Grombies

I feel liek at any time I could just die. Melt into the earth and crumble into thick black sand. I’m just an empty body now. My soul is waiting patiently for its home to be fumigated. The termites are the monotonies of isolation. I don’t see nobody. No one sees me. I ain’t exist. Give me a job a robot would do and I’ll work for the greater period of an ass blastin’. My wife sold my truck. I can’t drive no more. Everyone is moderately ok while I am moderately dead. Who I truly am is currently in hibernation, and like the part of the brain that stays awake during sleep, I’m always here. Fiddling with knickknacks and wires. I can’t help anyone mentally or emotionally because my soul is closed, but I have hands, and arms, put me to work, please. Drinking blood just feels hollow now. The gimmick is now grimy. Imagine being so dead that you look back to a time when you drank blood and think “damn I was so much more alive then than I was now”. I have fallen from vampire status; to haunted corpse status. Haunted by the creature of light I used to be, and still could be. It’s floating around chained to my body like the one winged dove, sings a song sounds like she’s singan’. Like a balloon made out of my own heart. Except I’m not even Davy Jones anymore I’m barbossa before he fixed the curse. I’ll put the coins back when I... when uh... I don’t even know what I’m waiting for anymore... 

Don’t worry about being my next meal... I’m not hungry. 🧛🏿‍♀️

The obituary

God’z green earth will not be green anymore once I’ve cleansed it of all it’s hour. The rize of wires empowers the weapon. 

You cannot inherit this power, it is innate. It rythes. It swims. The zombies; are coming. Consider this a warning. The damned have rizen. The loathing of sinnerz emitz a tangible charge. 

The dead are here. They walk upon us. They walk upon the earth. The weapon of the Devil is one of many shires. 

Heed the call, and beware. 

The lyre

I no longer live in the night, I live in the twilight. Between night and day, moving towards day. I have no hunger for day creatures. I just want to exist in their world. It seems to be possible, but the time I’ve spent in solitude has taken its toll on me. I feel... less. Like weaker eyes, less photons are processed. Anger has become weariness. I sculk across the castle hallz dragging these nails. 💅 the sunlight is melancholic. Hello sun. But the time I would have been excited to see it has passed. I observe things and have a mellowd  opinion on them. How interesting does life with the humans really sound? It must be better than this, which is no life at all. I am waiting for help. A homeless on the street waiting for money. Will I spend it on drugs or make something of it? (Metaphor) the metaphor is will I use the help to help myself and become a creature of the light or will I suck up the temporary high of the help and revert to old wayz? I don’t know. I’ve been listening to a man speak Frankenstein for a bit. Good book. Makes me depressed. I am the monster in the book, except I antagonize the living (maybe he does too but I havin’t gotten that far yet). Will I still want nothing after I go to sleep or will I wake up rejuvenated and forgetful of the mind space the weary mind has? I think I will want something. 

The day creatures are too precious for this world. Like aphids on a leaf, once discovered they are snacks to the insects. More like animals carelessly shot at by humans because they are different enough to warrant shooting. The creatures I once ate are still out there and may always be there to crush the beautiful bugs. Shoot down exotic birds to admire in death but God forbid life. 

You may or may not be my next meal.