Words from the Craziest Horror Fiction Night Lady.

I am a treasure of nowhere and nothing;

My parents don’t understand me.

I am stuck turning over the same brain as before, the brain that feels less unique than it should be,  the abhorrent creature.

I am a font of misery that will never go dry.

I can’t flip an omelette.

I have more in common with suicides than success stories.

I can’t be allowed to keep existing.

No old memories, please. The moments I bear today cannot abide company.

No true memories, please Light falsehoods are crushed flat by their gravity.

I am stricken by my brain which has ignored these wishes, So cruelly affixed lumps of spun sugar cobwebs congealed into a mass I feel with my fingers when I type a message to myself. Wishes I fit into these crevices- Wishes for something more caustic (such as a rebirth).

There is no way to undo this kind of creation without destroying the host.

Kill my cancer in the Petri dish, no matter. I feed a single cell a rich broth of fun facts and memories

I will raise any colony from the dead. Make more sugar.

And at some point—

What if i was the one Who never differentiated,

And the cancer–in its veracity– is the one who should keep on living?

Illness is the liquid my  heart is fixated in.  A poor conductor of heat,  a good vacuum for  affection and adoration and reassurances. 

If kisses cure illnesses then what fascination lives in human mouths?  Listen for the smooth steel among the wetness,  hollow winds howling against teeth scraped with listerine and other mint-flavored things. 

I have cut my tongue trying to  heal myself; taste my person  as I bleed onto yours. 

plucked out of the crowd I am  fighting you to lose. 

You are a brave,  handsome boy,  but you are  not too noble To drive ice and ire into my heart,  break my ironclad grip

Cold,  beautiful; you monster. You have nothing for me no matter how hard I 

try to take up your time. I’ll fight and I’ll fight and I’ll crack you wide open extract small pockets of sweet loving

And here it will  taste like heaven  You’re in my dreams tonight

I’ll know who you are in my body: You’re the one who makes me  shine in the high of your sunlight,  the one who always leaves me  wanting more. 

Your eyes are full of my poison My eyes are full of it too- it’s filling me.  Music in my veins I know you hear it too: I’m here for you.

Wrongness has never felt better. The wronger it is the better it feels I’ve got a set of equations Telling me how many kisses I need to feel okay. Okayness feels like a song that keeps my heart beating on time. My heart is sick.

Is poison slick and slimy hate,  or blood-boiling rage,  swelling my tongue and punctuating my mouth with blisters? Is it within deeply a loop of the gruesome heart-cycle? (bursts up though my throat,  bloody-- into my hands,  stuffed hard back in my chest) Does it rest here, or here, or there, where it takes physical form, annoyingly so,  pulls apart my cells and spirit layer by lipid layer,  layer by lovelorn layer,  layer by lover’s layer-- does it peel me flesh from fingerbone,  does it revel in my desirous demolition? 

Is poison lusty in your mouth, my husband? Does it  rest heavy-- thick and heavy-- on your fingertips? Is it beautiful  like my eyes,  or wholesome like my mouth, or is it wanting? Will my poison kiss you deeply, strangle you in kisses, wait for your sunrise to burn you with golden lips? 

Will your poison complement my beauty? Will it lyse me, dice me, realize me?  Affixed in the processes-- formaldehyde, my elixir.  Will I be in hell  forever?

And moreover, what is a poison,  that cruelly has killed me-- burned my corpse in your sweet reality and Lucifer’s undying sunlight?

A sizeable arsenal accumulated

A sizeable arsenal - Thank god for your harvest, slather the ground in preparation empty your armory  

Caught inside the serpent’s mouth  the mousetrap’s jaw the black hole’s teeth,

within is closer than without and more grating with its bellows and allowances on the soul. I am here forever,  or so it seems or so i hope it merely seems,  and I must love myself because I care less about  the stagnation the decay the loss and the loss again,  than the suffering.