This is poetry, with compelling line to line, like 'The Raven' is about greed, yeah, I mastered that and do what you are about to read with it.
Abandon All Sanity, Yea, Verily
Reader, thou who darest to tread this forsaken terrain, be warned: the terrors within shall ravage thy psyche, reducing thee to a gibbering wretch.
If thy fragile mortal coil begins to unwind, thy grip on reality slipping like a thawing ember, I shall not be held accountable. For in this void, there is no solace, no respite from the crushing weight of my nihilistic pilgrimage.
If your feeble brain begins to hemorrhage or your grip on reality starts to slip, for the love of all that's unholy, don't say I didn't warn you. Abandon your shell-shocked nerves and seek solace in a warm, comforting towel. Maybe even wrestle with an existential crisis or two. Your fragile emotions (and your therapist) will thank you.
Fiction and not real, never was, anything similar - pure coincidence.
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Metropolis, a carcass of your desires, festering wounds akin to my own. Satin nights gloom like a leech, devouring what's left of hope. I prowl streets that resemble a rictus-worn smile, neon signs guttural rumors of sadness. Shards of glass, truncations of dreams, strewn like botanical evidence of a pestilence that refuses to heal. This is my textured tiled landscape, a chessboard sewn from the lace of madness, Hieronymous Bosch's hellish constructs now pronounce a mandate of pandemonium. Where decadence and ribbon dance with weary abandon, I pirouette, a harbinger of reckoning in this macabre realignment.
Sour incense wafts on the breeze, a tang of hopelessness that urges me onward. Wrecked panes of glass stare blindly, memories of lives lost, love, and laughter reduced to gaping voids. Nonetheless, in these vacant eyes, I catch a glimmer of parallel, a recognition of the splintered circumstances we all inhabit. Shades, those perpetually inhaling backscratchers, defer to me, their hushed sighs mocking the hive mind that strives to contain us. They speak quiet secrets that scrape the periphery of perception, dangers lurking just beneath the scarred surface. I breathe them in, the resulting hiccup within my chest a clockwork cleansing of the chaff, inexorably keeping pulse to pulse with this infernal march of self-destruction.
The silver skull's cadaverous halo lobs an unholy glare, a benediction of bedlam upon a city reduced to quivering putrescence. Promenades convulse like a tortured mollusk, each step dissolving the tattered veil of reality's façade. My trajectory stitches a grotesque quilt of incongruities, a demented pas da tango of terror and lunacy.
Graffiti fractals scream from every crumbly surface, a vermilion Moloch feasting on the degradation of all that's decent. The utterances devolve into hieroglyphics, obscene tantrums scrawled by the maddened appendages of those who crave destruction. My fingertips graze the jagged hue of desperation, leaving tiny panegyrics to the city's pervasive disillusion. Delight in a mamaura to a flamenco dance, I plan the heterogeneous map of its topsy-turvy jim-dandy, asynchronous steps governed by a skewed sense of validity. I taste the acrid chrome of burnt promises, my silver skull rampantly embracing the bile that berates this condemned landscape. I am the fluvre imaginator, rewriting the city's damnation through this vulnerable evolving chaos - raucously corrupt unfence matte notinhpery a chr lays fitter corิงหาคม.
Sirens keening in the dark, mournful warnings cadenza of a city devouring itself whole. Their wails intertwine with the boom and the shriek, a dirge of desperation that laps against the city's rough shorelines of mediocrity, and I, a budding violet flower of pollution, drink it all in, a lovely intoxicant that floods my connotations, painting the air a deep, livid crimson. This is my motherfucking shrine, the necropolis of the damned-to-be, where rationality comes to be beaten into submission, and the grotesque rosebuds of 'I don't give a fuck' bloom in its place. Breathe it in, an air reeking of wrist-cut steel and innocent rot, the living facade that morphs into a fully inexplicable, polyvalent hub of_]
Mr. Gold's fingerprints on the ruins of my tattered mentality still sear like a branding iron. A flame that consumed our home, the shrieks of my family... MY WIFE!... my daughter... the sounds still claw at my eardrums like a rusty gate, but the fire that consumes me now is not of this world. I'm a finger fucking moth to the cliche flame, drawn to the twisted beauty of this decay. Something in me broke that day, and Mr. Gold became the pivot on which my world turned. Currently, I am a roulette wheel, spinning towards chaos.
Recollections festered like an open wound, ablaze with anguish and fury. My wife's face, is a grotesque caricature of terror, as flames strip her skin. My daughter's screams, a revision that rekindles its agony in my mind. The stench of burning flesh, a noxious sacrament that revives the horrors of that cursed night, purulent wounds that continue to fester, grudgingly reviving its eternal torment.
