This disease is catching.
Slide the socks into the black boots, that's the life now. - That's at least what he'd always say to me; I heard it from the very back of my mind every morning as I shook of the dust of sleep and buttoned up my shirt.
What better was there to do? I wouldn't have a clue, he was a figment, just there, some corporeal gheist sitting in an armchair, swigging some miscellaneous red liquid. It rippled as he swirled it.
Whatever, slid into my jeans and donned the beaten collies for the thousandth time that year, just another day, just more mundane shit to stimulate my beaten senses, for the thousandth time that year.
He sat back, he always does, as I set about my usual duties. Brush the teeth, take a shit, take a shower, it's all the same; those usual motions to satiate the machine, at least it dulled out the bastard's whining.
What today, I thought as I moseyed down the street to get an iced coffee. Those assholes, three fifty? Man, it was two eighty in highschool; I always hated progress.
Taking a swig, I felt a need for something more, but I could never put my finger on it; he'd know, he always knew, the slutgarden of my mind told him everything.
Another walk, one foot infront of the other, where to today? It was the millionth time I'd ask that since I got up; but whatever, something always comes along, even if I hadn't learned it yet.
I set out in hopes of stimulation, whipping down the desolate 7am roads of a coldass saturday, going somewhere, a usual spot, somewhere comfortable, somewhere to rest my weary fucking head, you'd have no idea how full of sawdust it gets.
The destination happens, wet panties, bit of stimulation, the usual, untensed, I lay on my back looking at the ceiling at those fucking lights, they always blinded me, searing my retinas...
He's back again, beating me to a pulp; no idea why, he just did it, like some ADD kid after her period.
Hey man, same shit again; I asked? Why was I in an institution again? Whatever. He grinned that shitfaced grin of varicose sardonia; I'd have sooner punched it if not to know that I was far more shallow.
Shut your mouth, boy. I seemed to have forgotten how to do linnear functions, something about her thighs, opening and closing... Fucking invigorating.
Outside again, the sky was something else that day, after a forgotten weekend of consumption, I tried to return... He probably decided to walk me around with that silver tongue again.
I'll ascend, one day, to that fucking armchair, this subordination lays me so low. Just another faggot trying to hit the big time, same old story.
Mundane youth, could I have asked for anything more? I'll pass some more time watching this shit unfold as I choke down some of those lovely spices, thinking of that truckstop in the sky, he won't care, those thoughts amused him.
Even if he was a cunt, he was mine, as I was his, we shared a bond that nobody could ever break. We'd sit alone, sometimes, talking about the times we had and the times he wanted to have. That bastard was a dreamer. Not me though, I was quite content, thankyou.
I lay back once more, devoid of wet panties and that sickly sweet smell, only this time to listen to the sweet sound of hate, blasting forth through the speakers, such a common sight.
Nothing deep, nothing meaningful, it's all the same, it always was, I enjoyed the mundane so much. It was warm, accepting, I felt a part of something greater, and that killed the loneliness.
He told me "My friend, one day this world will end"; I didn't believe him, how could I? Especially when he was that contemptuous, just another threat falling on deaf ears.
I pressed the buttons and my little robot told me what was going on around me - With enough whistling to make me get rid of him after five minutes. That was long enough for him to get his tendrils in, I popped a panadol and went on my merry fucking way.
Her thighs again, I lean over and run my mouth at the Asian about them, he sneers and tells me about his experiences... Just another pointless story, violating the silence, we'll leave that in the back of my mind, to create more furniture to make a man more comfortable.
The little things, they're always the best, I lay on my back and tune out the kidlings running around me; a ball flies overhead and I cringe, just that niggling paranoia that the world would deck me and it'd be three weeks of more pain; I'd give that furniture away if I could; nobody's taking.
I lifted the piece of metal again, must've been for the thousandth time that week, just another motion, just another function; two hundred more times and I'd feel more accomplished than with any institutionalized achievement I would be to make.
As I rested my bones, he came back, whispering little sweet nothings of grandeur to me, once again, deaf ears.
Progress was made, however, as I changed locations and found myself in my own company once more. He seemed to have left himself behind; this was my home now.
