I'm not a bad person

For being an atheist

I just want to live free

Free without ridicule

Free without a door knock

To live by my own means

I'm tired of being force fed

With ultimatums

Blackmail

Follow me or else........

Threatening me with hell

Hell at times can be in the present

On earth

I've been there

Don't judge me

I don't enjoy a blind faith

You can't lead me to a false hope

Please stop!

I know what is right and wrong

I know how to respect people and be curtious

My beliefs are this.....

It's 4:02pm

K.j.a. (c) 2017

Her intestinal mind was a tapeworm starving for clarity through undigested knowledge. Her demons barked in parables to the transverse shadows draping her room with metaphors. And she poured another shot: stepping to the edge of sanity with her toes curled and eyes closed, oblivion responded with the voice of God. 

Her canvas was always splattered in gold, but it was the red smears and yellow flowers that revealed freedom housed in the negative space. Unlocking life's vault with a skeleton key, she sighed with acceptance and she drew the curtains closed. 

And with the darkness caressing the room like a serpent's tongue, her mind finally grew quiet.

there’s this prickling, uncanny feeling {the way i fell asleep last night, with my arms tossed at odd angles over the denim couch and a cat fleshed out over my side} 

                                     where the world is awful and the sheets settle in arterial clumps around you 

                  and your pretty odd bones all 

perfection hidden by meat

            the prettiest things. 

i will never imagine anything better than those {here and affectionate and electric, scattered hum of our valved voices in the largest walled space anyone can occupy 

the sky is decayed, golden 

Two groups of twenty

In ten duplet pairs

Separated in doubles

With five partners of four

Twice multiplied once

Then they divided in half 

Mirror images blinking 

In a double-time start

At the beginning of the end

And the finishing commencement 

The females face males

And the men back the ladies

They are one gene morphed

In fragments exploding

In their two groups of twenty 

And two duplet pairs

They reside on the left as 

They spread evenly to the right 

Jolly old St. Nicholas

Has come to town

To tickle us

With toys galore

That he'll thrust

Into our chimneys

Slow and such

His bells are full

Of Christmas cheer

And he will be grinning

From ear to ear

As he rests his gift

Between our rears

For a bumpy sleigh ride

Santa's magic will flow

Through each of us

Like sticky white snow

As he grabs up his sack

And screams out Ho Ho Ho

Then it's on to the next house

For another reindeer show

Joy to the world! Cthulhu has come;

Let earth be drowned in gloom;

Let every soul serve his great rule,

And suffer in everlasting doom

And suffer in everlasting doom 

And suffer, and suffer, in everlasting doom

Joy to the world! The Deep Ones will rise;

They march where nations fell;

Our homes and lands will entomb our graves,

And trapped in a watery hell

And trapped in a watery hell

And trapped, and trapped, in a watery hell

Come from the skies! Our lord Yog-Sothoth;

The cosmics bestowed your galore;

He guards our realm from the holy gates,

A world of relentless horror

A world of relentless horror

A world, a world, of relentless horror

Lost to the world the dead city R'lyeh;

Where Cthulhu rests in deep;

When the hour comes he'll awaken,

And hear his deathly weep

And hear his deathly weep

And hear, and hear, his deathly weep

tweeting birds and the sunshine - rain falling outside while I sit in bed. the chrome coated computer, heavy like lead and hot like I expected my insides (damp, the same temperature as my fingers) to be, resting on my thighs. it leaves red marks. I pull strips of fish off of my bagel. I type without hitting the sticky (process--> messy, stu-, sticky) tab key. 

the cats are out of sight. 

I am alone at home. 

Sometimes I wake up and notice my body rocking, subtle movements facilitated by hips and shoulders. I curl in on myself, strange intertwinements. 

My arm hooks under my bent knees, the other splays over my chest. The give there surrenders in intervals to bone. My ribs go soft at their insertion points. My eyes - I c a n not tell, are they open or shut? I mistake the backs of my sockets for a scene in front of me. I try to find it. 

The jade plant to my left, 

      flicks 

I can almost feel the condensation on my claw tips. I take lush, fat little leaves off and split them on my nails. It goes out of focus while I stare at the air directly to it’s left. 

I was reading our old emails today and I accidentally fell in love again

I wonder if your feelings (sentiments) have change 

do you still like my mind? has it changed too much? how did you begin liking it like that in the first place. 

Your lips look soft, but alive. I associate softness with rot. The thick scar twining down your spine. Someone - you - 

cannot feel every part of the healed skin 

the room is made of pastels and shadows. leaking. 

i always expect myself to be a little warmer than I actually am. 

coolness in my clenching torso 

in my lungs and throat 

my teeth, at least, are warm

I do not brush them enough. They are smooth against my tongue. Lukewarm liquid gathers in my mouth and I swallow. It has only been ten minutes and I already want to give up. To close my eyes. The walls swell, breathing 

old sea child with hair and fingers, a loose outline of the old body. some parts are missing. split and open. please, the subset starts again, hissing. 

Awhile ago someone else on this website said that they wished they could more enjoy their sadomasochistic tendencies. I thought it might be you. I still sometimes wish that you want (ed) to do sadistic things to me but also like that you don’t want to 

is there some measure of disdain we are lacking? am I not good enough at math? 

Now that I know you better, I am not so invested in it anyways. I would still let you cut me open without thinking about it. I know I might not enjoy it in practice

but the concept is sort of 

mouthwatering? appealing in a way that makes me notice more than the percussive beating of my heart and fingers as they shift over the keyboard 

the touching, when i stop paying attention, is negligible. 

Dear Thing, 

It is the night. I am lonely sometimes. We do not spend enough time together. 

Dear Night, 

 I am busy, bettering myself. I have time for you, this is when. eight oh three 

how cool the feel of icing fingers the tendrils sink into the spaces between your spinal protrusions. 

you writhe, a little, shake your head and cry for your lost legs. your mind spreads thin over a new medium. the images are better through these cameras. your body continues it’s childish rebuttal against brutalities 

but there is no more real upset