taste he’d want more, and more. And eventually he’d accidentally become someone.. he absolutely adorned, despised and loathed. But oh, how he loved the way it seeped down his throat and warmed his stomach. The feeling of giddiness and excitement it made him feel. It was an eternal struggle not to drink more, he knew it would disappoint many. Yet how he wanted and desperately waited for more. The first time he had anything close was when he was taken away from his dad, they drove and slept in the car, but eventually they stayed in their uncle's house. He took and drank his moms beer, hoping it helped the dread and disappointment in himself for misunderstanding, and agreeing to something he didn’t understand. That same night he drove a blade so deep in his arm that he couldn’t sleep.. for days on end his mom never said anything other than to tell him not to tell his father what happened. His mom never knew of the beer he drank, the warmth he felt was bliss, and the happiness that he artificially felt was nice too. But it only reminded him of why he was in that place. The second time was when his mom poured some alcohol in his coke a cola, he didn’t remember much of that day. And the third was at a sleepover. But he willingly drank it, that same night his friend was raped. Not by him, but by the friend that he let her go with.he couldn’t touch alcohol after that. He felt guilty. They didn’t tell him for a while but he knew, as if the puke on the toilet in the morning wasn’t enough. He knew. It weighed on him, he told himself that even a little would let something bad happen. It always does. But the warmth always comforted the hurt that was felt deep down in the abyss of eternal need. The fact was he craved what he knew was too far out for him to reach. Like a sentimental dream you barely remember, something so far out yet so pondered and wanted.
#6 the bottle of lies for a troubled heart
“Baby please, its the way you speak. Forming the words so easily…
And I think of the way you think, it keeps me from falling asleep. It's that grave I call a bed. baby, so you call me up and send. I haven’t stopped crying”
It’s the liquid he consumes that makes him tell the truth
… its the bottle of lies for a troubled heart.
He drank and drank to the bottom of the bottle, the liquid warming his heart. Slurring the words he struggled to form, saying all the words he never meant. It is a shame, if he didn’t know better he’d say this felt pretty real. So shut your mouth because the words can form themselves. Because she's his missing puzzle piece, yet he can't do it alone, he still needs her to hold. He says “ so don't let go, don't let go, because I’m afraid, I’m afraid.” Pondering at some sort of sisaface, striving for significance . Will we just cease to exist, this pain makes him feel so naive. Maybe he’s still just a stupid little boy, to stupid to exist. He just wants to forget himself in the bottom of the bottle, hoping to cease to exist.. because everyone he loves is gonna die and he’s gonna die alone. He loses himself in the bottom of a bottle, stepping off the edge. Because she wrote don't forget on her palm, and you said you're done, but how you're done, because you wrote don't forget on your palm, when you were drunk. And he got mad that she had to remind themself at all. Because she had already forgotten , and he’s been looking for a Time Machine, and someone who can lie and say they understand. He says “i can't wait to look at your face, and my brain feels nothing because it thinks its looking at a stranger.” But the words he spews from a bottle of lies, for a troubled heart.
#7 starvation. -ft. The vanguard-
The horror on his face was delightful, the pulsating waves of blood spewing from him, the crimson blood on his face entangled with purple, and blue bruises. The hierarchy of Dionysus, feasting on flesh as those of the Greek descent did. The feeling of feasting, and food in his mouth and blood on his hands. This was how he was trained, destroy the enemy. He did so… but not in the conventional way. He was fed this way too, the meaty, stringy flesh was stuck in his teeth but he still dug in, ripping him limb from limb. His vision was red and filled with black dots, he was like a rat trying to escape the heat. Digging into flesh as deep as he could to survive, his lclothes were drenched in the crimson secretions from the lifeless body beneath him. Soon some other people joined him, he was the Sergeant he was supposed to protect and care for his squad. He was, he was feeding them and serving his bloodlust. It was stronger than him. He dug his nails in plucking meat off the skinny, desecrated soldier. Was this okay to his morals, he didn’t have any. He did as he was told, the almighty vanguard was his only hope. He did as he was told, protect his troops, and kill the enemy. They were like rabid dogs, tearing and ripping, eating anything they could. Sinking teeth and ravaged murder, attacking the enemy with their hands. Discarding weapons, becoming savage and hungered. They discarded any pain or humanity, more like savages and animals than humans. Not even humans where they. They were made to be robots, tools of destruction. It was embedded in their code, kill kill kill kill. They picked the bones clean, eyes and all, picking out the pieces they wanted with old tools they repurposed. The blood drenched their long trench coats and filled their boots.Nothing left over, they were all so starved and hungered that even when they finished they didn’t stop there. They searched up high and low, making lists of camps that they could raid for rations. One taste and they wanted more. Nothing but the satisfaction of slaughter was enough, they wanted… no needed more. Once they started they couldn't stop, it was a loop with no end. The flesh driven, murder reprieve soldiers were no longer of any human form. Their bloody, tattered clothes and red stained faces were that of nightmares.
