What Readers Feel

*All scientific data has been provided by NASA and their false research departments in real data.

This really happened.

This really happened.

Cyanide Circus

Cyanide Circus

I am seemingly not special. A headache a day, a rotten gut, and an inferior brain of many misunderstood ideas. I sit and be quiet. I drown myself for sleep, but I am awake in buoyant thoughts. My own mind is misunderstanding all the thoughts and memories I have, distorting the variations of real time lost for good. I will never not be who I am. I will surrender the fight to disobey the process like ANY start to an easy argument. This illusive character made of vodka, jazz, pages of books I won’t read again, and dying tobacco stained lungs is all bullshit. A normal delicious error of projection. A conceded actor around other actors, there is no room to be seemingly not special any more. I can be dead on the inside and claimed a martyr. I can be alive and well and be spotted as a privilege. I can be right or wrong, to misspell, to be attractive or ugly, I will be hung by the neck of other blood bag actors.

These words make sentences to make sense, but words in true honest power are easily pungent in a scent unwell. What is the point to be quiet or loud? A happy medium for most? I distance myself from emotional suicide. I embrace a physical lazy suicide. I will carry out my sentence of misunderstanding. I will die an imperfect not special headache ridden blood bag of an actor, but only after a last swallow to drown out the noise of you, and you. And you.

They ask me in German, Woher? -where? I sit and am quiet, motionless other than my eyes reaching to the furthest corners of my skull scanning the room. There are several men and I am motionless. By this time my shirt is wet with my own blood. I remain still. WOHER! -WHERE! I shake my head while blood from my nose slides through the air. I feel pressure on my left shoulder, a hands grip. It has been eight hours and I feel nothing but bloated aches.

My eyes are swollen, and a blurry figure lifts my feet and places them in a tub full of warm water. I feel the water begin to rise in heat. It keeps rising and I adjust my feet and in this moment an iron bar is thrusted against my knee caps bursting them, my feet remain at the bottom, motionless as it’s near boiling. I sit motionless feeling my chest rise and fall in short bursts that match my heart rate. I can’t stand any moment longer and crunch down on my teeth, the one cracks and I feel the slippery gelatin capsule stuck between my back molar on the outside of my gums. I try to use my tongue to dislodge it, but a blow to my head clinches my jaw shut. I feel an evil pain while my mouth waters with blood and a slab of my tongue now floating in my mouth. I spit in out while thick bloody saliva reaches the water, a red, hot, soup of my boiling skin.

I can’t reach the pill to end this all, I feel the steam of the water and desperately try to fish out the pill while agonizing hurt is making me sweat, but I remain still enough. I wait and feel a sharp pain in my side, my eyes water and I am screaming without sound. I notice a burning taste in my mouth, I wait. I am dizzy waiting and can feel the skin loosen off my feet, floating above the surface of the boiling water. I feel an agonizing shock of adrenaline take over my body enhancing the pain. I am nearing eternity while I feel more holes of pain. I hear laughter. Sie hält immer noch fest! -She’s still holding on!

 

Campbell Brown Pee's His Pants

Campbell Brown Pee's His Pants

The Rage of Red Royal

The Rage of Red Royal