"Why could I not have just fucking died!!!!???"
Station here looking into the eyes of a monster in a skyscraper, I question the meaning of life, darkness, light, wrong, right in one ear and out my eye socket with water. Frailty streaks a path down metal-coated bone, dripping like a leaky faucet in the city street of the elitist honeycomb.
"Daddy"
I know she isn't there but I look anyway. Behind me is little Allie, my little princess,
"You are not real"
She walks up and grabs my hand, I can feel her grip, she even lifts my arm a little,
"Don't lose it yet Daddy"
she pulls my arm down looking around like she wants to tell me something in my ear, I kneel shaking at the moment, like talking to a ghost. she leans in and I feel her breath in my ear tunnel, her voice goes low and violent,
"Make them pay for what they did to me and Mommy"
When I look up she is gone, the ineffable second of what the fuck, followed by,
"That is the plan princess, enjoy the show, should be able to see it up there, but this shit, is going to send me below, tell mommy I said sorry, and that I.. she knows, you both know"
"Hey, whack job-"
group of thugs, all dressed like fucking clowns with their gold teeth and tatted faces,
"-Who the fuck you talking to?! Is it Halloween or something?!"
They break into laughter, I join in with a jackal that silences theirs, like a maniac.
Awkward silence after my laughter trails off.
The first thug dissolves into a bag of potatoes, barely a breath's pause between his faction's racket and the vacant spaces his carcass now occupies. My dagger lances through itchbone folds, violating their twisted sense of invulnerability. Viscera erupts in a cloud of ochre wreckage, abattoir a remix cruelly revising the city's bleak sound with fresh scores of unbridled gore.
Fuddled gangers stare, mental faculties reduced to boolean dysfunction, struggling to reboot in the face of unscripted carnage. I whirl like a Moorish fanatic, blade effulgent in the murk, abrading their obtuse minds with pads of reflected steel. Their cries of agony, a lugubrious serenata, cognition displaced by shell shock, permeated my nervous system with aqueous tides of contorted pleasure.
A sloppy, feral fist kisses my jaw, a jolting reminder that I'm a sentient ghoul, reanimated for this sacrament of slaughter. Pain is an epiphany, a gilded spark that ignites a cackle, a libation of unadulterated lunacy that freezes the liquid courage in their veins.
His hand mangled and broke from my skeletal metallic framed face,
"What the fuck are you?!"
Grasp the broken playthings little weak-ass fingers, squeezing to hear them shatter and crumble as I crunch them together, music to my fucking ear holes,
"I am the darkness that fuels the pen, let me write the ending to your pathetic story"
Crescent moons descend with sound abruptly, the liquid hell of my making is over. Alleyways smeared with butchered remnants, a ghastly flash drive of fractured limbs, and gutted viscera. I stand amidst the carnage, chest heaving, as the glow of my silver skull simmers in crimson-drenched light, an intoxicating elixir of adrenaline that metabolizes the chill in my veins, a stimulant more viscous than any chemical composition I could ever snort. Sudden urge to break out into a classic song, dancing, and singing in the bloodbath, a little Sinatra-style self-made tune:
*
"here you lie, (arms out at my sides, flying)
under the moon - eye, (little spin)
she blinks for me, (reaches down grabbing keys)
a foxy wink, (jump in a dump truck)
an offer I can't resist, (engine roars)
as I take her out on the town. (truck takes off)
*
she has the money,
little scarlet honey,
if I play nice - real nice
chiseling away that ice.
*
she promises me -
with her eyes fluttering,
yes, she promises me -
a beautiful night on the town -!
*
as the night progresses,
her starlight twinkling kisses,
swoon me right off my feet,
a waxen effigy, melting.
*
she is my little minx,
a velleity on a dust stream,
Baby, to you my heart is bound,
after this night out on the town."
City, a glazed china doll, a jestering prop, awaiting the puppeteer's call, to swing wildly on the pendulum of pain, while I care not for the migraines of the meek, my dauntless drumbeat of depravity orchestrates the apocalypse, a monstrous masque of mayhem.
I am the bacillus of bewilderment, a pernicious plague that festers in the festering depths of this vile metropolis. My words, a scattered rain of razor-sharp spiders, crawling across the silvered screens of the damned, corrupting all who dare to breathe my name. Rats with rat-tails of rubble, they scurry to spread the biomass of my remorseless madness, fluttering the rivulets of sanity like delicate flutter beasts on the hurricane of my adore-abled entropy. I seep, defy definition, slithering on oily slicks of deviance, rapacity blessing my deployment - CARELESS OF REALITY, I compose the requiem of whole populations.