Cooked some food, washed my clothes, same shit, shower and brushing of teeth as before, nothing new, nothing different, just keep your head the fuck down and accomplish your menial tasks.
...Her thighs were back, they fucking haunted me more that night than his voice ever would. I gained desire, and it fucking snowballed; I wanted to revolve my life around being between them, sucking out her very juices. She'd need me, and that would make me feel okay.
I wondered if that night would ever end, my hands cracking in some code, some motion, filtering my mind dry.
He opened the door and it all went to shit; we fought again, it was about time, I felt alive when we did; though after out row, I was spread far too thin to even care.
Get on the floor, slut. I sharpened my voice like a well keened edge, let it forth as a whipcrack, a tear slid from her eye and I was in love with the world. Fuck the mundane.
As the chemicals entered my body, I twitched, shook and rattled, I was cold, so fucking cold; but it was a different kind of cold, warm from my stomach, radiating out. It was enough to get me by.
My voice sharpened still, I barked a command to one of them, it was still too weak, it was always that helpless run that made him come back and beat me. It was the worst kind of training.
Sitting upon his fucking throne, swilling that damned glass, his room grew still, filling itself with more trinkets of amaze, I shied away, what else could I do rather than writhe in the light of his jealousy.
The music softened, it changed rapidly, blaring in staccato to whining in squeal, to humming in some foreign tune, the pictures faded and I was there again, less lonely.
I gathered my furniture, what else could I do? I tried to make a break, but the words slid out too wrong, I focussed too hard to make them pretty rather than to making them make sense, some new, foreign language that only he and I could understand.
I took myself back, standing there around kidlings, venting the vitriol to the boy in a chemical daze, he just laughed, spat more at me and the cycle resumed. It was okay, I guess.
I woke up again, took my pills, hopefully they'd let me brush my teeth, shit and shower like they always did, they didn't, they made me unhinge from my lifestyle, more worry, would it hurt?
It fucking did, like the fires of a million hells, so I stopped taking them, that was the only wise thing to do.
The screen clicked, whirred, and then shone like those lights so long ago, it was accessable, it was voyeuristic, and I loved it; if I couldn't sit in his throne, I'd just watch people come and go as they pleased; at least they took interest, and I, interest in them.
A short scene filtered through my vision, a mountain of corpses paving my way to the throne; Delusions of grandeur surely, but enough to keep me warm through the cold staccato of artificial light permeating through my oculars.
I got off my back then; flittered around between more chunks of metal frantically looking for what I had lost. It was unseen, unseeable, Hell, I didn't know if it ever did exist, but the hole was there, and it hurt like God knows motherfuck.
Another day came and went, the same bullshit; progress was slow, but I could feel it growing; he was closer now, at least, and hardly as angry. A pat on the back was all I needed to realise that this was supposed to be.
More humans, more meatbags, more coffin fodder living under my gaze, first contact was soon to be; it was crucial, completely fucking imperative that it wouldn't go to shit.
The day after was glorious, the smell of puke, smoke and sex filled the air, I was triumphant in entirety; she returned with that starry eyed look of wonder, attaching herself to my metal-enhanced shoulder and breathing in my chest.
It went on, continued, she came and went, she was the case study and I loved it. Everything that came out of her pretty little head filled my every desire; moving forward, there was no entrophy, it was the continually getting stronger, he was pleased, far too pleased.
Upon sitting down again, I shot a few Nazis and reflected the week; a stunning success, for sure; but with it the burning desire to mount another attack.
She found herself without a suitor from then on; my aloofness pressed me on through varying stages of unbuckled, buckled and chokehold; I do wonder where she is now every few days, until I'm saddled with the new ones.
Like soldiers, they committed their time, their minds and their wills, deferring to a growing egomaniacle megalomaniac, growing with the seething sickness boiling beneath his brow.
He and I decided to part ways that day; it was the most violent coup that comfortable room would be to see. Blood everywhere, staining the walls, the fucking furniture, even that flowing throwrug the inmate gave him; what a horrible waste.
It didn't matter much as I slid my socks into my boots, shook off the dust and buttoned up my shirt; why would it? I fucking love the new way.
