Lugosi Béla is dead.
Ligeti György is dead.
The bat flies past the closet door.
The closet is filled with corpses, screaming to let them out.
The grey house cries out in a voice of silence.
The wood cracks under my feet as I break through the door.
Relative ease getting in, but I fear getting out might take all my power.
I look towards the door, but it is so far.
I decide to go in, towards a familiar stench.
I hear screams from the attic and moans from the basement.
Ligeti's breath. That was the stench.
Wonderful. I take a huge whiff and feel high.
I meet him. He is dead, yet he's smiling at me.
I kiss him on the lips, for he is deserving of love, like the others.
I leave the room and let him sleep in silence.
I hope my love got to him.
As soon as I get through the door, a set of red eyes.
Wings, chapping my shoulders. I am pinned against a wall.
Teeth sink into my neck.
It is Lugosi. I kiss him on the lips, as he demands, and begin to leave.
He disappears, for he's dead. Undead.
But that seems like years ago and I'm still not at the door.
In fact, it's been a decade.
It's the morning now, and I cannot leave.
I feel like... I'm dying? But I feel more alive, as well.
As I reach the door, I fall.

I wake up in an unfamiliar room.
They are both there. They don't present me with a choice.
They are leaving all of their belongings to me.
White on white translucent black capes.
Black on black glasses of *****.
The bats have left the bell tower.
The victims have been bled.
Red velvet lines the black box.
Virginal brides file past their tombs.
Strewn with time's dead flowers,
Bereft in deathly bloom,
I'm alone in a darkened room.

I am Ligeti.
I am Lugosi.
I am neither and I am both.
I am dead and I am not.
As I live and breathe.
I am...
The count.

What a spiceless world.
One full of orange, then blue.
One full of purple, then brown.
To get through the waters of the womb, you need steel.
Where blood is flighty. And mud is shallow.
To love, you need to ****.
To hate, you need to birth another.
A pool of men stronger and faster than a colony of ants.
Who are you, when you've lost all your feathers?
When the bridge above you has collapsed?
Who are you, once again, when all you've known has turned to order?
When there is a hierarchy? Where do you fit in?
To make wings, you need a brother and a hammer.
To fight those orderly *******, you need to call upon your own filth.
To waddle through your own ****, your own ****, you need to drink the elixir.
Not some shallow nectar from the gods. Who are they, anyway? Who, who are the gods to question the almighty? You were always better anyway.
Who upon this mound of dirt, ****, ***** and mercury shall question the authenticity of your command, when they're all dead in the ground?
Will there be anyone?
Will it just be you?
You knock on the door of the rich man, but he does not answer. You paint his door red in your own blood and scream.
What has occurred here? A clash of babies dressed in stardust under a sky of light violet?
Maybe a marriage of scales and feathers disguised as ones you could care about?
You know nothing of this world, and that's how you always got by.
You dig through the pool of used needles, you drench yourself in others' diseases, you embrace a death of most painful circumstance and you cut off your limbs one by one.
Only then, at your final moments, tongueless, waddling your chunks of once arms, legs and wings around, drowning in your own *****, can you ask the most important question.
What if the world was the opposite?

A car moving too fast.
A mirror, broken into a million pieces.
3 and a half years of your life, wasted.
Sounds of a shattered record.
The grunt of disgust.
That god-awful word, uttered again.
The repeating days, over and over.
The same morning, the same day.
The same afternoon, the same night.
A beast with a verdant colored head.
Another one with grey scales over his eyes.
Is it worth it?
Did I put enough work in?
Only time will tell.
The smile and embrace of a brother.
The reassuring words of a lover.
You're enough. Let it go.
And so, you don't drink poison any longer.
You breathe free. You feel smells.
You touch the grass.
You're loved.
Just because you let go.
You look back at the monstrosities, that threatened you in the night.
They are all gone, wallowing in their own sickening pride.
But you ride your fast car.
You made your decision.
You left tonight, you'll live and die another way.
Thank you, Tracy. Thank you, Jim.

Leon was a lion.
He lived in a pool of lava.
Never was he ever disturbed.
Leon was a bird without wings.
Leon was a runner without legs.

Leon was a lion.
Leon cried, all day all night.
Leon looked at the sky and asked God.
"God, what do you look like?"
And cried every day.

Leon was a lion.
Leon was cut, bruised, scarred.
Leon never had nobody, ever.
But one day, Leon heard a sound.
It was God.

"Leon, my small child.
Let your soul run wild.
Live a long, great life.
While you are still rife.

Let your soul run free.
You are who you'll be.
I really love thee.
And now so does she."

Leon was a lion.
And so was she.
But she looked like God.
And God looked like her.
So Leon cried no more.

Leon was a lion.
Who lived with a beautiful family.
In a beautiful house.
And Leon cried no more.
For she had found a home.

