Merry Fucking ChristmasSanta, that magical person who breaks into peoples houses as they get excited about it. But, contrary to popular opinion, not everybody gets freakishly happy about the visit of this mysterious person and this particular cozy little house had a dog, a dog that was not fond of the creepily jolly old man. When up on the rooftop the sound of reindeer hooves were heard, the dog decided to give Santa one fair warning. "woof woof, woof woof woof!!" Roughly translated meant "Fuck off you lazy jack ass, those are my cookies! MINE!! Go steal from some other house!" But alas, poor Santa didn't speak dog, so he had no idea what the dog was saying and thus continued his perilous journey down the chimney. After getting stuck a couple times he finally made it to the fireplace, and into the house. While busy greedily shoving the cookies that the dog so dearly loved in his face, he dropped his guard long enough for the dog to sneak up behind him and rip the overly cheery bastard to bloody pieces. Th
Ashes to ashesHe watches from a safe distance as the fire creeps farther away, destroying everything in its wake. Silently, he curses everybody who tries to stop it, convinced none of them deserved to live. When the flames he created and so dearly loved were no longer visible, he thought it best to walk back home; if he couldn't have a front row seat, he'd catch it on the news, not as good, but definitely better than nothing. While absorbed in his musings on the evils of humanity, he became completely unaware of his surroundings until he was rudely interrupted by a yellow ball of fuzz with a furiously wagging tail. Trying his best to ignore the infuriatingly cheerfulness of the helpless animal, he continued on his way. Once he reached his home, his sanctuary away from people where nobody would bother him, he became enraged to find that the puppy had followed him all the way there, begging for attention like a crack addict will beg for money. Getting sick of its presence, the man takes the
Seeing RedRed floods my vision as the blood flows freely from the multitude of freshly open wounds. The shrieks of agony clear my groggy mind, and deafen me as salt is ground into the abrasions that covered their entire body. Pain. Pure, seemingly perpetual pain. This place-with blood stained walls, the floor covered with dead and dying bodies, and with the smell so thick and overpowering you can taste it-was built for no other reason than to cause screaming anguish. Originally, it was supposed to be an interrogation room, that would use any means necessary to extract information from the inhabitants of the room, whether they were in there for murder, rape, or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time and the "interrogators" needed someone to "question." But it was supposed to have faded like a shadow in the sunlight, to be nothing more than a story used to scare misbehaving little kids, but it didnt, it still exists. The torture of the person whose screams awoke me from my drugged slumbe
AloneLost in a void of ever encompassing darkness never to be rescued, abandoned and left to die. Surrounded by hoards of people yet still completely alone. Everybody is too caught up in their superficial lives to pay attention, nobody understands or even tries to help. I am left to fend for myself in the dark and feeling worthless like a forgotten rag doll. My life is pointless, no sense to prolonging my inevitable death. As a desperate attempt to end the pain, I grab the gun, and bidding everybody farewell I steal my last gasping breath and pull the trigger.
wingsMy wings have been broken. Torn apart slowly, painfully by the monsters of society. All hope of flying is lost, dying on the ground with the remaining shreds of my once beautiful wings, as I am overcome by the immense sadness that drowns my every thought, my every feeling. I'm told I am nothing, not worthy of flying , and that I will never amount to anything, so they take it upon themselves to destroy my only means of escape. My wounds have scarred but they will never fully heal, leaving me with wounds like endless chasms inside of me. Everything has been taken, nothing has been left. Every day is like trying to live in a frozen wasteland of pain and suffering, as I am cast aside like a ragged doll by a tantrum prone toddler. My existence is nothing, and my soul will not know peace until I regain my wings in death.
No such thingHappiness is nothing but a counterfeit elixir to help forget the constant searing pain caused by the monotonous hell of everyday life. Once the fake high wears off, the pain cuts deeper into the soul, the happiness seeming to serve no purpose but to brand the images into your brain, to relentlessly taunt you with the distant dream of fond memories, knowing they will never happen again. Nightmares haunt the mind, ripping even the sanctity of sleep from the grasp of weary fingers, making long days seem to last an eternity. We are born to die, spending the limited time of our existence in the dull routine of everyday life, while being surrounded by mindless sheep who are too busy trying to meet the impossible and unrealistic standards of society to think for themselves. Living life hiding behind a façade, too afraid to show your true self because of the shallow judgments thrown upon the people they don't see fit to co-exist with. We are like parasites leaching off the earth and each o
addictionI'm addicted to cutting like a heroine addict is addicted to their drug, always looking for that next high. Not caring what sacrifices must be made to obtain the substance that has simultaneously become our one savior and the bane of our existence. We become willing to risk lives, not just our own, but others' as well, to get that beautiful sustenance.
my escapeThey wont go away, the images wont leave me alone. Every day I think about it. I want to cut; its my addiction, it's what keeps me going through the day, knowing that my razor will always be there for me. I relax as I watch the blood flow free, no longer imprisoned in my veins as I feel imprisoned in this world. My life has no meaning but even that seems inconsequential when I get my high as the blade slices my skin so neatly. As the high wears off, I contemplate other things as my next escape, more permanent things. Suicide is my only way out, my only escape. I think about it everyday, and maybe some day, I will be able to fly free.