So as my fingertips sprawl over this opaque white man-made stone, jabbing in simple codes to create functions, I take another draw, forget my iced coffee and blow out what was.
I am what is.
What better was there to do? I wouldn't have a clue, he was a figment, just there, some corporeal gheist sitting in an armchair, swigging some miscellaneous red liquid. It rippled as he swirled it.
Whatever, slid into my jeans and donned the beaten collies for the thousandth time that year, just another day, just more mundane shit to stimulate my beaten senses, for the thousandth time that year.
He sat back, he always does, as I set about my usual duties. Brush the teeth, take a shit, take a shower, it's all the same; those usual motions to satiate the machine, at least it dulled out the bastard's whining.
What today, I thought as I moseyed down the street to get an iced coffee. Those assholes, three fifty? Man, it was two eighty in highschool; I always hated progress.
Taking a swig, I felt a need for something more, but I could never put my finger on it; he'd know, he always knew, the slutgarden of my mind told him everything.
Another walk, one foot infront of the other, where to today? It was the millionth time I'd ask that since I got up; but whatever, something always comes along, even if I hadn't learned it yet.
I set out in hopes of stimulation, whipping down the desolate 7am roads of a coldass saturday, going somewhere, a usual spot, somewhere comfortable, somewhere to rest my weary fucking head, you'd have no idea how full of sawdust it gets.
The destination happens, wet panties, bit of stimulation, the usual, untensed, I lay on my back looking at the ceiling at those fucking lights, they always blinded me, searing my retinas...
He's back again, beating me to a pulp; no idea why, he just did it, like some ADD kid after her period.
Hey man, same shit again; I asked? Why was I in an institution again? Whatever. He grinned that shitfaced grin of varicose sardonia; I'd have sooner punched it if not to know that I was far more shallow.
Shut your mouth, boy. I seemed to have forgotten how to do linnear functions, something about her thighs, opening and closing... Fucking invigorating.
Outside again, the sky was something else that day, after a forgotten weekend of consumption, I tried to return... He probably decided to walk me around with that silver tongue again.
I'll ascend, one day, to that fucking armchair, this subordination lays me so low. Just another faggot trying to hit the big time, same old story.
Mundane youth, could I have asked for anything more? I'll pass some more time watching this shit unfold as I choke down some of those lovely spices, thinking of that truckstop in the sky, he won't care, those thoughts amused him.
Even if he was a cunt, he was mine, as I was his, we shared a bond that nobody could ever break. We'd sit alone, sometimes, talking about the times we had and the times he wanted to have. That bastard was a dreamer. Not me though, I was quite content, thankyou.
I lay back once more, devoid of wet panties and that sickly sweet smell, only this time to listen to the sweet sound of hate, blasting forth through the speakers, such a common sight.
Nothing deep, nothing meaningful, it's all the same, it always was, I enjoyed the mundane so much. It was warm, accepting, I felt a part of something greater, and that killed the loneliness.
He told me "My friend, one day this world will end"; I didn't believe him, how could I? Especially when he was that contemptuous, just another threat falling on deaf ears.
I pressed the buttons and my little robot told me what was going on around me - With enough whistling to make me get rid of him after five minutes. That was long enough for him to get his tendrils in, I popped a panadol and went on my merry fucking way.
Her thighs again, I lean over and run my mouth at the Asian about them, he sneers and tells me about his experiences... Just another pointless story, violating the silence, we'll leave that in the back of my mind, to create more furniture to make a man more comfortable.
The little things, they're always the best, I lay on my back and tune out the kidlings running around me; a ball flies overhead and I cringe, just that niggling paranoia that the world would deck me and it'd be three weeks of more pain; I'd give that furniture away if I could; nobody's taking.
I lifted the piece of metal again, must've been for the thousandth time that week, just another motion, just another function; two hundred more times and I'd feel more accomplished than with any institutionalized achievement I would be to make.
As I rested my bones, he came back, whispering little sweet nothings of grandeur to me, once again, deaf ears.
Progress was made, however, as I changed locations and found myself in my own company once more. He seemed to have left himself behind; this was my home now.
Cooked some food, washed my clothes, same shit, shower and brushing of teeth as before, nothing new, nothing different, just keep your head the fuck down and accomplish your menial tasks.
