Dysfunctionality of an Almost Human Mind

I believed this to be a silent place. I believed this to be the single space where nothing could reach me. But the cries are deafening and the punches are coming from all over. It's an obscure path, this one before me. The sight of the sniper is set for my temple. Is it doubt? The red dot pivots, but remains close, like a fly on trash. It was never meant to be a public ride, but with all the noise around, no one will ever listen. The shot will be muffled by the thick and palpable tension in the room. No one will be seated for the next show.

There was a summoning, in a moment of weakness. The summoning led to the demon's awakening. The demon is now hungry. Spouted verbs and adjectives between subjects. Heavy rain. One says jump, the other bows. A missed translation that brought apathy and disdain. Suddenly screaming for help is violence, the new fact. Drowning in the burning flames is the hottest new dance move. A dance akin to mosh-pitting against paper walls. There, where the contract was written and signed, splattered by the crimson blight of disbelief. I lack the words to mend the cracks. Always responsible for their appearance and insistence, never for the defusing of their existence. Most of this is incidental, some of it is accidental, but everything is fucking mental. The times are not for misuse, but there is no gray matter left to think about it. The gray now repaints the walls of illusion. Those that bare no thoughts, just scars. It was always meant to be hard. There is no surprise for the prepared. Still th

The pen is a dangerous gun. The retired assassin wakes from hibernation and creeps like the hunting demon that it is. To think words were once a place for comfort and how the self destructive was bottled away, crazy. But to drink from that bottle like an aged wine, insane? retarded? abnormal? submental? No... Alcoholism incarnate. And I'll drink that ink with the hopes it will end my misery, by any means necessary. #nonewdemons...

killing all sense of time scrolling my life away... reminiscent idea of friendship conversations to never return wasted and deceased on a dime walking flesh bag on automatic lost all hope and drive all that's left is bruises and bills a cynical savory of all we were the demanding disregard i'm gifted with wishing for wishes, wishes of balance with the muzzle flash the news are given theories become facts with a single thump, the sound is clear it has fallen and now swims in itself a crimson sea of the self inflicted solitude no one left to talk to? well, nothing left to say then...