Kill the pain. Release yourself from the everything that has held you captive over the years. Yellowing, curling newpaper pages taped to the cold cement walls. (Makeshift wallpaper?) Copper wire cage melting from the flames. The answer was there all along. A syringe full of white joy awaiting dispersion, distribution, through your arteries. Dilution, disillusion. Waiting with bated breath, No this is not a test. Of your ability to function with amputation (paralysis song) medication, but it's ok, we've always got inhalation, not suffocation. Derangement, encaged, awaiting the new phase. Ablaze, the stage, but the actors will continue their pl
The wretched rusting as forgiveness sets in. This whirlwind twisting of lust ever-fading. What keeps me here? Why can I not pass through the door, instead being kept forever In Between. Not alive, not dead. Not male, not female. Not child, not adult. Always caught up in this would-be physical reverie, lungs expanding just to take in this vivid toxin, that sickens but is never enough to kill. But this is no purgatory, oh no, this is far worse than you could ever imagine. Happy children crying for the sake of attention (and sex?), although they cannot rightfully claim the pain they flash around, about their wrists like the newest best thing, th
melt the flesh down to the bone. liquid atonement. drink the life, become a saint. the blue glow of the screen holds me transfixed, enthralled. I scribble blindly, desperately trying to tell my life story, only to later discover that I have nothing to say. Clarity comes shattering down around me, but I, unaware, continue to fixate on the icons before me. Flashing lights envisioned at the corners of my eyes. Peculiarity (breeds familiarity) strangles and takes over, making the air unbearably thin. Choking and spinning out of control, sitting in a corner, crawling, reverse, into my shell. I'll take any way out at this point. Finger on the trigg
daily life at the rumormill by IDieInMyDaydreams17, literature
Literature
daily life at the rumormill
slowly twisting and spinning these threads of Life and Pain (LIES) with Drama and Angst, weaving it into cloth used to make bandages, for treating the wounds produced from when we chewed you up and spit you out, only to later consume you when we became bored and lonely. We will grind you into a fine powder fit to be snorted by the finest (dandies...), secluded in the far corner, on a table for the elitists. we will stretch you out, and render you useless, but for the expression (resuscitation palpitation) on your face, because the anguish is priceless. we will be relentless, because we use our closest friends' backs as dartboards with daggers
stalking, proceeding
please don't leave me...
i can't take this night once more
falling for your every step
the mud and the leaves
the corpses and the pain
stay just one more night
i'll make it worth your while
i'll make you sick
i'll take care of you
i'll bring you back to health
but not enough to leave me
a sickness of the heart
is all you need
stretch it out enough to see through it
but you can't touch it quite yet
-it's not dry
they say i'm sick
they want me sick
they make me sick
i'll be your queen.
be my queen...
i know i seem pathetic now
this is my weakest moment
i am weakest around you
it's the sickness
i s
bleeding _for the_ hypocrite by IDieInMyDaydreams17, literature
Literature
bleeding _for the_ hypocrite
i am just an image
there is nothing inside
so grotesque, so repulsive
nothing left to hide
crawling from the darkness
decaying from the (f)lies
all my dirty secrets
in you i confide
cutting, bleeding, deeper, deeper
take the pain, shoot it up
tourniquet around my neck
because my thoughts are poison
does this affect you the way it used to?
do i affect you in ways i used to?
crying, bleeding, deeper deeper
singing through the pain
never give up
that language which you speak but do not understand
it holds the key
it used to be our connection
to Eden, now lost in frosty abyss
decaying, bleeding, deeper deeper
soften the woun
cannibal galaxies by IDieInMyDaydreams17, literature
Literature
cannibal galaxies
Innumerable life forms swallowed, in an instantaneous death that takes millions of years to take effect. Consumption and consummation, intertwined, yet railing against each other. Warfare not withstanding, I push the plastic ruby button anyways. It gleams and obliviates (detonates and opiates), as everything, in waves, melts around me. I become obsolete, like an 8-track, and descend through the floor, the only remains of me left in history the oh-so-shocking shadow imprinted on the wall for all the humannequins to gawk at, a piece of bloodless past. So put that in you museums and websites!
Count your lucky stars and kiss them goodbye, becaus
ToDigMyselfAnEden6FeetDeep by IDieInMyDaydreams17, literature
Literature
ToDigMyselfAnEden6FeetDeep
To be completely alone is by far the greatest accomplishment anyone can aim for. No attachments, no resposibilities. Total solitary contentment. No need for the prescriptions I depend on. No eventfulness, no interuptions. Pure beauty and confinement, no coincidence. Alone in my own perfect world. No stupid jokes, no self-martyrdom crucifictions. No confessions or acquitals, no crying, disappointment. But how is one to attain this? How can one possibly break away from everyone and become self-reliant? But you can't say it's impossible. I'm just sick of being surrounded by such people, couples, 'drunkenly' happy people, the ignorant and blissf
Abusive apprentice by IDieInMyDaydreams17, literature
Literature
Abusive apprentice
Locked away in a box, covered in chains and locks. Scratching at open sores. Learning to pour salt in wounds. Learning to use specific utensils; cutting, burning, sawing, hitting. So precise and unintentional. Staring down victims, making them want a girl without knowing what they are getting into. Slowly breaking the already fragile heart into little puzzle pieces to be lost in the air vents and couch cushions. I swear I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't know it would go this far. I just thought you were going to use me up and forget me like a star, not fall in love. It was never my intention to crucify you, to scourge you, to make you a mar
Birth. Reproduction. Death. by IDieInMyDaydreams17, literature
Literature
Birth. Reproduction. Death.
Watch the chromosomes multiply instantaneously. Post-human breeding takes the pleasure and puts it in a meat-grinder. No room for thinking, survival is all we're capable of. Birth, reproduction, death. Continuation of species. Nothing special. Love was created merely as an escape, a distraction from the monotony of our cubicle-cells. Something to think about. Thinking? I thought we already covered this. Oh well. Strip the flesh and muscle off. Pure white bone, glistening under the fluorescent lighting. Beautiful. Pin back the remaining skin, and dig in. Such fascinations to be found within this human body, not as fun when the heart's not bea