#8 letters to the insane
He keeps a box under his bed, drawings done is crayon and plans for domination.even collages of their exploits from the papers. He has a box of innards, and creepy little letters of obsession to the criminal minds that would shake the minds of those of the normal world. Wearing that mask of his own face, a unhappy glimmer of hatred and discontentment. The greed and want he felt to recreate and get away with what the people he reveared did was slowly consuming him, he made detailed and flawless plans on what he could do to complete the task without error nor flaw.
How he pondered day and night, writing letters to the insane, cruel, and dangerous.
#9 treating the memory of you like a bloqué of roses
The memory i have of you is faded and washed, but it's a fond one. By now far tainted with the unpleasantries and inadequacies of modern life problems… yet the fondness of your memory prevails in the shrouded darkness, I don't remember you. Yet I remember your fond memories, the sleepovers, the hide and go seek. Yet something’s off, you did something. I know you did something and it pains me. Pains me to try and remember what it is that you have done… it was something horrid, undeniably putred, wretched.. disgusting. But was it you? We hung out and you were nice.. but sometimes it just didn't seem right. Yet the memories of you in a shroud of fog, despite what I know was wrong. I've held it and kept it like a bloqué of roses. Thorny and beautiful, hurt to touch yet not to look. All beautiful in its own, wretched way. The feeling of being lost in your own trailing thoughts anytime it wandered to the unreached, pain of a memory,hurting at the mere glance. What happened was hurtful, i know I wished to leave. Your room was shared with you dad… It made it uncomfortable and odd. This memory was untouched for years yet something brought it up from the depths of nowhere. It stuck of cigarettes and reeked of silence, the tension thick and untouched, this was different, yet so familiar to me. Tension and silence was always normal, yet it was different. They didn’t like you, or me. I've never seen you since that day. They said you hurt his feelings yet, you knew what he’d done, if they knew they’d let you stay. Yet you made me feel same, and showed me what care looked like. Something you’d done had hurt me, but it wasn't you. But they blamed you, stinging me and haunting me. Filling my dreams with something I’m unknowing of, and haunting my eyes with visions of hurt and love. I cared for them and yet, I haven’t the slightest clue who or what they have done for me. All i know is that together, we learned how to do ponytails, figured out our sexualities, and what we liked.
#10 who am i, who are we? What did i do?
Questions that ponder in your head when you space out, of who you are, what do you like, who do you know on a personal level. What do we really know about us? Do others know us better than we do.. what does life need from us? Living and loving. It takes time to realize to love and be loved are one in the same. It takes heartbreak to know how much you loved them. Realize these before they are gone. Then those who we love most stab us in the back we close our trust, trusting too easily, giving too much.
#11 uneasy
As the world finally slows down, you lay your head on the soft light pillow. It’s finally calm, as your mind finally wanders. Pondering the thoughts you compiled during the day.the final thoughts resting on your head, it all calm. What’s making this so calming? It’s unnerving, a state of uneasiness and unrest. Unable to describe it well, the state of discomfort and unease. It’s nostalgic to.. almost enjoyable, yet still out of reach to enjoy. Nothing seemed to be this enjoyable yet so.. dislikeable, hated yet so revered and loved by all. Through the hideous darkness it lurks, praying on all that was held dear. Yet it gives joy and uneasiness filling those that felt out of place with adrenaline and a euphoric feeling.
