Metatr0nTumultum

Dysphoric Ghost You went unseen by me For so long I was pregnant with you Discordance exposed A feeling displaced in me The old truth was wrong I feared I was a victim of you Irredeemable amounts of time Unaware of the beneath A list of things skin deep That observers get to see Forced on you irrevocably Three cheers for normalcy! (CHEERCHEERCHEER) Now live life with the mimicry I lived so thoroughly through the eyes of others I believed it Now that I've noticed the waiting room It's time that I leave it I mourn the timeline where I've always known you Another me that could've been that never got to exist that's just as real as anything I've ever missed But I embrace the opportunity to live a life where you're allowed to breathe

Diary Entry #01 Scrap from a diary of unknown origin. Found in the remains of an apartment in ********* 01/21/2020 Dear Diary, I didn't expect to start my year off like this. New apartment, on the opposite side of the city. I mean, it's a shithole, don't get me wrong, but it's my shithole, and that's nice. Kinda. The landlady seems nice and all, even though she did ask me a wierd amount of questions about my religious beliefs. That was strange. I just played along, since finding a place to stay on such short notice is no easy feat, especially with my background and budget. The apartment complex is awfully grimey and dark, but beggars can't be choosers. I still crash on my brother's couch for now. Gotta get the apartment into a liveable state first, but he asks me about it every day. I must be getting on his nerves. I get it. The night terrors, the mood swings. He grins and bears it, but I know that his patience is wearing thin. Damn. Dr Clark was right, this whole diary thing is

Scrap from a diary of unknown origin. Found in the remains of an apartment in ********* ??/??/???? I have been descending for so long. I slept at least once. No twice. I don't fucking know. The walls are slick and wet with something I can't identify. I'm not so sure about my smash'em all approach anymore. The noises are getting ever louder. The air is buzzing, as in I can feel it on my skin. It feels like I'm inside an unending swarm of insects. Bodies keep falling ever so often. They must be my "neighbors". I have found one of the empty husks hanging over the railing like a wet blanket left out to dry in the sun. It looked funny. I laughed. I couldn't hear it over the buzz buzz buzz everywhere, but the corners of my mouth started hurting after a while. I must have been laughing. I'm so tired. I'm scared Mr Diary. Am I going to die? You would tell me if you knew, wouldn't you? I am gonna kill'em all. All those fuckers. Fuck'em all to hell. I have encountered the first few of

*Excerpt of local news paper, 09.06.1999* This Dog has no interest in going to "the Farm" "[Redacted], TX family, [Redacted], might be the owners of the world's oldest Dog. Buster, the sturdiest Golden Retriever you'll ever see, is possibly a startling [Redacted] years old! The proud owner claims that they had their good boy ever since they found him by the side of the road back in 1979. Experts of the Guiness Book of World Records have yet to officially accept the seemingly absurd number, as the all attempts to pin point Buster's real age have failed." *Excerpt of interview with [Redacted] held at subject's home in [Redacted], TX 05.11.2017* Interviewer: Can Buster hear us right now? Subject: No. At least I don't think so. Interviewer: Where is Buster? Subject: Outside. I put him outside. He sometimes stares at the lake for hours, so I hoped he'd distract himself while we spoke. Interviewer: How about we- *Subject interrupts* Subject: I'm sorry... I

The thing is... I'M A VIOLENT MAN AND I KNOW THAT NOW I'LL TOSS THE OXEN AND DRAG THE PLOW ADRENALINE TAKE THE WHEEL YOU BLED ON ME YOU PUT YOUR TEETH ON MY PEOPLE I MERGED YOUR SPINE WITH THE GROUND YOU ASKED FOR BLOOD DEMAND IT ALL FLOWS OUT AND I FED YOU YOURS LIKE THE POISON THAT IT IS ...but what's the aftermath like? See, you can intellectualize Situations all day long What if someone just plays a different song? Violence is not the answer Violence is a situation And it is your burden To dissolve this question Just feel bad about it later The rain doesn't ask for permission either... It just falls

