Things that lead to fulfillment are things I try to avoid.

Socializing is uncomfortable and ridiculous.

I hate everyone I accidentally see.
Because I'd never look at someone on purpose.
A million years ago, maybe I would've.

But no, not now.

A List Of Animals I'm Jealous Of:

-Flying ones
-Pretty ones
-Dead ones

The People I've Lost In The Past Five Or Six Years

Put pen to paper and remind your friends that you don't need them.

It's very easy and good to make yourself numb, numb as hell.

Realize that you can't live up to your ideals.
Laugh about it.
Because you never believed you could.

I swirled down from a Place Of Life-Altering Delusions to tell you that I think you look nice with your hair up.

Personal Ad

Unremarkable Artist Seeks Millions Of People Willing To Think About His Art Every Once In A While Long After He's Dead And Buried

Note To Self

Here's an idea: Stop.

If you're pretty sure you can't do something, don't try.

You are a filthy mess of a life and you will always be a filthy mess of a life.

You're supposed to feel sick.
You're supposed to feel like shit.
You're supposed to leave a grimy smudge everywhere you go.

Just like everything else you thought mattered: you don't.

You shouldn't be proud of yourself for coming this far.
You've barely moved an inch.

Most People Don't Enjoy Being Sick

The important thing to remember about dying is that you're going to do it someday.
Really, that's the only thing to remember about dying.
Really, dying is all there is.
Really, we're all dead and lying about it.

Dental Hygiene Is A Cruel Joke

Kissing me probably tastes like kissing the idea of a graveyard after you've thought about the idea of a graveyard for too long.

It probably tastes the same as that uncomfortable feeling.

And I'm sorry.

I'm Actually Pretty Sure I'll Be Swallowed By A Massive Pink Ball Of Heat Very Soon

It's okay to know that you're not special.

It's okay to coerce people into liking you by making yourself pitiable.

It's okay to wear a trenchcoat and carry a dozen masks with you at all times.

It's okay to be a part of the amorphous blob that is Everyone Else.

It's okay to have an abyss where your face should be.

It's okay to drop your identity in a puddle of dirty water and  just walk away from it.

It's okay to never want to be yourself again.

If Souls Exist I Want To Stomp On Them All

Don't want to hear about happiness and failure and how things used to be.

I could probably fit my entire heart into a grain of old sand.
I'm going to try to.

My brain is a bog and it sucks.
Ha ha ha.

Volcano Skins

I take care of all the other imaginary creatures before taking care of myself.

You'll never realize what a fragile infant I am.
And if somehow you do, it'll be too late.

Shadows remind me of missed opportunities.

I'm not allowed to have blood.
I'm only allowed to spill it.

Having someone to relate to, to fully understand each other, to know how it is, to laugh and cry about the same stupid shit, to trust to the core, is nice.
But it isn't necessary.

Not by a long shot.

Impersonating Someone You Used To Be

 I am glad that you hope that I don’t get a horrifying disease.

There is always the hum, and it is always trying to bruise you.
Its warmth, its peaceful rumble, they don't matter.

You’re gonna hurt.
A lot, actually.

I’ll show that motherfucker who’s King of This Basement.
Yeah, I’ll show you, motherfucker.

We don’t have to be here, but we are.
We don’t have to love ourselves, and we don’t.

I’m essentially doing everything I can to keep from becoming essential.

There’s not a single story in my heart that I haven’t shit all over.

I Was A Beast For Years And Years

(I)

I wasn't like you, or me, now.
I wasn't like anything.
Not anything safe, at least.

(II)

Slept with my head resting in a pile of dirt every night.
Every morning when I reluctantly came back to life, the dirt pile was gone.
Sucked through my mouth, into my constantly withered stomach, into my nightmare.

My nails were always crusted, drool always thick, with the blood and slime of a smaller, more meaningless creature than myself.

Always.

Thorns and fangs and dangerous thoughts tore at my skin every time I moved, stripped me to the bone, to the guts and the softness.

Couldn't decide whether to pray to or scream at God, so I did neither.
Only prayed to myself, only screamed at the ghosts I knew were everywhere.

Had no desires, only instincts, only impulses, only a primal, magnificent drive.
The only thing I needed to do was to destroy and devour, everything around me, myself.

Friends with the buzzing things I snapped at.
Friends with the moldy puddles I drank from.
Friends with the vague notion of loneliness.

Terrified of the moon.
The stars.
Told them my secrets and then frantically searched for a place to hide.

On the rare occasion that I saw my reflection, I wept.
Howled.
Disintegrated.
Hollowed.

Had no idea I was sick.
Had no idea what health was.

The trees were the only ones who knew me, and they didn't even know what color my ragged eyes were.
I would've loved the trees if I'd had any feelings.

Wandering and trapped.
Fearless and snared.
Savage and imprisoned.

The sky was my cage and I was its master.

With my cracked lips.
With my grey teeth.
With my puke-and-pollen-stained tongue.

I smiled to prove to the sun that I was a threat.
That I was full of venom and intention.
That I was the one who'd hunt it down and tear it apart.
I would be blind but it would be dead.

When my prey was kind or stupid enough to ask about my family, I said I didn't remember them.
Nobody missed me because nobody had ever met me.

My former life never haunted me because I didn't have one.

Didn't suspect I was being sought.
Didn't suspect I was needed.
Didn't suspect I mattered.

(III)

It found me in a puddle of fading sunbeams.

Blinked at me, whimpered.
Looked just as bruised as I did, just as ripped up by nature's horns.
Just as pathetic.

If it valued its life, it would've fled.
It didn't flee.

Curled up next to me instead.
Trembled hard in the diseased warmth of my kill.
And with its unwarranted trust, it paralyzed me into caring.

Within a shivering heartbeat, if there was anything I knew better than destruction, it was protection.

Protecting what little I had created.
Protecting my way of barely-life.

A defenseless thing that loves you quickly can kill you even quicker.

Didn't make a sound when I pressed my calluses into its throat.
Didn't protest when I pressed harder.
Accepted it all when I silently explained why it had to die.

Might've been seconds before it stopped breathing.
Might've been years.

Neglected my hunger and buried it, shallow.
Its headstone, a loose pile of dirt.
A pile of dirt embracing my dirty skull and its mangled contents.

(IV)

Every night, starving myself.
Every night, coughing up decrepit soil.
Every night, dreaming of the life I didn't swallow.

Hundreds, millions of nights.
Ages ago.
Eternities.

(V)

I live in the real world now.
I have a few friends and I worry that I'm not calling my grandmother often enough.
I watch TV and I heat up shitty food in the microwave.
I bathe regularly.

I buy the best shampoo available, none of that store brand crap.

Because I need it.
Because I can still feel it.
Because it clogs the drain and darkens the water.

My hair is always filthy and my scalp always itches.
I wash and scratch, specks of it floating to the floor, getting caught under my fingernails.

And everything tastes awful.
Tastes like unrelenting shame.
Like weak ghosts.
Like dirt.

Huge Bugs

I hope that if I'm murdered my ghost immediately springs from my corpse and slices my murderer's head off with a ghostly sword.
I'm very concerned about the fact that someone might want to murder me someday.
If it's you, if you're the one planning to murder me someday, consider this: Do not murder me.