You taught me the absolution,
You, woman of exquisite dreams!
Oh, daughter of Apollo, you,
who sings, kicks and screams.

The noises you create
Will be of utmost importance
While you rattle and shake
and tear off your wings.

Salvation! Flows, oh, within
the lake of rich blood,
the wine of gorgeous Bacchus,
stronger than the womb.

You swim, as though it is sport,
creating shores of ****** concrete.
You will never get out and dry...
you might then stop drowning.

Your lyre will be unique,
for it will always wear red.
The color of blood: not enemies'
but of your own flesh.

You brought me my wings,
You, woman of accomplished dreams!
I tore them off time and time again,
but you just made them anew.

The cradle you represent...
That is my resting place,
a face of pure emotion,
of love, obsession, romance.

As though I'm a songbird,
and you're the tiger thrush,
you show power and the truth
with a warm smile.

Carry me and I'll carry you,
With pleasures of the flesh,
Feathers in the way, but no care
And crooked beacons of light.

You made me my lyre,
You, woman of broken dreams!
You heard me sing in my sleep
while you cried tears of joy.

You taught me about your father,
and your mother, Hera,
and I listened with intent,
knowing I might meet her one day.

You made me want what I
Could never have. I won't
ever forgive you, because
You once made me smile.

You made me a failure,
You, man of broken bottles.
You raged and fumed about
Whatever you cared about, not me.

You taught me shame,
but no ways to ever avoid it.
You taught me how to be pathetic.
You taught me to love the women of the world.

Yesterday, there was a cloud and the cloud was turning
Today there were more, and the ounce kept burning
Some bar in Hamburg and dreams of punching Atatürk
The sister wasn't ****, no paper, seven X's
It wasn't a good time, it was a shoddy paper bar
The redneck ******* was the one who turned a star
But oh no
An axolotl with the body of a flying serpent
This is urgent, a full body of the color verdant
Learning the choreography of a murderer of burdens
The static and manic idiosyncracy of skin men
The bodies of three legends accounted to ten
But there was no reception or action back then
But who knows?
The calling of a tender serving drinks to no end
Many friends to attend to and mend the hearts
There were children who drank like worrywarts
And the shortened query of lines was eerie
Peering, they're steering like he was hearing
Some sudden tale of questionable origins in there

The fact that it's all the same **** with no name
Makes it the same old hat, the same old game
A dream of millenia ago when there was no fame
The only person booing was some swollen lame

But it's life and life is strange
How do you change the way you change the way you feel
Rotted brains that don't feel no feel, they steal
But time heals, so time equals no wounds and that's why
Why they wish to live forever on a never-ending ******
But then comes Life-ender, the scythe, ember, mender
And it's all over, no one's sober on this Rolls Royce
Range Rover, said Herbert Hoover the awful goober
And now it's all **** and there stood the stooge
A fool made of reed and a tool made of keys
But what for were keys when there's no doors in need
No trusty steed to ask for the **** or mead
Who knew that life would be so hard indeed
It's that two story fall that doesn't ****
It made them fall ill and lie still for a fill
Of this endless bucket made of Kengo's will
There was a silhuetto of a rusted stilleto
It was well kept like Velcro in a safe or the pocket
Of the dog from Kesto, that *******, he pictured it
Some poor animal and made it sit on the cover forever
That made it sever from reality and come back never
But that's a tale for another lever to pull
Or the fool with another drink in their hands
And a bit of food, delightfully canned or a machine
That was manned by a man who was made of sand
All there's left is a question I've always had
What if I was the cloud, and the cloud was dead?

It's been a fun time, hasn't it?
I've been all kinds of people for you and I.
But my tears are at a loss.
A dry desert, if you will.

So I take this pen and jab it into paper one last time.
I enjoyed being all kinds of spirits.
You really let me release myself.
We got past such great milestones.

The world has changed and only I remained.
You're not the same and I'm not the same.
But I feel like I'm still just me.
So I'll blame it on the world.

All these scribbled words have been attempts.
I've been calling for help.
And help came for me.
But I didn't really need anyone but me.

These last tears, they're important to me.
To others, they might seem like...
Tears in rain.
But to me, they're my powerful last breath.

I've dreamt so much in such a short time.
And it gave me wings of hope.
I've never been better.
And I've got myself to thank for that.

I grew out of the armor.
I don't need it anymore in this world.
We're at peace, everyone's alive.
The womb keeps us all together.

The questions are answered to an extent.
I've exposed myself to you.
You know all of me as well as I do.
I'm bare naked before you now.

I shan't try to cover myself.
As the rain washes over me and covers my tears...
I'm not the same person, I can see that.
Nothing remains the same.

I've reached the end of rebirth once more.
This time the end is but an end.
There's no new beginnings here, nothing can change.
Embrace the past, young shepherd, for the future is set in stone.

Lead the people who have my legacy.
My armor, my pen, my tears, my soul... Goodbye.