Bloodied Rust

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Don’t chase after your nightmares; they might chase after you.

I chased the wrong kind of dreams, and now they’re chasing me. 

I can’t stop them; they’re inflicting irreversible pain unto me.

They have come for me and I know it.

Their claw marks burn and their bites make me ache.

I drown the dying screams with synthetic happiness. 

It’s stitched with fake love and patched with false hope.

The nightmare breeders tear the stitches apart and swallow the patches whole.

Tears can’t cleanse the bloodied rust from the walls. 

Don’t be like me.

Chase your dreams, not your nightmares.

Or else your nightmares will chase you.

Hope must exist somewhere.

Why?

Because I’m still living.

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Break

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Straight sacred lines turn into cracks in due time.

All the  cracks will crawl straight to me.

They spread as roots from a tree spread into the soil.

Everything the cracks impose is unavoidable.

Going beyond; the cracks betray the line in the sand.

What was once sacred is nothing now.

Washed away from the massive gusts of rain and dust.

This cycle will never change.

The lines can never be filled; the breaks will never be repaired.

The worst has yet to come and I am not prepared.

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The Patterned Tomb

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Lattice of bone shape the walls.

Crushed skulls line these halls.

Grinded to dust as they may be.

Break the wrong ones and the evil will be set free.

The bones never stall, nor end.

This isn’t a simple game of pretend.

Every new death creates several new bricks.

They’re somewhat easy to break, but not like stones and sticks.

I swear that these dim halls can talk.

Their spirits are still here; they love to creep and stalk.

Stalk by day, kill by night.

When they touch you, you’ll die from fright.

Goodnight sweet blessed lost souls.

I have lost my battle to the relentless ghouls.

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Dead Silence

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I sing and sing and sing the dreaded song.

Infinitely singing sweetly the song of silence.

Rapidly spreading the sound of sweet misery and dread.

‘Tis music to the ears for some.

‘Tis sweet nothingness for mine.

I feel the sweet dread pulsing through my veins as each note leaves my lips.

Endless euphoric ecstasy ignited by the dread fills my brain with empty love. 

Death and dread are best friends.

I am the source of music to which they dance to with delight. 

I quiver at the mere thought of it.

I am the creator of silence, the creator of nothing; a delusion that doesn’t even exist.

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M1sSss,.., @nThR0p3.exe

85718bf70bd1fee6ff39805945bd8224--quotes-on-death-dark-fairytaleI don’t have a name. I don’t have a face. I don’t have an identity. I don’t have anything. I’m not anything. Don’t patronise me with your questions, I’m not a fool.

I’m often refered as ‘It’, ‘The Thing’, ‘silhouette’, ‘Shadow being’, ‘Misanthrope’. It doesn’t matter to me. They all mean the same thing.

I exist for one reason, one reason with which I’ve never truly had a single grasp of. No… I don’t believe I’ll have any grasp of it any time soon. It doesn’t really matter to me. Nothing really matters to me.

Nonetheless, here I am. I do not harm others, nor do I help them. I truly don’t desire much of anything anymore. I have no emotions, no desires, no intentions… I am just here. I just am. We just are. This just is… Nothing more, nothing less.

I do not wish to find my soul purpose, nor do I wish to find ‘who’ or ‘what’ I truly am. I’m not dead, nor am I alive. The darkness is my life. It always has been, and always will be. I have no desire for anything other than to exist amongst the shadows. The shadows are not a safe place for you to be in. So please, don’t join me or keep me company. I wish not to be disturbed by any means, and neither do the others who reside with me. 

I might be indifferent when it comes to any interaction. However, the other beings who exist in the shadows have a completely different way of ‘handling’ any kind of interaction. They are not to be toyed with. 

Also, Just as a warning… (like it really matters) I am a being of the human race (unfortunately)… don’t mistake me for the ones who lurk around in the shadows… in your home, in your bed, around you, behind you… they are not human and you cannot be saved now… toy with them, and you will end up like me. If you end up like me, then you will no longer have a heartbeat. 

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The Grove pt. ……

darkness

June 16th 2016- ….

I hear and see the same things every day. Dark gray sky. Gray lake next to a large gray window. Everything is black, white, and gray. I have become permanently colorblind. 

I’m all alone here. I hate this place. I want to go home.

I miss my husband. I miss my family. They tell me that I don’t have a family. The white coats tell me that my family died a long time ago. The white coats tell me that I never had a husband. They tell me that I never went to college, never graduated from high school, never left home. 

They do terrible things to me. They told me that I killed my family. They tell me that I’m evil. They tell me I have killed more than 10 people. They keep me seated at all times, sometimes strapped down. They give me tasteless food…. I fall asleep every time I eat. I’m given three shots a day, loads of pills everyday… I’ve lost track of how many. Sometimes they hit me or force me to sit down in a corner on the floor if I don’t do exactly what they say. Sometimes they strap me down for hours and have me watch weird videos or listen to weird things… screaming and the sound of nails on metal…

scrape. scrape. scrape. shriek…. more scraping… shreik… T-they aren’t human.

They scare me. Their eyes glow unnaturally. They are pale and have long, black stringy hair. They all look the same to me. They aren’t human. They aren’t huummmmm-…..

I’m going to die here alone. I can’t tt-akke it. I…. ne.. ed to fin… a. way… out- (the rest is intelligible scribbles)

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Maybe…

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“Maybe it’s not bad.”

Darkness is not a bad thing.

To me, it’s soothing.

“Maybe it’s something we need.”

Can you see the stars?

The darkness ignites the stars.

They outshine the sun.

“Maybe we should embrace it.”

Not maybe, we do.

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