I have a very limited diet.
I survive off sweet and nutritious thoughts.
The compliments that taste like candy.
I devour them whole.

Put a little icing on me.
I could use a personality.
What do you want me to be?
Something sour? Or something sweet?

Cut me open, limb by limb.
Tell me good things.
Eat me and tell me how good I taste.
I crave the validation.

The bad thoughts have my stomach tied in knots.
I puke them out until I'm hungry again.
I could use some sweet things.
So all your thoughts get shoved down my throat.

Order anything you'd like.
I'll be whatever you want.
I'll make sure to consume perfection.
You are what you eat after all.

Am I good yet?
Am I too much, too little?
Too sweet, too savoury?
I will take in your thoughts and make you happy.

I'm filling up on too many thoughts.
But I'm starving.
I'm overeating all the nice things you say.
My insides are an overflowing shipwreck.

What flavour is my personality?
Should I just scrape it off?
Everyone will like me more without it.
Everyone will like me more without it.

Devour me whole, tell me I'm pretty.
Take a bite of me.
Call me the perfect identity.
Do you enjoy me?

I purge your thoughts and change my flavour.
Why aren't you happy?
My stomach is empty.
I've forgotten who I used to be.

Can you see the chaos?

They are not talking to you
they are in you
in each flow
of your blood
in every inch
of your bones

the dissonance! the abstract!
the lack of discipline!

it showers beaut
it radiates power
push your existence
through this
like what it is,
an existence, known as
ever since
the depression
cut the chain
get rid of the tie
embrace your persona
light the candle
and dance to this:

The moment you slowly sink
into a set of perfection is just
The moment you dissolve into
the motion of indefinite silence.

With one subtle rock of the waves,
someone is sick.
Heaving overboard because they just ate lunch.
Well, what about the girl over there?
She’s getting sick even without the rock of the waves.
No food.
No sleep.
Just sick of her own head.
She wants to feel happy,
and she wants to be okay for once.
But, I just cannot let that happen.
I play with her head until she’s begging for a breath.
Just one more chance,
one more day to feel okay.
But she got to be happy for five minutes today,
why does she need more than that?
I don’t care if it’s mean,
I like chaos.
I want her to go crazy,
with her head racing.
I want her to feel overwhelmed,
like the world around her is caving in.
I want her to feel like her head is spinning,
the constant headache from over thinking.
Thinking that she’s the reason why he left,
that she’s the reason he doesn’t want her anymore.
She needs to feel like she’s the mistake,
the one causing everything to go wrong.
She needs to feel my pain.
She needs to feel what I felt once.
Why should I let her be sane?
It’s too much fun to see her in the corner of the room,
with glossy eyes.
You can tell she wants to cry.
She wants it all to go way,
to end.
So as those waves rock, and people are getting sick…
So will she.
Not sick from the movement,
but sick from herself.

I felt a soft pulse under a young boy’s
neck within my grotesque hands,
felt his breath escape his lungs like
a frightened snake in burning sands,
watched his eyes frantically search for a savior
but instead find my vile complexion.
My heart swelled with revenge against this
world that only resents me and yet
his shrill screams against the thunder,
the lightning outlining his still silhouette--
he was innocent, this I always remember.
I don’t deserve the pleasure of this hatred.

My next sin I committed against a cheerful man,
a sightseer in a beautiful, foreign land;
I closed my gruesome grip around his slender throat
and left him sleeping forever on the sand
under the luminous moon with his heart still, yet full of love;
how jealous I felt that he should die
and have someone to grieve for him, while I’m reprimanded
for living, or rather, simply existing,

My final mark I left as charcoal fingerprints
on the sweet skin of a new bride.
I instilled fright into her perfect wedding night
and, before a lake’s gentle rolling waves,
behind the watchful Jekyll to my vengeful Hyde, I
stole her life.

Her groom, a bright, scientific architect,
thought his monument a magnificent, malicious failure.
In his eyes, I am a virus upon the Earth’s body,
a hideous figure copied not in God’s image, but in the devil’s.
I should have known I’d always be alone
as my creator wishes I weren’t his own.
Doctor Victor Frankenstein, I hate every ****
inch of your perfect human frame, and I hate
the imperfections you’ve bestowed upon me.
I swear, I will reciprocate these bitter blessings
you have given me, and when I’ve ended you
once and for all,
only then can I rest;
I have nobody to love,
but I’ve got nothing to lose.