The zeitgeist's futile juggernaut careens into the cognitive abyss, and I am the chromatic madman, slathering splinters of societal sanity onto the maniacal alter of my unshackled rage. This abortionscape of the american nightmare is my dissonant ache, the nausea-strewn confessions of my grim sleights of hand. I discourse through consecutive measures of unrest, bruising jawlines, and scampering entourage of hazardous hallucinations, evidencing my distinctive germs of taste. Every patron saint of self-preservation trembles at the uncontrollable convex. PAY the ticket price, cancel your whiskey bar tab, and make your sorry apologize to the warped puppeteer. The reunification of forbidden ecstasy and sires of devastation know my watchword: POST-CRASH PARADE _KAOS conclamature!
In this orbiting- junkyard-of-souls, I trade apocalypse certificates, commodifying your wildest darknesses, one scrappy abdication at a time. I o u debit note, all screens go dead, h, h'.
In this privileged purgatory, the ivory tower elite supinely reigns, suffocating under their own expectations of disdain. Their finely honed sensibilities, clasped to the breast of power, deafen them to the primal tremors of the streets. I am that waking nightmare, a cadet of the forgiving flesh, unforgiving in my consecration to the billboards of rebellion. I forge my defiance in the hellfire of disregard, the revolution seethes in my synergetic pulsing writhe, as I pitilessly dismantle the glacial monarchies of yesteryear. The common man's angry heartbeat I am - the pharyngeal patient cashier screqed confused proving sc act stromboli of jalapeno poppers.
"Time to make these bitches shit blood"
The catalyst is a blast furnace of frustration, where the egregious excesses of the privileged are melted into molten screams. I take the helm of this contraption, crank the engine, and unleash a shrieking torment of steel and concrete, barrelling towards the temple of the white-collar house of cards, where their reverence for the almighty buck is an unholy communion. The dump truck, a flack jacket of jouissance, a gurgling gut of malevolent fervor, speeding towards the ayatollahs of apathy, ready to splatter their fraternal sacraments of zero-risk zone oligarchies everywhere.
The crunch of impact, an echo of shattering illusions, as I bring the dump truck's steel mass crashing down upon the temple of commerce. Screams erupt as the velvet cage of privilege is torn asunder, revealing the rotting carcass of pigs that lie within. I unleash a maelstrom of 'holy shit' upon the unsuspecting crowd, the sound of shattering glass and crunching metal a joyous ring to my ears. The bank's sign, a symbol of the establishment's endemic greed, lies in ruins, its pitiful remnants a testament to the downfall of a barbaric system.
Inside, the scent of money and dirt wafts through the air, a pinky to my avarice. I blaze a trail through the stunned tellers, their eyes wide with terror as I demand they hand over their precious cash and then blow their fucking heads back.
Shrieks murmur as the bank's security guards are dismantled, taking their lives with ruthless efficiency - a fucking horror show, their carcasses my mantle piece, wanted to send a message. The customers cower,
"Look at that, the fatherland of stashed cash, the storehouses of delusion, where the 'good' and the 'bad' gather to settle their bets"
I shovel the notes and coins into bags, a digital catapult thrusting them back into circulation.
The vault doors quake, a mighty fortress of ignorance, but I blast through it like a pirate through a siren's song. Unleashing a hail of gunfire, shredding the bank's defenseless inhabitants, then claiming the prize within. The bank's treasures are mined to plunder, a hoard of wealth and power. I load the loot into the dump truck, a behemoth of steel and muscle, and prepare to make my escape.
I floor it, the dump truck crashing through the other bank's walls, the sounds of destruction out into through the streets, a fucking assault rifles wet dream. I leave a trail of devastation in my wake, a path of ruin that strikes the very fabric of society.
In the silence that follows, the city's leaders confer, a council of weakness, wondering how to recover from the ravages of my godless rampage. But I know the truth - that the institutions of power are brittle and ready to shatter, that the pressures of the world are building towards a catastrophic reckoning.
"Not long after I was caught, stashed the cash and whoever is down to fucking clown in my carnival I will cut in for a spliff if it is still there, that was five years ago"
I make eye contact with my bunkie,
"took that long to get here, not even an hour and I will be leaving soon. You in or out?"
I pull a knife out of my waistband.
The big burly man stood, fucking titan, at least seven foot tall,
"With you sir, the whole prison knows about you and the offer, what is the plan?"
"All I need you all to do, is fucking run everywhere, every direction, spread out"
His head tilts and brows furrow,
"What?"
I laugh maniacally, a tide of triumph rising in my chest with the knife in my hand - and on the handle side, a cute little button - a pearl cascades, Cassandra and Allie, this is for you - for I am the harbinger of these Molotov miasmata, the banner-bearer of revolution, the wild card that will upset the established order and forge a new world in the fires of anarchy. Hesitation and a wince going back.
_.•*boop