There’s crushed apples. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. And there’s blood. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. I wake on the floor amidst the mess. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Sticky, wet, rotting, sugary mess. I push down the terror from the sweet, metallic saliva that holds my mouth closed and try to decide how long I’ve been here. Light beats dull and muted through the dust covered windows in the east. I was starving close to sundown. My hunger, unyielding and predatory. And I could smell it on the air. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. My fingers close on matted hair to the right of me, and I ignore my violent self-loathing. I roll to my side to assess just how much blood has pooled around my victim. I am wasteful when I am mad with hunger, so I know what I will find. Great puddles with chunks of flesh and tissue. Bloody, spoiled apple cores being swallowed slowly by the fruit flies. I yank hard on the hair, dragging the body across the hardwoods. No heat. And the wet mess has coagulated in its deepest pools, while drying into crusty, maroon scabs at the edges. My head pounds with clouded confusion. I press my palms to my eyes and hold my thumbs against my temples. I breathe deep. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. And all the while, that sweet, metallic after-taste staining my teeth, sending my mind careening into the memory of my voracious hunt. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. And body after body just waiting to be plucked and ravaged. And syrupy chunks of once white, fruit flesh clinging to the mess. And glazed over eyes, once burning with fire. And sticky, wet, rotting sugar.

Oh no! Don’t tell me I’m nothing -

something lives inside my head,

my black eyes have seen it all.

I leave my calling card on doorsteps,

scattering echoes of wind as proof

that I am a new beginning, waiting

for the fog on the deserted road

to develop wings and begin to fly.

I bare my tainted pen, becoming

something in shadows climbing

over empty spaces, leaving space

for something echoing in soup bowls.

Feed me! Feed my emptiness of soul -

move the migraines in my cloudy vault,

follow footprints into charisma of dawn.

I may mean nothing but I am your world

your empty spot, just waiting to be filled.

they fed off of us

when we were the weakest

they scorched us with their fire

when we were made

just of thin paper

we thought we were strong

but with every blow

they reached our insides

further and further

so instead of fighting

we caved in even more,

they feasted off of us

as if we were the best prey

for a midnight treat

they devoured our strength

our passion consumed,

our faith in happiness

gulped to the last drop

we let ourselves be eaten

because that was the only thing

that could have made us

feel whole again

better, improved

in someone else’s mind

someone else’s heart

we were wrong

when we let them

feed off of us

we just wanted a home

to sink in our roots

instead,

we got

consumed

in our own fears

***

The beast within

way deep inside

my Dr. Jekyll

and Mr. Hyde

on what does

this beast feed

what does it crave

what does it need?

What is the ugly

dark thing I find

in the corners

of my mind

tickling the surface

of my dreams

haunting me

nothing as it seems

the phantom of my nightmares

awake in a cold sweat

heart beating in my ears

no peace can I get.

Is it sickly

and wasting away

absent as the night

when dawns the day?

Or is it obese

from its gluttonous feed

slovenly gorging

on my bottomless need?

***

People are greedy, love. You give them a taste of something good, and they devour the thing in seconds—forget making it last! ... One slice of the pie is never enough. It’s seconds and thirds and on and on, and before you know it, the whole thing’s gone! They gorge themselves on it, shovelling sweetness into their mouths until their bellies bulge over their belts and they can barely move. And do you know what happens then? ...

The nausea’s first—then the bile. Then up comes the pie, all mashed up with dinner and soaking in stomach acid. A perfectly good thing, ruined. And all because of greed.

***

This is a short excerpt from a project I have in the works. When I read the prompt for this challenge, I just had to enter it! XD

#prose

#excerpt

On the precarious lines we tread

for the vacuous lives we’ve led

with coins we feed the guilts we labour under.

The sparkly thoughts that magpies scrabble after

and laughters cure for all the anodynes in pills and wines

Our eyes distractions easily caught the weakness of our petty thoughts.

We call the pot the weed the kettle black and so

deeds in furs are measured wrong and there the throng

have right to pelt you with their eggs.

The dregs on pavements spit and in back allies souls are slit like purses.

Silks and leathers empty save for a plastic meal.

But for a thought not fit tip top to steal.

The secret word on broaches close to hearts we carry, none will see.

The tapping on the walled machine.

As useless as the broken shoe on a rainy day.

Dispenser drug machines, we use the wall to pay

there is no need for paper lest you hide the taxable commissions

as expected by the citizen, on so we all agree.

The money in the malls has gone and cashing in means getting on aboard

a train of thought that seems to make a sense in retrospect.

As intellectuals debate the day to day and days like none has ever lived before.

Constellations forming characters with cloud obscuring sanity and vanities.

Humanity has tasted not the sweetness of its poison.

Believing in the gated minds the keepers of a purpose.

Feeders forcing fatness down a spiritual gullet.