"Do not ascribe to malice, that which is adequately explained by incompetence." -Robert Heimling The doors to the ER flew open with a bang as Micheal was wheeled in with swift urgency. The Opium had ceased his screaming but his burned arms were still a throbbing mess. Hot and cold, numb and agonizing at the same time. Patches of skin hanging off of him like he had been flayed, his extensive wounds were weeping blood and water. The way the hospital staff buzzed all around him was a hectic blur. As his heavy head slouched to one side, behind the window of a door by the big elevator, he could see what looked like a Doctor talking to two men in black suits. The Doctor, a younger man with short hair, was so obviously sweating bullets, that even a drugged up and traumatized burn victim that had just almost died, could see that something was wrong. The Doctor made many hand gestures that were utterly failing to appease the other two men. One of them pinned the man in white against the wall.

Oh Nothing is worse than a Liberal They come at you with that high n' mighty attitude, coming down on you from an altitude with an aptitude for law suites and being obtuse. Make money, take money; Honey, what's the difference? Gentrify every Hood till it's all soy latte and bukakke and Walmart parking lots. Oh boy we give a fuck! Come and see it at the gala, where we serve deep fried chicken masala. They all own stocks and I don't mean the sexy kind. Because money makes more money than any hands could in a day's time. Business is booming, trade brings peace and sometimes that trade is war in the middle east. Or gentrifying a neighborhood till it's all Starbucks and anglo-saxons. "This place used to have culture!" Want me to tell you what happened? See, the culture goes away when the people who make it can't even cut it as a slave. Oh boy, why do I feel like I'm about to eat cake? Oh Nothing is worse than a Republican They come at you with that high n' mighty attitude, telling you

Meditate Candle Room Dark My Expression I can't see What it is I don't know I can only make Educated guesses I know my face White I know my eyes Blue I know my hair Dark Blonde I know my eyebrows Furled I know that Because it is The other Place of Tension Besides my Grinding Teeth Mislead By him(his)self By Others By Normalcy Assumed Standard Presumptuous Vicarious Philosophy Indoctrinated By the Baseline By the Foundation It has no face Only faces that aren't it I realized Intersection Through Listening And Contemplation I Am Sorry That Me Being Sorry Is Worthless Because The Person I'd Apologize To Has No True Face Only Faces that aren't mine And Countless Of Them Are Already Dead Now All I Have Is White Leftist Existential Dread I Would Want To Move But Every Move I'd Make Every Step I'd Take Would Be Better served by Someone else I saw Dozens of me Falling Down Joker Fight Club Taxi Driver Raging Bull King of Comedy It is always the

My writing will move no other way These last few dozens of days Black Ink on a Black Page or nothing in a blank space I can't think of much more or of much less There is not much I can do either There is only one special trick that I know I can make all the warmth in a room disappear I limply stumble towards Closed doors baring the scratch marks of a thousand earlier attempts To open the prison gates There are places in this world of boundless weight that condense human beings to formless shapes where the pressure envelopes every moment so every part of you feels like stone. We cry in each other's arms but that'll never take us home. The end of the labyrinth is at the bottom of the well and the wardens are the keepers of those who's story no one tells. These aren't hallways and rooms, these are trenches and graves. The world walks quietly into the night and I am wide awake at a wheel I can not move. Icebergs line the path through the darkened waters. A mockery of the true

The chariots enter the battlefield In perfect symmetry They are made of fire and steel They were send by uncommon men Who don't understand That what they breed Is not the seed that births the storm But the Dragon that razes all things to the ground Torrents of rain crash into the swamp Fire on all sides movement suppressed Triggers twitch between steel and bone and muscle Your trembling hand let's go The coin sinks into the well And as it reaches for the ground You're lost in prayer The Gods behind the guns can hear your cry They laugh at the thought of you Petitioning the empty sky The unwavering boots Trample your flesh into the ground You'll have died for nothing You'll feed the nothing death begets But at least the gunmen were impeccably dressed Find your endless rest In the torn up ground Amongst those who have seen The one and only conclusion The end of war You might ask the trigger holder "Why Oh why, family man?" Try to dig your finger into his soul "Why must we