#12 snow
The white speckles feel from the sky, plating the ground with a glistening white snow. The cold piercing the skin of any that dare walk out into the cold, snowy night. The thick blankets of snow falling to the ground, shrouding any view of the ground. The fluffy soft snow, gently falling on the cold corpse that lay beneath the blanket of snow, eyelashes frosted over in cold,thick snow. Youve been laying there pondering and looking at the grey tinted sky, snow falling gracefully onto your face. Your cold, pace skin is growing colder by the moment, yet you don't wanna leave. It's comfortable. The numbness and feeling of being devoid of all emotion and feeling, the temperature that drops every moment that you lay in the thick blanket of snow, almost cradling you like a bed. At this rate your hair has been sticking together with clumps of snow and ice forming. The snow creeped into every crevice in the clothing you were wearing. The cold was a comfort in your daily, dreary life. The warmth, yet stark contrast of the cold. The cigarette that lay in your mouth, warming your face. The cold on your skin and heat in your cheeks, the smoke that rises from the old dying out cigarette and the feeling of bourbon that lay in your stomach was a euphoric feeling, one of artificial calmness and enjoyment was a familiar friend. The fresh red lines in your arms that stung with any movement whether it be the snow landing on it or your breathing. It was all slightly and familiarly numb. The lighter in one hand and the cold glass bottle in the other wasn't unusual, but the cold chill of the air was. It was an amenity that you took for granted, one you thoroughly enjoyed and yet one you didn't get often. It takes time to fully realize that the cold emptiness inside your heart wasn't one that needed to be filled, it was one you could exploit. It was mended by that of any feeling of warmth, whether that be a drink, cigarette or even laying lifeless in the snow. It was actually comedic to you. Silently laughing to yourself. Every movement hurts. Yet it was a nice laugh.one well needed but not deserved. The cold icy night consumes every moment and reminiscing thought, cold piercing the veil of flesh straight to the bone. It was cold out, far colder than yesterday yet it was nice. The colder it is, the more the empty feeling turns to desperation to warm yourself. Every breath you took smoke would rise, not only from the cold, dim cigarette butt, but from the warm breath that turned colder by the moment. the cold air stabbed and the brashing teeth of death was imminent, full blown implosions and cold air that stabs stood still the earth so light and cold.
#13 emptiness
The empty cold pitch black eyes stared back at him. The mirror never truly was an accurate interpretation of how he saw himself. He was more of a monster than a human, but nobody but himself could tell that. Every feeling of empathy that was shown to him was taken as a malicious attack, no mercy was to be shown to him. Not to the weak. Not for none, nobody deserves mercy nor help. Close off who you trust, they’ll hurt you, they’ll use what you gave them against you. But the wrath of another human is the closest to human felt for the longest time. The mirror always taught with memories you never fully grasp or reach but understand that buried deeper than any knife in you arm or any stab that grasps at your back.
#14 the warmth of another human
The wrath of humans can be degrading and unpleasant yet the contrast of humans being good people is ethereal, kind and nice. The warmth and feeling of being held and cared for is endearing… yet the cold shoulder of the awful taints any feeling of care and good in the world. One scar can lead to more, much so as one hurtful word leads to more. More over, be a good person. You have limited time to be here, you can be awful or endearing and loved.
#15 hate
You can't tell someone that they don't have a reason to hate someone. We all do, whether we know it or not. So why do we hate ourselves.. because of something, whether that be something that someone said, or the feeling deep down that we still care for them with every single fiber in our being. The guilt that builds with it nor how we punish ourselves for the hatred we bare for their transgressions and lies. It’s a stage of grief, one that was never healed. Could never be healed, the past is the past, and there is nothing we can do about what someone did to us. Not even if we wish that person would feel something other than pride and self preservation. No matter how hard you try to show them what they did, they cannot change because they do not feel for what they did, they cannot feel for what they did, and they will not care. They will never care. They are a person who will only destroy you and everything you love. They are a leech in every meaning of the word. And you can hate them, oh viscerally hate them, with everything in your being you could, but it changes nothing in the end because they never cared for you in the first place and only care for material things that make them feel better about themselves, and you happen to one of those things. She will not care for you, and you are an Object to her that feeds her ego, and makes her feel better about herself.
#16 staring.
He stared at the humming yellow lights eyes bloodshot, red and irritated. His tongue swollen and red, the lack of water kept him awake. He had enough not to die, but to be uncomfortablem
#17 running
He ran and ran, feet pattering in the cold earthy soil. The wind swept thru his hair and in his face. He ran thru branches and brushes, smoothing and crunching of leaves and sticks in his path. He ran from nothing yet the freedom was releasing and loving. The raindrops feel on his face gracefully, sweeping thru him was happiness and true contentment. The dewdrops on the blades of grass flew off with each swift movement of his calloused feet. Every step he took it made him feel close to home, he was floating away. Reality swept away by enjoyment and glee. The river bed flowed separating the pieces of earth as he jumped flying and separating the earth. Water flew thru his hair as he landed and kept running, giggling and laughing truly happy and free. This is where he is meant to be. In nature free from the bondage of city and standards. He ran thru the forest passing trees short and tall, rain falling from the sky. The earths tears, it was a warm shower one of happiness and glee. The cool warmth of the sun beaming into his face and enjoyment of being free was enough for him.
