I'm devoid of all emotion
I'm just empty

I smile
I laugh
I joke

None of it meets my eyes

I draw
I sing
I dance

None of it is fun

I sleep
I eat
I shower

None of it seems needed

I hurt
I cry
I cut

None of it seems bad

I'm devoid of all emotion
I'm just empty
11-28-18
You'll never hear me say
That I want to hurt myself
That cuts line my skin

You'll never hear me say
That I have dark thoughts
That I am sick

You'll never hear me say
That I imagine my funeral
That I dream of it

You'll never hear me say
That I know how to tie a noose
That I've done it before

You'll never hear me say
That I've picked the date
That I have it planned

You'll never hear me say
That I'm afraid of myself
That I don't know what I'll do

You'll never hear me say
That I need help
I know I should be hospitalized but I don't want to do that to my mother. I don't want to live with the shame, with the pain. I just want it to be over with.
  Nov 14 Leviathan Andrew
touka
I̫ ̰̻̥̯̰̖̰w̖̤̗̞a̮͚͚̜̹͓n̪͙ͅt̤̭ ̳͍̝͍̰m͓̠y̗ ̯̭̝͎̱̲d͎̼̙̺a̭͈ṳ̺g̦͕͙̠h̲̫̯̩̱t̗͉͚͚̲e̺͔̤̮r̪̲̟̱̭ ͔ba͎c̯k͉̗͖
̭̠̣͍
̜I̗̜ ̰̼̳̥̻̙̹w̳͕̞͚̭̠a̟̠͍̲̦̜̝n̯͖̹̙̦̝̝t͚̙̙ ̦͎͈h͈e̜͚r̯̰͇̦̝,̠̖̞
̪̖̼͈s̫̜he͖ ̣̹w̥a̘̱̯̯s̗ͅ ̤̯͇̖ṣ̩we̱̭̦̭̜̩ͅe̟̩̳͙̝ͅt̪ ̖͇̱̳̪a̲͕̝͈n̠̺̲̬ͅd͚͕̫̪̘̳͇
̞͎͓̣͚̝͚ ̮̜̖ ̩̦̹̞̫̼͈ ̻̠̮̠ ̜̠̼̹͍͍͕k̰͖i̜n͇d̖̦
̥̟̼͇̮ḁ͖̤͓͇͖ͅn̳͉̱̹͕̰̗d̪̻̮̰
͇̜͚̜̮͓̥ ̜͈̭̘͔ ̞n͉͙o͕͔̦͈t̙̯̻̭̱̝ ͖͓̙l̮̳̣͙̞̙i͉͖̱͍͚̥̠ke̖ ̗̩͎̤̪y͖͇̼̯ou̗̬
͖̙̱͓̯̰I̹̺̗̻̼̲̫ ͕͕w̰̳̥̜a͚̯n̩t ̩̺̥͖̤̘h͖͉͖e̖̳͈͙͕̬r̝͓͖ ͇̻̱̖̝b̩a͔̻͇ck̺


I'll send a missive
a parcel, haplessly packaged
by these bumbling, cloddy digits

fill it with frailties
objet d'art of mine
my careful reminiscence

de anima
I will slice
like slivers of gold

pour in my intellect
places, names, things, phrases
I was sure I would forget

I'll synopsize my soul

throw it in a box,
carted off and off

until I'm set on the doorstep
an ogle and a gaze-in
at my what and whatnot

no return address
He was the warrior king.
He was known for being strong.
He was Mogar.

Shallow breaths passed through his lips.
Hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

Arms wrapped tightly around him.
Knees pulled close to his chest.

He tried to hold himself together.

How did he get here?

Unable to laugh or smile.
Unmotivated and unfocused.
Unable to sleep or eat.

An empty shell.

Devoid of all emotion but one:

Shame

He was ashamed.
Ashamed he could push through.
Ashamed he wasn’t strong enough.
Ashamed that he was broken

He was the warrior king.
10-17-18
He reeked of alcohol.
He swayed as he walked,
His words slurred.

Browns, blues, purples
The colors of his rings against my skin.

Green, grey, yellow
The colors of puke on the ground.
I didn’t know if it was mine or his.

White, red, black
The colors of blissful unconsciousness.
  Sep 22 Leviathan Andrew
Jester
Today was a good day,
I woke up and loaded my gun, going postal is the plan.
No real reason, no real plan, just pick a place and aim for people.

Here’s the school, here’s the office, here’s the steeple, steady hand and aim for people.
Hair trigger and hog wild, going ape but having too much fun to care.
Smile on my face or least on the mask I wore today;
Left the house today with a plan to see the bodies drop by my hand.

It’s as much fun as you can have on a Monday.
Service on the Sunday gets shaken up with I burst down the door, pulled my trigger and watch the bodies hit the floor.
The mall was more fun after I lit up the food court,
The movies were a scream filled with screams from the survivors.
Picture day and everyone is dressed to impress at least they dressed for the funerals.

Today was the plan, just drop as many as I can.
No one to stop my fun, no one saw it coming and as soon as I started I moved on, location, location, location and the hospital is next.

Quick stop at the post office to take it back to where it all began.
Falling down is fun as long as you take everyone with you.
Now some will say I’m crazy, or some will say I lost it or some will say I snapped along the way, but they’re just repressed. I do what they think about.
They would love to blow away the people they complain about on a daily basis.

Just get a gun, get your gun Johnny, get your gun Jenny, get your gun Janie and Tommy’s got his gun.
We can go the park on Saturday and make a field day out of the people swinging on the swings, we can hunt the hunters, we can hunt the sheeple.
Run rabbit run, I’ll give you a ten second head start but I’ll close the distance and soon you’ll be boring, I’ll need a new target.

I need a new mark.

Silence in the library, good thing silencers come in all sizes.
I’m having too much fun to stop, I’m usually bored and pent up, *** was staring to bore me. Work was wearing me down and school was full of drama and **** kids;
I found myself a hobby, something to let off steam.
It doesn’t take much to have this kind of fun, just aim and laugh as you gun em down.

Drive-in movie turns out to be a drive by spray of fun.
Parking lot like fish in a barrel, doing donuts before driving away into the night.
Night club is my next stop and its pack to the brim, dance floor center and work outwards.

Now some will say I’m violent and others will call me a monster but when we speak of expression, which of us is repressed?
I pull a trigger to get rid of stress while you do drugs, cheat on your lover and talk bad about everyone behind their backs, you stress over stress and can’t ever seem to get it to clear;

On the flip I got a smile on my face as I skip through downtown just shooting off at the hip;
Rich, Poor, Black, White, Elderly, Children- no difference to me.
I take aim and just let the bullet travel true and fast.
A shot to the heart really gets me going, I laugh and sprint down the street gotta hide from police now, hide and seek and while I hide in plain sight I take this time to mark some new marks.

I sleep easy at night having blown my stress away, I know you say you don’t like people but let me tell you, you’re being antisocial.
People make life fun and the couple who go out together die hand in hand by the hand holding my gun.

This is my rifle, this is my gun, this isn’t a social experiment and this is for fun.
From the upcoming 4th book
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