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trash talk

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  we all died woke up on the floor
  the headache is dense and overbearing tonight like a volume set on max like the helm of terror protecting me from my omnipresent everpassionate horde of demons yet their excitement still makes me anxious and talkative
  
  kiss me on the forehead like they do with the dead don't forgive nor forget the eternal aching blessing pressing pitch black like my flag
  
  i watch myself in third person floating above in the freezing dark fog on the verge of eternity and that's the only state i call truly high the last time i visited there was a few years ago soon after i got dispossessed none of them know what i forced myself through in return and neither will you
  
  & i deny the denial and say that white spots in your four-eyed knowledge are my safe spaces in-between your see-through control or that i prefer to be judged by my actions rather than my anamnesis or maybe it's a lie & i just fear accidentally shattering his favorite edgelord image which stuck to me due to dumb luck that very image that he's been drooling over so badly for a lifetime it seems i suppose i received it for being as rude and straightforward as possible but the rest of its qualities do not seem to be included in my bundle unless i'm unaware of them well i can't say for sure at this point so don't bother
  
  the floating part starts after you mix glue with ludes and polish with as much vodka as you manage to hold within before collapsing
  
  guaranteed on that shit they extract from datura dead and pretty and pretty dead from that tranquil serene undone weightless vantage point in the blackness up above surveying the body abandoned curled up on the littered concrete of a decrepit building that street kids spent their nights and sought shelter in when it rained stuck in the slums in the most distant suburban part of the city that i knew so little about by the moment of drifting there it felt like a different country slummy shithole of a country perhaps full of trash scum corpses wandering about narrow cramped alleys sitting standing lying everywhere which served as the perfect material for my subsequent delusion
  
  you see i was a necromancer at the ghostly doorstep of Necropolis
  
  they used to call me Frankenstein due to scars and general confusion my combination of deficiencies tends to cause among masses they'd usually come over in the evening so i normally managed to die in solitude 'fore the ravenous tide of grubby urchins appeared streaming in through the doorway lacking doors for that matter and washed over me probing poking kicking screaming in attempt to get to know me better and subsided just as quickly when i arose and shone with pure primal fury
  
  they speak in tongues of blackeyes & broken bones just like me there so it took me only few bruised necks sprained wrists bone deep bitemarks to clarify that i wasn't there to be fucked with well aside from those everlasting attempts to knock on my head to check whether i lied when i said that i got a titanium evidence of a past cranioplasty beneath that scar when i was foolish enough to say it aloud in the presence of children bored and tired filthy hungry dying for a distraction so badly that the desire to check if it was truly a metal plate overcame the fear of mutilation i threatened them with and so it went absurd and tiresome day by day for some time as i worked in shifts delivering goods for some pitiful grocery around the corner
  
  i wouldn't call it stealing cos i didn't even try to hide the fact so guess it was more like bland robbery which the red-faced fatso who owned the place never minded probably due to the fact that he shortchanged me from the beginning and the difference was enough to cover for the collateral damage so i proceeded to react with slacking off whenever i didn't seize my requisitions for the war effort or so the urchins liked to call it apparently because i tend to drag the war behind wherever i appear like a broken tail like a family curse apparently because i was born of pure war conceived in sin on a flat field in the black blizzard of acid and rage where that galvanized angel that damn iron maiden that walking barbarian adept of the sun used to bend and invade my insane mother sensually consensually dusk to dawn but i digress cuz digress is my middle name i applied for that shit of a job just because it implied enough physical effort to get dead tired by the end of the shift running around the slums with an iron cart and so on and that's where all that meat on my bone both of my deities seem to fancy so much comes from for the most part
  
  short breaks between getting tired and blacking out i spent mostly out of body out of mind or desperately trying to slip out of it slip off slip away cos the meat suit became heavy and overly tight as soon as he severed my strings and i got dispossessed
  
  i would float up above in the blissful torpor barely attached to the puppet of meat and bone as abandoned littered desolate as the interior it infested at the time it would scream nonsense for hours rolling in the concrete dust debris and junk my own needles which i didn't use once and destroy against the commandment or just lay there lifeless ravaged glassy-eyed it would pour its delusions into dirty ears of the surrounding scum that hanged excitedly on every word just because it provided a change when i told them of the white silence of wilderness in the middle of winter or of starry soft meadows lying in wait outside of time or of silky black rivers clenching your lungs like a lover and of the tenderness of beasts in the woods the nightmarish jaws of reptilian mothers kept ajar carefully sheltering the whole hatch of tiny tiny lizard cubs inside or of the moonlit cities built from gigantean bones skulls for houses ribs for steps and of the manic grin of a silverskin demon gutting homeless girls by the bog
  
  soft breeze lurked through the thicket somewhere nearby and its rustle interlaced with the ceaseless whispers of the dead in my ears dead disjoined disemboweled disowned abandoned everywhere around with every drop of blood there was more and louder until i'd slip out and let go invoking evoking enchanting entrancing
  
  so i'm high as hell as i hover above still attached to the pitiful ragdoll lying there out cold on his mattress that he observes barely breathing in awe like a vivid dream that he dares not to touch maybe despising the invasion or fighting his necrophilia as if there was any difference at this rate missing a chance i would say better start while it's still soft and warmed by the rhythmic constrictions of that motor inside now i would say that for sure if i were someone else if i had no more faith to put in my deity
  
  my personal prince of my personal hell the emissary of that darkness calling with a discordant chorus of voices sweet silky palpable pulp
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