#18 tree
His feet swung back and forth high in the air. He watched below him, as the ladder to his treehouse swung back and forth. The cool, deep groves on the old oak tree where worm and weathered. Trinkets and tire swings swung with each gust of wind shaking the beautiful green leaves.
#19 can't help but feeling like a pawn here
The grey sky shrouded his thoughts, he didn't know what to do. He was lost, no move to make, no thoughts of his own. A mindless beast that never understood what to do and how to live.
#20 zombies
Reticulated breaths, cold chill of a distant stolas and mindless thoughts of pacing and agony. Sad daggers and pricelessness of endless whispers of the forests that call. Watching the grass rise from the corpse of memories, distant cries of stagnant groans of the Pained zombies. Fathoming the thought of life before the fall, the fall of society and rise of chaos and the beauty of the earth. Forsaken quiet and wits, rotting buildings a distant memory of what was to be before the witnesses of time in atonement for the prices of greed and anger of selfishness and hellscapes.
#21 Watching.
Eyes watched him, burning daggers in his head. They were all in his head. Caged beasts tearing at the cage and the cagger.
It's been so long since he thought or saw the outside, cradling his sick body. Bloodied and grey, skeletal Body held together by strings of flesh that now didn't even resemble a mask of flesh as the days grew into nights and days to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. All blurring together. Just enough food to sustain life, bleak and cold.just enough water to crave the taste once more, yet never satisfied. Deaths embrace cradling him
#22Painkillers
A frequented thought. What numbs your pain, what ceases all pain and ends all suffering. The few that know are sought after to no avail, none truly know. We seek to be numbed to feel something. Turning to feeble illogical things works only for a while. A deadly feat. Warm liquidated happiness that burns in the abyssal pit of a stomach. A burn in the nose, or a trip over your feet. All is temporary, nothing to be uncomfortable with. So luxurious and sought after, so deadly for the chase.
#23The forgotten and lost
A faint memory buzzes in your head.. a claustrophobic feeling.. one of no escape, a depression on memory-less time. One of conspicuously and deliberation, terminality and illogical scene of false hope and security. Once a awful forgotten memory now a lost out of abyss that come to taunt and haunt the thoughts of once security and safety now a faint grab, pull, touch. Nothing conspicuous not illegitimate, yet panic sets in as you jump and pull away. You know something happened yet know not of date, origin nor why you feel this way.
#24Fever dreams
The hot breaths. The cold nights, and the repetitive patterns of unending pain and hot visions of fear and anger.
#25 Clotting
bleeding, burning, crying. The thick viscosity of the red liquid that drips with a thick plip in the increasingly colder water. Shallow breaths and ragged air filling snuffy noses. Hissing out with each muscle moving. Blood craning your mind wrapping around to choke and kill. Each hiss painfully gaining in frantic motion. Bleed, bleed, bleed. Red hissing in the water, swirls of nature with such delicacy unparalleled with even its own.
#26 Void_19
Devoid of emotion, touches and caressing word falling of cold ears.
#27 01100100 01100101 01100001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01101000 01100101 01101100 01101100
The binary, Monotonous life. Misogynistic way of living. Pain and pleasure, life and death all to feeble imagination and wishes to be thought of and sought after. The slaughter and hunger for the kill. Often seen as beasts and killers all at once where like the binary. Driven mad and taxed on. Dog wheels that had rusted, too far past the point of being considered usable. Taxing on despite the pieces missing, despite the impending doom and inevitable downfall of the cog work
His eyes dilated. He could smell and feel what he'd done. Bile grew and lodged itself in his throat, he didn't know what to do. How could he. He loved them, he loved them. He wanted to be with them and feel the missing touch and warmth he so desperately needed. Driven to the brink by the words that so badly hurt him only made him love them more. He couldn't get enough of their love and attention whether he fucked up or not he wanted to be loved so badly. The warmth that dripped from his hands and mouth, the crimson that covered him was logged in him. Not for long it wasn't. The bile hit the floor as he did too. His sobs of snot, flesh and blood was loud and constant. His fists hit the floor, blood thumping with his hands as he hit his face, blue and purple blooming where the punches landed. the plumes of blue and purple making it's way down his body, wrenching anything in his stomach, nose bleeding as the red crimson mixes with the dried paste.he never meant to do it. He didnt want to..he didn't mean to.