...Her thighs were back, they fucking haunted me more that night than his voice ever would. I gained desire, and it fucking snowballed; I wanted to revolve my life around being between them, sucking out her very juices. She'd need me, and that would make me feel okay.
I wondered if that night would ever end, my hands cracking in some code, some motion, filtering my mind dry.
He opened the door and it all went to shit; we fought again, it was about time, I felt alive when we did; though after out row, I was spread far too thin to even care.
Get on the floor, slut. I sharpened my voice like a well keened edge, let it forth as a whipcrack, a tear slid from her eye and I was in love with the world. Fuck the mundane.
As the chemicals entered my body, I twitched, shook and rattled, I was cold, so fucking cold; but it was a different kind of cold, warm from my stomach, radiating out. It was enough to get me by.
My voice sharpened still, I barked a command to one of them, it was still too weak, it was always that helpless run that made him come back and beat me. It was the worst kind of training.
Sitting upon his fucking throne, swilling that damned glass, his room grew still, filling itself with more trinkets of amaze, I shied away, what else could I do rather than writhe in the light of his jealousy.
The music softened, it changed rapidly, blaring in staccato to whining in squeal, to humming in some foreign tune, the pictures faded and I was there again, less lonely.
I gathered my furniture, what else could I do? I tried to make a break, but the words slid out too wrong, I focussed too hard to make them pretty rather than to making them make sense, some new, foreign language that only he and I could understand.
I took myself back, standing there around kidlings, venting the vitriol to the boy in a chemical daze, he just laughed, spat more at me and the cycle resumed. It was okay, I guess.
I woke up again, took my pills, hopefully they'd let me brush my teeth, shit and shower like they always did, they didn't, they made me unhinge from my lifestyle, more worry, would it hurt?
It fucking did, like the fires of a million hells, so I stopped taking them, that was the only wise thing to do.
The screen clicked, whirred, and then shone like those lights so long ago, it was accessable, it was voyeuristic, and I loved it; if I couldn't sit in his throne, I'd just watch people come and go as they pleased; at least they took interest, and I, interest in them.
A short scene filtered through my vision, a mountain of corpses paving my way to the throne; Delusions of grandeur surely, but enough to keep me warm through the cold staccato of artificial light permeating through my oculars.
I got off my back then; flittered around between more chunks of metal frantically looking for what I had lost. It was unseen, unseeable, Hell, I didn't know if it ever did exist, but the hole was there, and it hurt like God knows motherfuck.
Another day came and went, the same bullshit; progress was slow, but I could feel it growing; he was closer now, at least, and hardly as angry. A pat on the back was all I needed to realise that this was supposed to be.
More humans, more meatbags, more coffin fodder living under my gaze, first contact was soon to be; it was crucial, completely fucking imperative that it wouldn't go to shit.
The day after was glorious, the smell of puke, smoke and sex filled the air, I was triumphant in entirety; she returned with that starry eyed look of wonder, attaching herself to my metal-enhanced shoulder and breathing in my chest.
It went on, continued, she came and went, she was the case study and I loved it. Everything that came out of her pretty little head filled my every desire; moving forward, there was no entrophy, it was the continually getting stronger, he was pleased, far too pleased.
Upon sitting down again, I shot a few Nazis and reflected the week; a stunning success, for sure; but with it the burning desire to mount another attack.
She found herself without a suitor from then on; my aloofness pressed me on through varying stages of unbuckled, buckled and chokehold; I do wonder where she is now every few days, until I'm saddled with the new ones.
Like soldiers, they committed their time, their minds and their wills, deferring to a growing egomaniacle megalomaniac, growing with the seething sickness boiling beneath his brow.
He and I decided to part ways that day; it was the most violent coup that comfortable room would be to see. Blood everywhere, staining the walls, the fucking furniture, even that flowing throwrug the inmate gave him; what a horrible waste.
It didn't matter much as I slid my socks into my boots, shook off the dust and buttoned up my shirt; why would it? I fucking love the new way.
So as my fingertips sprawl over this opaque white man-made stone, jabbing in simple codes to create functions, I take another draw, forget my iced coffee and blow out what was.
I am what is.