slicedup:

     your dreams are like fire    &&    ice  .

          the blood in your veins is sludge  .

               you no longer understand your own feelings    ,    but you wonder if you ever truly did  .    the pain in your head is almost tangible now    ,    like    ,    SUDDENLY    ,    you can’t even breathe through it    ,    &&    your hell is real  .    your hell is real    ,    &&    you can feel it    ,    warm like the blood that runs through your hands    &&    into every crevice of your fingerprints  .    

                    WHAT    THE    HELL    DO    YOU    CALL    THIS    ?

          you keep crumbling    ,    &&    it’s like no one can see you anymore  .    you’ve become a ghost to the world    ,    see through    ,    invisible  .    perhaps glimpses slip through    ,    or maybe you just appear a    BLANK    SLATE    to them    ,    to the normal people  .    

               the normal people  .    the    LIVING  .    you feel sick    ;    you can barely breathe  .    you are not one of them         -    perhaps you never will be again  .    you threw away all your chances to fit in in early adolescence    &&    this is your penance  .    for the bags under your eyes  .    for the pain in your wrists  .    for the skinny jeans that clung far too tight to your protruding bones  .    the bloody noses weren’t enough to pay for your sins    ,    so    BOW    DOWN    &&    TAKE    THE    PAIN    !!!  

          did you ever kill anyone    ?    do you know how to answer that    ?    does    SHE    count    ?    

                                   -    how the fuck can you say you killed her if you don’t even    KNOW    if she’s dead    ?    her death is a sin of omission    ,    if anything    ,    &&    you still refuse to believe she’s gone    (    she might not be    ,    right    ?    she might still be out there    ,    living    &&    breathing    &&         -    )

               you’re drifting    ,    in the fire    &&    ice river that flows through the cracks in your skin    ,    floating down the thames just like the day you died  .    sometimes it turns into blood    ,    &&    when you wash ashore you’re    COATED    IN    IT  .    the scar on your neck aches  .    where are you    ?    WHAT    IS    THIS    PLACE    ?

                                                  (    you’re paralysed    ,    but your eyes keep moving    ;    you can watch him as he finds the needle    &&         -    )

               you could have sworn it was light         -

                                        (    you’re on your knees    ,    &&    he’s holding you up by your hair    ;    she’s screaming    &&    you can’t even close your eyes         -    )

                         you don’t recognise this street         -

                              (    more blood is filling your mouth than you ever remember before    ;    his hands are cold    &&    you are a failure         -    )   

                                   there aren’t any people anymore         -

                    (    you feel cold    &&    terrified    ;    you can feel yourself fading until even his bright lights turn black         -    )

                                             you feel like your ribs are constricting around your lungs    ,    tighter    &&    tighter    &&    tighter    UNTIL                         -

          (     it’s the riverbank  .    your blood’s mostly washed off in the water  .    you’re cold    ,    but you can’t tell if that’s the    HYPOTHERMIA    ,   or the    BLOOD    LOSS  .    you stare at the stars for hours    ,    too weak to even sit up  .    you can’t even feel your heart beating  .    too weak  .    everything spins    &&    blurs out of control until it all paints a truly gruesome picture         -    kate  .    blood pouring from her mouth    ,    her nose  .    you call him the scientist but perhaps he just wanted a reason to kill some kids    ,    torture ‘em till they were bleeding out on his tables         -    you’re going to find her    ,    ALIVE  .    there’s no other option         -    )

                                                       you’re on your knees in the middle of the main road    ,    clutching your chest with your    CLAWS    DIGGING    INTO    YOUR    SKIN    ,    cars rushing by you with their blaring horns         -    none of them stop  .    you could be screaming in pain    &&    no one would care  .    you    LEFT    her  .    it’s been    FIVE    YEARS         -    Y O U    L E F T    H E R    ,    &&    YOU    STILL    HAVEN’T    FOUND    HER  .    it’s    YOUR    FAULT    ,     &&    YOU               -

                    why aren’t they hitting you    ?    can’t they see your death is    LONG    OVERDUE    ?

 



it hurts.

you have your beating heart in your hands.
your breath smells of alcohol.
you laugh.

god, it hurts.

DYLAN kramer LEWIS.
PANSY-ASS MOTHERFUCKER.

you can cope with that shit.

independent fandomless original character.
written by spence.
est. 30.04.16.