It's often the weak
And seemingly frail
That find themselves thirsty
Beyond the pale

The gutters churn under the strain
Blood rushes down through city veins
The streets ablaze with tinted moonlight
Devoid of any flame

As gods and heathens burn the same
The hearts all pumping without aim
No lungs to fill, and yet still choking
On the meat we flay

The needle drops
The records play
Everyone stops
Praying that the day might break

My iron rusted
Hinges combust, dusk bled
Swung open portal
Stifling chortle I open up
Progressing slowly
In soul or sprit
But running fast and flowing

Over strewn corpse cobbles
Harbinger paver, larder baubles
Stocking lye
Stalking eyes, new crime
Commit to the violence or ****** die
Perish inside then out
It's no use gasping or
Grasping
Stranger clout
 
Each new version a variant curse
Every cursed being awaiting rebirth
New age swift death
My time is little, I have **** all left
Gliding abreast
The beast glisten already
Peeter out slice and grip
My jowls are aglow
Siphoning light from the sky above
The creatures of the dark sky rip
Beneath my leather
Each new stab a death blow

I feast
**** them all
I rip out their ******* guts
And mash them
Flesh blood and bone complete
Cycles though my very being
Tearing rending breaking
Everything
**** these dogs

The heart of the city
A drum
Plucking tendon
Plucky young thing

My weapon is serrated
My steel is ****** already

a churning in your abdomen
like the clenching of your fists to show the whites of your knuckles
like the contracting of your heart muscles to pump blood from head to feet

a low growl
like a beast's when it sees prey after starving for days
crouching low, stalking, waiting to pounce

a waft of fresh blood
the animal had lunged; it caved into ******* desires,
incisors cutting through sinews

warm red liquid spilling all over
a ****** mess, clouding vision
a beast devouring, feeding until it's the only one standing
the only one cackling

a gulp
of fresh air clears the mind
is one meal enough to satiate the beast?
through a reflection one sees their beast
lingering, hiding amongst shadows
dormant, creeping beneath stained skin

"Out, ****** spot!"
but from head to feet, the ****** is me.

Following the lines of the wrist
The shadows and grooves
And at a certain angle, the tendons can be seen
If you closed your fist tightly
The whites of your knuckles against flesh tones
With streaks of green blue purple
Of arteries, veins, capillaries forming a pulsing network
I like the shape of your wrists

When I swallow
My larynx constricts
There's a sharp pain at the top of my throat
I drink some water but it doesn't go away
It's as if there's an arrow through my throat
The arrow head poking out from the front
Like a pendant
You grab the end of the arrow from the back of my head
And wrenched it out

I jumped off the platform
and onto the train tracks today
simply because — well —
there was nothing else to do.
I did my laundry at two in the afternoon,
had breakfast an hour after that,
and filled in my daily quota
of wondering where my life is heading.
And I completed all those tasks
before five!

Can you believe it?

I jumped off the platform
and onto the train tracks today
simply because I felt like it.
Because death
has been knocking on my door
since 2014, and I thought
to finally give it a chance.
Because the thought of dying
is the only thing that keeps me alive.
Because at this point,
death is the only thing I haven’t tried.

So, I jumped.

I jumped — and the train crashed into me,
like death was finally
giving me the embrace I have denied for so long.
It said, “This is the end, and you
have reached it.” And I, all red and blood
on the floor, smiled because
death is exactly how I
have been imagining it.

The people around me have places to be,
lives to live, people to love, pets to care for,
and I — I am guts on the ground
they are frowning at because I
delayed their entire lives.
They would think back
thirty years from now,
and remember the girl
who spilled her guts on the train tracks.

But I will be dead, and my last memory
would always be the faces of these strangers.

Was my death an inconvenience?
Did my death ruin your life?
Your day? Your evening?
Did seeing me die
make you realize
how precious your life is?
Did seeing all the ugly parts of me
make you think of how beautiful you are?

Did my death serve as a lesson?
Did my death teach you
how to be alive?

Lucky.

My body was a graveyard
long before it was dead, and my mind
was even worse than that.
And you think your life is ruined?
You think your life will never be the same?

Funny.
Mental illness
took that chance away from me.

At least I did the laundry,
had breakfast,
and filled in my quota
before I jumped.

The unnecessary repetitions
of your bodies breathing
it climbs the stairway
of the spine
tripping over and over
on the same creaking step
of disbelief,
****** knees
find themselves in missing sheets
that hung from the seems
on backyard linings
until the ghosts of the ground
took them for their sacred dinings
reminders written into sticky notes
posted on the walls of the skull

They have much to say about things
that they do not understand
Does the human mind have too little to think of
that it begins to twist the lives of others
weaving fictions and sending them out as reality
and their listeners mindlessly believe
They are fed with the misery of others
Never did I think I would become meat
to be passed around and pulled apart
until nothing is left of my origin
They have rearranged me
Those who know nothing of what I am
have managed to destroy all I have built
Years of finding myself
Spat on by their hunger for earthly game
It does not take tasting human flesh
to become a cannibal
They have consumed me
taken my truest form
and left it for dead
only bringing with them the ugly

Everyday as if the last.
I wake up to see, the fears of my past.
The things I protected -in silence- or so it seems;
fell to the bottom without being heard or seen.
Selfishly I cried.
Selfishly I lied.
Selfishly I replied,
"With all that I have done for you,
why wont you comply?"
Why give off such a devilish demeanor?
Why oh why did you make the heathens' snakes slither?
A whistle through the night as the serpents took flight,
as the the eyes of a child was filled with nothing but fright.
An emotionless tear,
then another,
and another.
As the child stood there,
then fangs,
and a bite.
The child laid there,
then red,
and a goodnight.

Memories
Are still so clear
would you like to listen?
Cause it's hard to deal
With all of these alone
The scars would heal
What about my broken heart?
Would you ever care
about what I feel
Cold walls would only know
About my fears
You can ask them
About voices I hear
But what is about to change?
You always disappear
You think I'm mad
But can't u see my tears?
You think I laugh
If you only see my mask
Then you must
forget about past
I'll keep this memory
I'll walk down the same street
And watch our glory
That probably would be dead
You'll be the murderer
And it will be
Alive in my sheets

Take the gun from off your back and shoot down the wild birds from the sky
They come easily if you wait
If you wait
When my ankles swell with the storms
You carry me over your shoulder like the corpse of a Canadian goose
I am your prize
You've blown a bullet through my aching bones and I am your prize