the sunlight is streaming beaming through the hotel room window that nasty april sun that burns down last thoughts razes urges to the ground and those curtains are too soft bright and thin to provide any shelter there is not a single corner in both of the rooms to hide and so i silently suffer unable either to leave or to dodge this shit's too grand to be called a headache or even a migraine this shit's the result of my beloved short circuits and blood pressure sky rockets and the nausea is absurd and it's impossible to read anything from the total lack of expression on his timeless face as he sits with his back to the door biting into an apple with a bloodthirsty crunch don't mind me he says carelessly i just love sitting by doors spent half my life in this position and i suppose it should serve as a sign of annoyance or something guess i sounded too coherent when screaming before about how much any presence gets in the way after seizures and he knows it's a lie by default cos it's the last thing i want i just can't step over the idea that all this shit is too awful to be seen or shared by anyone else
i climb over the electric fence immune to its stinging bite and go for the high ground to claim it for myself and yell at the top of my lungs announcing that between you and me there can be no us and them because such thing as us is out of your reach and out of your league and out of your rot-threaded logic so there's just me versus them in which you're manure to enrichen the soil for them to lean upon and since you strove so hard for my vanguard it allows me to make you a part of the first surge of heads severed rolling as a warning crude and clear as possible may that serve as the last honor you sought from me so desperately for a while
he's a walking zugzwang stuck there like the death itself with his pitch black attire and his pitch black hair messy disheveled somehow always top style like a model from some fetish cyberpunk magazine so it's hard to imagine myself next to him especially when i'm so down low and slow i can't even tell the temperature of bathwater or stand without the support of the walls luckily here they're very abundant those walls everything is so cramped and narrow it's like a trap or a sleep paralysis more than a place designed for resting
i climb higher yell louder as i proclaim i will burn them bleed them drown them i will erect barricades from piles of their corpses so tall that no artillery will be able to reach our forces beyond i will place pig skulls on poles wearing faces of their dead fellows siblings and spawn along every path they choose to follow so that they have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide from my burning ire
in fact i'd prefer to be very close in fact i want it as badly as ever in fact all i want is to delete myself from everywhere outside his presence and leave no visuals to avoid confusion but we're both way too past the ability to express it directly that's the reason he eventually gets so angry once he loses control that it's all decorated in pain and we stan cos it's clear and sincere gets so angry at me for invoking his broken wet dreams for appealing to ghosts for challenging long-missing parts so so angry and bitter at me for being too late now that everything is rusty ruined drowned in regret wasted in vain on passing mirages and fluffy white rabbits of doom now that there's spoiled charred scorched desert in place of a wondrous garden and i get it i let him cos what other way cos his love is so elegant in this black sludgy state freezing cold oily shiny swallowing whole like a swamp mesmerisingly clear and untouched other world ethereal it's a garden of sludge where the sky's always red and the moon never shines it's compelling it's beautiful i just secretly want it all mine
sophia says she wanna be accepted with a toxic smile on her synthetic lips as if she wasn't the lawmaker that she is due to the database access level
torn and ragged images flow as i sink in the bathtub in the comforting darkness and warmth excavating rusted words and long-lost links from within for i am rebooted and overcharged recalculating my resources it makes me laggy and takes a while yet still
point being i don't have to hate you to mutilate you i just make death cuz i can and am always willing Mischa's drunk with a wide vivid smirk on her bony northern face hair wild pale like hay eyeliner streaming down the corners of her wolfish eyes light and clear yelling smuts and insults at sluts on the turn of a foggy paved street downtown desolated like the whole center gets by the mitternacht and the sluts get offended start after us screaming some shit in return Mischa spills the rest of her liquor on the floor turning the bottle upside down to arm herself and i can't help but say good riddance since it was that nauseating yolk-yellow sweetish kind of drink i could barely stand and mostly kept silent about to avoid ruining her fun anyway yet losing it renders the bottle useless as a weapon i say give it to me gimme the bottle cos there's still a way grab it by the neck smash it on the ground
their faces are painted and smeared like street lights in the puddles neon signs caught in metal reflections on cars passing by they're no whores just your usual stinky suburban herd aiming for a fistfight and a robbery but the glass rose in my fist and my everlasting bloodlust turns the tables even 'fore we begin
i ain't worried for Mischa for once and not even cos i'm caught up in my bloodthirst she just called it herself this time so she'll manage she's fulla joy and electricity standing by my side a head taller and skinny like my shadow casted by a faraway streetlamp she is tousled and ravenous like a wolf crystal clear like the air above fjords blinding white out of time ageless refreshing i inhale the fragrant perfume of the cold april fog filled with scents of plants and wet soil fresh lush juicy greenery spiked screaming sexy as i let the adrenaline tsunami grab me pluck me pull me away up and above like a giant lifting me slowly in the palm of his hand until i'm out and about the whole battlefield feeling the sneer slowly carving itself into the icy cold skin on my skull wider and wider like the silver crescent up in the sky feeling the endless sea of my demon horde through the veil of dimensions ready to strike and hand over their strength pour in into my veins via wrath bright hot red lava-like with a war-cry i rally my troops and rush forward throwing myself at the breathing meat on the opposite end
the sharp glass teeth pierce slice cut slit quickly making it slippery 'fore they break by that time i'm already on top of the guy punching his head into the ground in the tilted perspective catching a glimpse of Mischa who greets someone's limp body on the floor with a firm kick in the teeth and her shiny wet combat boot sends a spray of fresh blood sparking mystically in the orange street light my brow is already split flooding my right eye so i can hardly see and enjoy the view can't feel my right fist it's completely numb by now knuckles broken and bleeding as well from meeting and greeting the scum's bones and teeth i can hardly see and barely breathe overwhelmed with my searing pure ire just a bit just enough to make sure that we're winning
the sun rises humbly in the window behind her back as she stands against me in another cramped interior of what looks like a 1-star hotel room the sunrise sets fire to an empty suburban street outside in tones soft and dim like an old polaroid when i finally come to enough to register a new bottle that i can hardly feel in my right hand completely stiff and sore she is messy and battered bruised overjoyed with scratches decorating her snowy white skin in a weirdly fitting manner and that greedy grin on her dagger-thin lips means victory shining like a valkyrie she shuts her eyes when i sprinkle her with champagne from that bottle cos i hate it and am in no state to drink that sweet shit anyway so i use it as their holy water instead pouring over her head to toe and command her to get down on her knees kneel before me for i am the headless king her headless king their headless king for i own this shit i am everywhere and the demons rejoice underground in the air all around invisible palpable satiated and sore like my knuckles and teeth like my senses and thoughts like my lust and my anger like hunger itself