#28 Exposed.
The feeling of bare skin against the cold air. Empty hands, the migraine. The awful, cold, empty hands that grabbed and touched. Unwelcome and unwanted, unhealthy gruff, unwelcome. Unwanted. Unneeded, awful, nasty. nothing of any want. Slight touches, hurting and burning. Forever scarred skin, bruises never leaving, light touches never wanted. Holding on and staying. Never waiting, the cold heath of scarred hands, nails bent and hanging. Awful. arboreous, repulsive, debauching, violating, touches. Greasy, filthy touches that hurt. Unexplainably painful, yet so trusted. A liar.
#29 premonitions of memories long forgotten
The blur in a mirror, the physical aversion to touch the anger for those yet the memories pull you deeper and deeper than you ever wanted to go, hurting and hurting. Pulling at you with barbed wire, ever so small yet so grave and harmful.
#30 blur
The visions and premonitions of the past begging to be released, reactions and fears rooted deep with each memory. It can't be forgotten, only ignored. The feeling of everything that pains the life a being of everything. Wishing only for realease and freedom from pain God awfully pain and suffering. The necessity to have pain, rage, anger. Nothing more than mere animals were thee of men. Beings of thehate and anger, nothing more than mere beasts that serve to beat and tear at the skin and flesh of others. Pure anger, adoration. NOTHING MORE THAN MERE MEMORIES AND HATE. The lustfully necessity for more, more possessions and love.
#31 Lust
The necessity to breathe, the lustful need to keep living. To keep breathing, keeping every breath. A greedy need that plagued even the smallest creature.
.
#32Quiver
the quiver at each soft caress, each smoldering ember of the past remembered.. What bile I have is wasted with each taste of something akin to them. I don’t know what I wanted but it wasn’t that. I didn’t deserve that, Steve didn’t… no one you hurt did. You fail to realize nobody ever enjoyed your grabbing, not in public, not at home. Eating has been made harder because of you. I hate it. I want food. I’m hungry. I'm so very very hungry but I just can’t eat.. FUCK YOU, fuck your neck kisses, fuck your hugs, fuck you, fuck me! I trusted you and I told you.. I’d said I was uncomfortable, I did many things to tell you something but you didn’t listen, you wanted something so, you took it.
#33cold
The cold. Something so profound in its relentless attack on everything sparing nobody. The cold kills, devoid of prejudice and hate. The frigid coils wrapping limbs and dragging one down.
The cold can't hate anyone. It knows not of human hate and is devoid of such emotions. Only to relentlessly push and pull with elements to be formed. The snow plates the world in shimmering white and purple, a reflection of the sky and remains of good in the world. For the snow and its dangerous nature, it calms the mind of many. The snow is a joyous resolution for Christmas. Yet in the stark contrast of its joyous nature, the snow is deadly and unpredictable. The snow; unbiased and frigid for its wrath and departure, unwavering icy air groaning and crying with icy tears to fall. What comes from snow is it's shine, it's cold nip that raises the very hairs on one's arm.. the air so frigid it freezes the warm bones under flesh and plumbing blood.
The cold in the tips of your fingers winding away at the warmth of feeling in the appendages all the while eating the warmth and feeling in anything and everything. Warmth of the bones seeping away. Crawling like critters under predatory glance. The tingle leaves to be replaced by numbed feeling. Hissing away, the cold nipping and gnawing relentlessly. The warmth of blood receding from outer appendages hiding away in the warm core, working to keep the heart beating.
But nature stops for nothing, perhaps hindered in its relentless attack.. but never stopped. The snow cascading down in the grey and blue shattered sky of darkness that beams. The stars don't stop their movement for you, nor will the motion of earth. Swirling and flipping the snow will fall. Cold and windy the air will consume the warmth out of your body.
The water freezes into daggered icicles at the slightest chance. The heaving movement of breath to be taken never to cease. But the warmth of the company that made its way to help hindering cold icy deaths attack. Grateful care and adoration fixing its way to warm the inside that had burned with water that froze with icy intensity.
#??? ???
You're broken. You can't deny it, and it can't be fixed. You're defective, beyond repair. You've faced the facts long ago, you've picked up your pieces slowly. You've put back together what you could, yet you will never be whole. He took that from you long ago, they took. They had no regard for what it's done to you today, no regard for the shuddering nightmares and breakdowns you have. You can't get relief from it, because it bites at you day and night.