#1
please read this if you have the time, the most based in reality thing i've written since christmas. raw. leave a link and i'll return.


i was asleep in the room next to yours. we lived in a tunnel of an apartment. i slept with my girlfriend in the master. we had to walk through your room in order to use the bathroom. i woke up to the sounds of police calling paramedics, shouting from the street sirens and the meat wagon. there was an american flag ducktaped to its hood. girlfriend crying didnt bother to wake me, didnt think it was any of my buisiness that you might this time be gone for good.

tiptoed to the door to listen, remembered about an hour ago when you two got back from the club and i heard you smashing at the wall that seperates our rooms. it reminded me of last summer when i gashed my head on a brick wall until the hum grew too loud to bear and i collapsed. i learned around that time that there is a point when the body can't take it anymore. that hour ago i actually thought i was dreaming so i turned to my back and let the slip-slop seams stich themselves back up.

looked under the crack and saw you unconscious. on your bed razor scars coating your arms like armor. sprawled legs wide on your feet burn marks line your soles and i can tell you like to show them off in their unholy splender. i have a feeling they make you feel like you're living. or make you feel closer to dying. at the very least you can tell yourself you're still trying to survive. breasts huge and spilling out of a tight frame, when the emt asks you cant remember your own name. you do a double take as if to ask if the person who resides in a body in front of you is person, if people can even exist anymore because you know the only you thats real is the one looking down from the ceiling.

they line up your pill containers, cylindrical misdimeaners adding up to an ocean of disconnection from god. i heard you the other day saying that you lost your lord and i thought dont flatter yourself. in truth the lord lost you because he cant stand you anymore. theres six containers, half prescribed half not, and you're arguing against going to the hospital afraid you'll rot. they convince you by binding you down to a stretcher until the only part of your body still fighting is your neck straining so skyward i actually thought it would leave everything behind. it couldnt of course.

after you left bound gagged i read the receipt they left on our kitchen table detailing why they took you in. it listed your overdose, the active ingredients, the information of your life they got out of my girlfriend. it seems when the police arrived you mentioned suicide briefly and tried to convince them that when you had spoke you were just being dramatic, some lesbian drama that led to depression, as if it was natural for a young twenty something to seek out death. professionals were smarter than that though, they deal with bitches like you daily, followed protocol and locked you up for the night. i honestly hope they keep you there longer, you need to heal and healing can't begin in a home where the desire for closeness to others is stronger than desire for closeness to yourself.

this happened over the last three hours, in the early morning of June 28th. 12am-3am was all it would take to bring you back from the drowning lake and place you right back in the jaws of hells gates.

-Dylan
#2
i think it would make a great spoken word.
some drum machine, and some fool,
wailing on a keyboards with some fx.
i think it would be tight.

very interesting by the way.
it was a good read.
i am the lamb.
point me to the slaughter.
#3
I love this. I really do. The only issue I have with it is in the opening paragraph. I just got annoyed with it. All of the sentences felt like they were the same length, nothing felt varied and I just couldn't really get any emotion out of it. That's my own preference though. The rest of it was great. Especially the paragraph that started with "They line up your pill containers..." That was very well written. Could you check out Pillow Talk? It's in my sig. Thanks and great job.
#4
This is upsetting and I love it. I love how gristled and jarring the narrative is while still tripping over wordplay (my favorite is"cylindrical misdimeaners") and snippets of poet under pressure

hope your girlfriend is okay, and her friend of course, and you, best wishes
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it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist




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