Just shoot me. Stupid fucking thoughts that mean nothing at all.

 Like, myself, but a darker version of myself, sitting there, talking to a psychiatrist.

And...It wasn't me speaking but like a demon self, talking about the world

And how its so fucked up.

Its so wierd becuase I can vaguely remember the conversation.

I guess I saw...

What life is really about.

And it made complete sense.

Like...how everything is polarized, and you're forced to make only two choices, two different paths in life

There is no other path because it was formed like this.

And because of all that, you start to do shit you're not supposed to do, and you lose yourself in it.

And I saw why the most intelligent people, are so insane, so fucked up in the head.

Like Charles Manson.

Its like they all do what they do because they love to see the reaction from people.

Its like being a caged animal, and you end up eating your own leg off because you're bored and hungry and theres nothing else to this little world you're trapped in.

Forced to believe in shit thats not there, running around in fear of demons and shit thats not even touching you.

Thats why alot of intelligent people, end up killing themselves too.

Its as if they saw what life had to offer, and wasn't satisfied.

Whats the point.

Everything is a fucking illusion

nothing matters.

The shit we have today will be gone tomorrow.

But we cling to dead ideals that just don't fit our way of life anymore.

You drink to forget, you smoke to ease the pain, its all about finding some stimulant to try and distract you from all the bullshit to pursue an existance that will leave you craving for more.

Even if you do all you "want" to do, you'll still want more.

A cosmic joke, a superficial blackhole, forever consuming all in its path.

There was a time in my life, where I had everything I desired. I was content. Not because of the materials I had, but because...Something that you couldn't see, just had its hands upon my face. Keeping me blind from how horrific life is. I was content, being inside my fuckin head all the time, painting pictures in my heart, not caring if anyone saw them or not, because I created entire planets, entire futures, entire dreamscapes, entire lifetimes, inside myself. But somehow, I lost the ability to be happy. To just sit with contentment over such things. I lost it all, and I keep asking those hands how the fuck do I get back. But now, I sit here just contemplating whether or not I should just but a 9mm between my eyes and call it a night. Because nothing truly matters, nothing has value, no pursuit is worth going for. This entire life is just a breeze. Its nothing. It means nothing. There is nothing. There aren't any experiences worth undertaking. I've seen, felt, and experienced the best life had to offer. And I made the biggest mistake trying to share it with someone who was so greedy enough to leave me broken hearted. Even love has no value. I care not to live. Not for myself, or the people around me. I haven't killed myself yet because I see the tears of those who profess a love for me even as they crush me like an insect under their selfish expectations. As if I was only born into this world to serve them, to get rich and sell my soul for a career to buy them that Jaguar they always wanted. I never wanted anything. Never. And the only time I ever asked for something, It caused me the greatest trouble. I sit here, half of myself gone, as my remaining self goes off on loose tangents trying to set the world ablaze as I give all that I can to hold him back. No stimulant is great enough to contain that which is inside of me. I am fearful of the amount of damage he might cause, and other times, I wish to set him free to cause such great amounts of chaos. 

There is none that truly see, nor wish to see, nor will ever be able to see what lies hidden inside of me. Most call him a blessing because they don't see his terrible face, but he is my greatest curse. In his anger does he throw me to the ground in such a torment as I try to find a peace to his heart. I see his sadness, as he feels for mine as well. And even as we lay angry at each other for our conflicting thoughts, many a night are spent arm in arm, throned to our deepest sorrows, wanting to find daylight once again, yet hating that same daylight that left us behind.

They never knew what it meant to be a lonely tormented soul, far beyond the reaches of the earthlings, staring out from the sunless celestial prison that I was kept in. I am so lost, as I remain here surrounded by his darkness, as well as my own. The light of his heart that he cannot taste, it is...a travesty to see such a pain for even a dark being to be casted off in such a way. He loved her greatly, only held back by his fear of his own self, knowing great well of the pain he could cause her. He hungered for her lips, but feared that the hunger in itself would voraciously pillage and destroy her.

Long ago, we once fought for eons upon end, even though we desired the same thing. I lay down my weapon now, trying to find sense to all that has happened. To lay beside myself, as I stare into my own abyss. I can see something in nothingness, if only everyone could picture this.

Too long have we hungered for dead ideals and performances of pontification for the credibility of self amongst a foolish mass of dead flesh. As we all sacrifice what is truly of us, to gain nothing but the sullen eyes of hollowed men.

I sigh with a true grief as I search these horrific planes of existance for the wandering flame that my heart calls for.