In plumpness ripe the prefect pluck to pot

a joint for scalding hair from flesh till baby smooth.

Sense is separated from meat beneath a moving corpse

and androids walk and talk and tell their woes for what is lacking.

Deliveries of parcels spill the diesel into choking atmospheres.

A snaking water canopy the ancient forests stolen trees in chains are hauled

across the mothers skin in mirrors sitting plucking, peeling, preening,

pulling tucking back a year of “adverinfo” product sifting.

The glaring LED saved energy directs a stream of blinding verbs,

and reality is there to be dressed up in just by wanting.

On a line no sign rejects a payment and all notices ignore when checkouts close.

The hours four and twenty never ending ever spending.

Goods, a box of packaging, the choking island swirling in a

sea so far a way form blame. Shamefacedness’s berried

Kopf in sand with arse in air and not a care for seeing not

the micro pearl that strangles sex out of Poseidon.

The poisoning of sea and earth and air, there will be none here.

In a “wordly” thought out world where worries wane

with every swipe the satisfactions therapy has taken

us so far from us and taken something from us all.

(We shame our tragedies with blame

and shame the blame with guilt.

It is time to change.)

I knew you’ve always lurch wanting someone —

who could glow as a furling flame with a cosy warmth,

dazzle as continuous centennial headlights on your leaden land.

I found it all exasperating,

as I espied a girl who could emit celestial cluster of stars.

All twinkling, all flickering gas and dust —

held up by her gravitational mastery.

Strucking me all these infuriation —

for all that cliche yearning for starlight of yours,

never did you know,

only to look up, blanched shades of you,

and makes your face look so pale.

And only to look at you leaves the crimson flush out of me;

turning livid.

I only wanted you to flash me as matches —

igniting glimpses from your squinting eyes.

Flash me as matches,

then I’ll show you myself glint,

only with a crystal facade —

maybe,

you’ll see me.

At last, i finally got a chance to be with her for almost an entire day. I had planned to spoil her, not only it being Valentine’s Day, but I wanted to take her out to a nice restaurant in the evening.

When we got there. I made sure to act on my best behavior. That meant guiding her to her seat, and not belching during, or after the meal. Oh, that was going to be a challenge for me.

After waiting for her to order- not only a few starters, then a main course & several desserts- I hoped that she would split the bill 50/50 with me.

Since this was the first time i took her out, i decided to pay for the full meal. Ah, o well. I did tell myself that it’d be all worth it.

My, she looked lovely and I couldn’t wait to take a walk with her in the park after dinner. I asked her if she didn’t mind going on a walk with me. She agreed to take a walk in the park. Woohoo!

We we’re having a great time, until the clouds parted away and the moon shone ev’r bright in the night sky. I crouched down, failing to control the moon’s effect on me. I felt my heartrate began to beat quite rapidly. No!

The last thing I can recall is hearing her voice, screaming my name before I growled and sank my jaws into her neck. Once my canines had pierced her skin, it was too late for her to be saved.

#SweetValentine.

The feed, the feed. The feed is my life blood. The likes flood in one by one, not fast enough. I post more and more, exposing more of myself than I ever meant to. I just want approval. I want them to love me.

Feed, feed feed. They call my stream of posts a feed. Their likes are my nutrition. Only one follower. Oh no, they hate me. Post more.

My feed gets longer to no avail.

Tick tock my inner clock is winding down. The countdown I’ve set, the goal that needs to be met by 12:00 tonight.

It’s 10:30 PM.

The likes are trickling in, slower than the slug creeping up my garden leaf in fourth grade.

Why are they not liking? Why do they not follow?

I’ve done it all. I’ve posted photos of myself, photos of friends, cute cat memes, and puns. What do I have to do to be noticed. I take the knife and slide it down my wrist. Take a snapshot and post it. Blood I’m bleeding the feeds keep feeding keep scrolling I just want love.

I now have two followers, and I have nothing left to share. All my secrets, out online, there’s nothing left of me that I haven’t told.

My body, nothing left that I have not exposed. I’m skinny. I know I’m skinny. That’s why I stopped eating; to be skinny and pretty. So why don’t they love me?

The likes flow in from the cutting one. That’s interesting. Who’d of thought self harm would be so popular? Then I look at the comments.

You should just kill yourself, loser. Keep cutting, your life doesn’t matter.

There’s also a link to the suicide helpline in another. But-

Why don’t they like me?

I’m skinny, I’m blonde, I poured bleach on my skin till I was starch white. Why am I not enough?

11:55 and I have 13 followers. I’m more than halfway to twenty, but what can I do to gain attention, gain follows?

That’s when it hits me. What do all the Instagram stars do to gain fame?

A live stream. I click the post button, click the live video, and then I press record.

“Hi, guys. My goal is to get twenty followers by midnight. Or else- or else I’ll just die, like some of you have suggested. Maybe that would be better.”

