All Jupitas's Men
blood
This is the colony. It's dark and fuck me sideways, I'm writing with menstruation.
I never considered the full recourse of reality, never did. But...but...that's how this place works. And the space I have is small. And tiny. And it has light but I have no idea where it's radiating from. I'm sure that the colony is a prison of some kind. I'm not entirely sure.
It's cold. My water bowl has frozen over and I see the globs of spit and dog hairs cut in time. My breath is almost viscous. I see it, shining in that ethereal light, that homeless loony light.
There's screams.
I hear screams all day. They don't seem to care about what I do much. They don't talk to me. They talk to Judith though, they talk and talk and I hear her fingers crack and the winching of pliers in her mouth. She screams but only to give them satisfaction because once you scream, they disappear again. Dead women feel no pain, not physical pain anyway. They still fuck her up though. You can still rape a dead woman. She might not feel it but it still hurts. I wonder how They can live with themselves. It's like like like...what's it like? Something...it's sort of foggy. I haven't slept properly in days and I feel myself fracturing and jagged, my mind is broken, I think.
Who am I, again? My name...name...what's in a name? A Rose would smell as...a rose is a rose is a rose. Rosy cheeks and rosy English women in pre-Raphaelite paintings and a dense fog of fear, rosy coloured.
Like the world's wearing rose-tinted glasses. I used to love the rose, worship the Holy Rose but the brier was cut in twain and bane bane and fucking electric pain and they disappeared again.
mynameisneithmynameisneith neith neith knee-eh-th.
Is that a real name? Is that my name? Maybe. It sounds untrue. Llyr. Liar. No. I don't...I can't...
They despise us so. I don't know why. I can't remember why.
Those bastards. Bastard children of sweet Jupitas.
One day, I hope to remember.
I never considered the full recourse of reality, never did. But...but...that's how this place works. And the space I have is small. And tiny. And it has light but I have no idea where it's radiating from. I'm sure that the colony is a prison of some kind. I'm not entirely sure.
It's cold. My water bowl has frozen over and I see the globs of spit and dog hairs cut in time. My breath is almost viscous. I see it, shining in that ethereal light, that homeless loony light.
There's screams.
I hear screams all day. They don't seem to care about what I do much. They don't talk to me. They talk to Judith though, they talk and talk and I hear her fingers crack and the winching of pliers in her mouth. She screams but only to give them satisfaction because once you scream, they disappear again. Dead women feel no pain, not physical pain anyway. They still fuck her up though. You can still rape a dead woman. She might not feel it but it still hurts. I wonder how They can live with themselves. It's like like like...what's it like? Something...it's sort of foggy. I haven't slept properly in days and I feel myself fracturing and jagged, my mind is broken, I think.
Who am I, again? My name...name...what's in a name? A Rose would smell as...a rose is a rose is a rose. Rosy cheeks and rosy English women in pre-Raphaelite paintings and a dense fog of fear, rosy coloured.
Like the world's wearing rose-tinted glasses. I used to love the rose, worship the Holy Rose but the brier was cut in twain and bane bane and fucking electric pain and they disappeared again.
mynameisneithmynameisneith neith neith knee-eh-th.
Is that a real name? Is that my name? Maybe. It sounds untrue. Llyr. Liar. No. I don't...I can't...
They despise us so. I don't know why. I can't remember why.
Those bastards. Bastard children of sweet Jupitas.
One day, I hope to remember.