 I've perpetually lived with a mirror to my own face, heart, and soul. All I could see was black. All I could ever see was the void. What home do I have to myself? What place do I openly belong to? This is what confounds me, maybe I should've had much more honor for my ancestors in this life. I am a tail without a body, something long lost to the pasts of this world, for the present shall never be my home. I only feel as if I have any semblance of existence when the waters of my life have replaced themselves with drink. Where a lowly stride into the rivers and lakes of this lovely world are replaced with fire-water. I wish to be lost and drowned in these places for it is the only peace I have ever known. Even where my heart has found a heightened sense of being, there was still a great turbulence. And even as I speak my "peace", the voice always murmur "You incoherent fool, who would cease their day to even give ear to your foolishness? Shut thyself and suffer in your silence as you should."

Unloved and Untouched

 I feel like the worst wife to my God. Always whining, always complaining, never satisfied. Wanting to make amends, but theres nothing I can do to tend to such a fantastical creature. What is a grain of sand to his hands that comfort me into the torrid night? What value can He find in me, and yet he deals with my ceaseless wailing all til the morn? What a wretch I must be in his mind's eyes... And yet here still I am cradled to his warmth that gives life to all. I have nothing left to give but my essence, my being, yet even my core is tainted beyond all relief. Each trifling day, each restless night, the same words are whispered to my heart... "I am sufficient." 

Maybe I'm simply a fool caught up in the ideals of love, fearful of letting my heart flutter for my God's truth. I know not where I stand lest it might be my own precipices of insanity and loneliness. I am beyond shameful in my Lord's eyes, yet no sponge, no amalgamation of a plant's blood could wash away my wretchedness. 

 To stress every focal point is to tease each heartstring with venom and vicious potion. The viscous honey that seeps from your soul is my only remedy as I have remained in my own self-embraced Helheimlich frame of mind. I constantly regurgate bits and pieces of what once was, little reminders of what made me human or... alive. Each and every passing moment is a nightmarish realization that my heart had decided to bid me farewell in a different lifetime. I have tasted death one too many times to be redeemed of my sinful form. And yet, you still scream to me of the gold that resides in the blood I spill to my canvasless life. It is no more, it is no longer. 

It is a sad thing to find a man who only has his peace at the end of his binge. And yet, you find such a beautiful formula in the rose-wreaths of my being. You have been pricked by every thorn and needle of my harsh words and outlandish tendrils. Yet... You have found a home in me. Oh what have I done to you, my beautiful swan.  

 The drink performs where musicians could never. The same elixir that cures my apathy is what causes my body to wretch for days in agony. I can feel the stench of death as this encroaching miasma encircles me in my tomb. Hurricane winds have swept across this prison cell of a bedroom. The same room I've occupied for decades feels so foreign to me. The same skin that I've caressed and washed is no longer my own. This flesh is not my own. Days and nights pass me by like unwilling visitors, often I find myself forgetting my own name, or if it ever was my own to begin with?

 And yet you're all alone once again, with no air to breathe, with only wine to fill your belly. Is this your only form of sustenenace? So shall it be as you return to your rose water glasses. None shall understand you, none shall draw near to you, none shall draw water from your lips. You are all alone again and yet here you stand, your feet embedded with the shards of your past, the words of those you've loved so dearly splintered across your chest and your eyes. You are blinded from your tomorrows, for all of your yesterdays reside in the arms of those who hated you so dearly. Is this nightmare the peace you sought after? Does it detract from the moment to moment agony you endure when the eels and worms have sought your bones?

Someone please silence the voices, someone please hide the faces of those I could not reach. I cannot sleep knowing the torment they endured in their final hours. I heard the deathwails of my grandmother in her final hours as God gathered her years before her very eyes. I heard the tears of my brother's friend before he inhaled gunsmoke and powder, comitting to a fallacy that there is no love left for him upon this earth. I felt the veins go cold of so many who overdosed as they let their final tears fall.  There is no peace for one who lives yet has no aim. A true echo chamber is a hellish tomb where the heart screams relentlessly with no answer, where every blood vessel is strained to burst, where every teardrop is salted as if its become bretheren to the sea itself. A true echo chamber is a landscape of the downtrodden souls who cannot beseech the world around them, they access the true nature of Pluto. 

Who will listen? Better yet, who has the ears to withstand the bitterness of my wicked and swollen heart? I was once told that the greatness of humankind was our ability to galvanize, and yet misery loves company. Our misery, that which splits us, should also be a great unifying force. Our pains, our bitterness should push us to do away with all the evils that causes us these deep wounds. And yet... we are a wayward people. A wayward child. 

My heart is broken yet again. It matters not how many moments it has shattered, There is yet always a new point of contact to strike.