City of fiends

Awakening in the night to find a breathing torso,

Gnawing on my legs, "That's not where I left you".

Nubs trembling against the floor, eyes pale,

And blinded by a passing nightmare.

Halted thoughts of sleep soon fade.

I must ask, "Why deceive my trust?".

                   "Forgive me,  I mean no inconvenience,

                    Life is ending and I am without so much,

                    Crippled, rotting, to continue, I feel the need
                     
                    To consume you.  I crave your existence."

My friend veiled in disease,

At the cost of all your sickened thoughts,

You are banished from here,

My foot to your cerebellum,

End a lifetime of suffering.

My responsibilities cease for thee,

And leave the carcass to be.

Still birth machine

...And she speaks to me,

Echoes shatter the subconscious.

Through veiled eyes, visions of life giving images,

Fields of the dead, rotting in the presence of the divine.

Mind entwined, suffer to bear scars of the truth.

As I arise, fragments of purpose clarify,

Needs to erase his whores, his lies.

Find my fists wrapped tightly around the neck of endless beauty,

My pride shall survive at the tips of strained fingers,

Stangling the expendable.

Her grasp upon my arm goes limp, life from her iris fades,

She insists to remove them.

From the face, crimson release, exalt the pressures of your worth.

Hail the fall, artificial messiah,

Knives communicate the delicacy of your nerves, the flesh understands.

Through binds of leather and fault of faith, intestinal outpour.

Carved at the waist, draining profusely, on down her thighs,

To merge with the earth of her tomb.

Nurture the cycle, feed on the weak, feeding on life.

Echoes shatter the subconscious,

And again and again...She speaks to me.

Ether binge weekend

My fist aches...From smashing your face,

I can still here you breathing,

Tonight, no one walks out of here alive.

Help me, guide my hand deeper,

The incisions must be correct,

Your blood spills, for the sake of my art.

Stay still, this is important.

Pride in reconstruction of your worthless being,

Understand you are the cause of this foul intent.

Convulsing won't help you,

It's time you learn some fucking manners, and my knife will teach you.

Salvation comes not from books written in lies,

But from the hand that slices your wrists.

Wake the fuck up, Ive been on a rant.

You look disconnected.

The only thing keeping me from snapping your neck,

Is the fact that I can't feel my legs.

Help me up, so I can finish the job, that he so diligently placed upon me.

I'll make these bastards remember your name.

Pride in reconstruction of your worthless being,

I know this is more fun for me, in all honesty,

Why are you still here.

Now it ends,

Forgivness comes not from books written in lies,

But from the hands that remove your heart.

Mutiny on the high seas

Ignorant bitch, you can't stop it from severing the lower half of your body,

If you want to live, you'll have to eat your way through and crawl out

to the woods where misdirection lights your path and no one gives

a shit your dead.

And here in the darkest caverns of your unholy greed,

My hoards and I await your arrival.

For so long we've existed without the nourishment of flesh, a thirst that

can only be quenched by the feeding of your tattered remains,

Bend over, the time is now,  the upper hand is ours, your whole world is fucked.

March forward to the source of all human inspiration, bring the torches,

We'll burn it down, gladly watch the heathens die, then smoke to the final passing of man,

Realize this is right, you failed in your search for completion.

Now I will take the head that is my prize, gather minions and carry on.

For so long we've existed without the comfort of peace, a thirst that refuses to satisfy,

We shall feed on every last one of you, bend over the time is now,

Your whole world is fucked.

In subtle acceptance of a job well done, exit the world with arms raised high,

Blood soaked triumph, tragedy is only in the eyes of the dead, which we hoist upon our

backs for future consumption.

Respect for none of the lost I leave in my wake,

Gather due strength for an others demise,

Blanket the land in a glorious plague,

Taken back what has always been rightfully mine,

Will not be stopped, your whole world is fucked.

My friend Death

I'm going to be honest, I fucking hate my life. I've attempted suicide on a couple of occasions.  I've always had depression in my life. That's just a part of who I am. I can't help it. I've taken just about every anti-depression med out there. Nothing works. And on one occasion I was seconds away from blowing my brains out. I realized the pills were responsible. So now I take klonopin and seroquel for anxiety and sleep. Anti- psychotic meds, anti- rejection pills, beta blockers, and an enormous amount of oxycodone. So mix pills and depression and now that's all I am. There's nothing special about me. I'm an anti- social pill head who still sometimes plays with toys. One of those toys is a Smith and Wesson .9mm. It's for protection (cause I'm a small person), but I know it's a way out. But I can't kill myself. I made a promise, that I plan on keeping, to never commit suicide. I have someone elses heart inside me. So it's my job to continue Chris' existence until I die. And that pains me. I feel so miserable here. I don't work anymore. I feel like I have no purpose here. I am a failure. That's what I say to myself every morning when I look at the mirror. My face disgusts me. I don't really recognize myself, like I'm looking at someone else, a loser. I've been through shit that most people will never experience or understand. My adult life was ruined. Leukemia, bone marrow transplant, mitral valve replacement, major heart failure, and a heart transplant, plus an ACL replacement in my left knee, othorscopic surgery of the right knee, and now I'm waiting to get a bone graft on the right knee soon. I'm full of medical horror stories. But I have no place here. I feel like a freak of nature. Frankenstein. I have nothing of real value. I don't buy into 'love' like every human android in the world. Internet dating is amount to prostitution. Everybody just wants to get laid. I just want to die. I've met with Death several times. We're buddies and we have a standing agreement for now. I've beaten that dick every time. Sometimes I feel invincible, and that makes me cocky. I flip off everyone. I'll throw pennies at asshole bikers that think they own the road. Most of the time I just don't give a fuck. I don't get excited about anything anymore. Everyday I just sit on the couch, watch TV, and eat pills. It makes me docile. I have no reason to get up in the morning, so I wake up at like 2 or 3pm. Just a pile of shit.  No ladies in my life, I'm pretty sure they hate me.  No talents. I live in a shithole apartment.  There's nothing for me.  Does anybody know what its l like to want to die, but can't? Frustrating.  So I sit here with a gun, no clip, barrel in my mouth, and click, nothing. Sad, alone, and bored. I wish for death to come back, so he can try again.  But I know I'll win, thats my curse. I'm not going to apologize for being such a downer. That's who I am, and you can't change that.  I'm not going to kill myself, I'll die when I'm ready.  So until then I'll exist, in the corner, looking down.