Comments begin to thread in, some of worried people, others egging my death on.

Fourteen followers, 11:58.

“Guys, I need six followers in two minutes,”

Fifteen followers, sixteen, seventeen, and then eighteen.

11:59. I stand up and start setting up a stool. I tie a rope to the fan on my ceiling and tie it around my neck

19. So close, but it’s midnight. It’s time for my life to end.

I kick away the stool. Right before everything fades, my screen sharpens into view.

The last follower came seconds too late.

I’ll ramble from head to toe, and let the little bastards watch out the window with hoggiling hogs hogging space until my car is just a stick, like the leftovers of corn on the cob. I fly past the strangers on the roads and the cities, they hate me, well guess what I hate you! I see left to right at night women dressed like its the club. I hear these stupid children screaming and preaching, as if they have the slightest intelligible things to say, I have to many places to be today. I hear this then that, I grab the grapple and jump to the end of the edge. I’ll be knockin’ heads and sippin’ lead, drink until my body rejects. Heck! I wish a God could exist that just complains and talk his ear off like this until the whole damn planet below just rises up and throws rocks at him.

Back to my center of peace were I hear the divisive beast linger in his rotten cove, hidden below the bridge he drinks from the Sodom below. I’m in my head so often I begin to wonder who the hell is the guy talkin’? He tells me what to do and say, then I go on a suicidal rampage, I just say screw it, I look at how low the drops is and just go for it. You gave me a thousand so I say let’s get going.

Every second the voice says: ” turns left right now, don’t bump into that damn idiot!” , ” You’re such an idiot you can’t even properly engage in a proper conversation” , “just say hello you foolish prick!” .

It’s crying and rambling thrown into one mix, it’s yelling and screaming until you’ve got’ that fix. I flip through the countless adventures just to get through all of it, nonsense, and blah blah is my rapport.

Hell just ring your glorious demons up just to get me the hell out of here.

My fears claw away at my stupidity, like a damn kitten.

I can’t tell a difference between a joke and a statement, my stupidity is profound.

Please help me out,

please help me out?

Is insanity a relative of mine, if so please come in take what you please,

″ oh, umm.... sure take that, oh you want that too, sure! Please slap me back and forth with my hospitality, it’s okay, I was just being rude.

I’m running on four, sure I’ll continue with my ramblings, mainly for the therapy, but also for those who can make it this far.

A small bit of small bit of self-loathing and eight ounces of coffee should do the trick for today,

they look through the mirage, wonderful.

Another lonely hour, oh delightful.

Go through the chapters just to read the same one twice.

The hallway is so great, I want to walk with a pal, I want talk about this and then that, I give possibly two or three.

The finish line has never felt so far, yet it is so close.

I love her when she throws her eyes at me then sneaks them back toward the previous -bag.

I began with a hopes of hopeless ramblings, now I’ve simply reached the bottom of a barrel of self-awareness, but you said anything.

Have you any questions?

Good I’m not really answering any, I’m just following my stupid ray to its target; me.

I’ll see to it that this page is so horrendous, and impossible to read.

I know little, but perhaps that’s why I say a lot.

What are the facts but my little toys, I’ll use them to construct my own paradise, the words slide smoothly like ice.

Alright, I have you close to the stove, just let the words burn into your ears, please...

I need this and so don’t you, it seems the less I care the more the world glares.

I’m running empty on the open road, I want to crash directly into a tanker, just right before it reaches the docks.

Just go out with a splash and a bang.

See I’m sure you know that i’m not insane, just going through a phase.

Just exploring what I can and can’t say.

Just running out of words.

But I’m sure my mouth has been filled,

I have yet to choke and die.

Now I have little interest in your stupid lies!

I didn’t understand the challenge, but damn it, now I do.

Feed me until my platter is covered in red matter, I’ll leave the table open while I,

well that doesn’t matter.

I like the Mad Hatter, continue to feed me you little bastards!

I’m an omnivore with an open door,

I’m an carnivorous snake prepared to slip you some venom, the acid bubbles and trembles.

I have little to offer but this bucket, filled with discriminant functions.

Please give this what it deserves, I have to sleep, but who cares when I have to feed.

I want the rush, give me more, it hasn’t been enough.

I’ll go to my most god-awful depths.

The words’ll run cover to cover, and then some.

But don’t tell them.

The tiny wisps whisper,

I have to go, but only a few words more, that’s all I require,

reach the end to run my empire, it stretches O so far and wide.

leave me at peace I feel my feet whimper, they are longing to get up and be productive, but the rabbid brain cursed by your ropes and chains has a few more words to record.

I have gone endlessly about what does and doesn’t matter .

Sorry for the inconvenience, but I must be this way, the mannerisms I have aquired have come from the dank hole, I want to swim in it; I’ll just drown down with it, it seems to have a more prolific sound.

So here I am, it is so great, don’t make me do this again!