Post by Deleted on Dec 10, 2020 22:05:27 GMT -5
ƒµ૮ҡเɳɠ ૮ყ૮ℓσρร & ƭɦε ɱαɳ
Silence fills you laying helpless. Nothing to give, nothing to gain, just nothing.
Hearing the world pass you by like a watch that's forgotten how to tell time.
As a piece of anything being refused to fulfill why it's been designed.
No purpose in the shouting face of no mercy, like a crime.
Everything is magnified.
Your decisions, your life, your lies.
Magnified.
It's actually kind of funny.
Breathing is one of those things you just assume you can do.
You really take that basic function for granted.
Well, I did.
Until I woke up one day two months later when the ventilator was gone.
They couldn't figure out how my heart kept beating. Why my lungs kept pumping...
neither could I.
// Eyes fighting against the light after a somber sleep induced coma. Panning out from pupils to an entire body covered in beige peeling bandages. Hands feeling body parts with new unfamiliar pins and creases. Breathing heavy still getting used to the pace of a chest formerly in pieces. Shaking, sitting up with a loud moan, afraid to ask for help, even more afraid to do it on his own. Clinching shut, trying to find some type of will... each breath, each step, at each crucial depth.
There is no shutting anything out. Darkness only leads to the flashbacks of a ram being impaled into a flail chested mess by a man with no real name, and no real soul. A simple hole, left by a complicated foe. It's true that I know transformation, after all I was Gabe Reno, until making a deal to become the Devil's Outsider here on Earth as overseen by his gatekeeper, the WiTcH DoCtOr. I got immortality in pursuit of my everlasting wrestling prowess. They got a soul, the one that used to be in this chest hole, along with my heart, organs, and all other fleshy rottable things.
The first time I had the bandages removed, I felt like ƒµ૮ҡเɳɠ ૮ყ૮ℓσρร. Have you ever not seen light in months only to finally open your eyes on a sunny day in a window walled hospital deck ICU? They said it was the only bed left. Next to all the ones filled with people expected to die in the next 24-48 hours. The Devil won't let me die... figures.
I hope V has health insurance. I hope he didn't cheap out on the life insurance policy when the salesman started getting greedy. 50,000; 100, maybe 200 thousand? Whatever it was won't be nearly enough. He's manage to give me something that even evil immortality could never provide... pure unadulterated rage. The annoyance of having to learn to walk again, the daily inconvenience of having to only walk into dim rooms for weeks until I could adjust without blowing my own brains out, the suffering of forcing each breath through broken barely recognizable ribs and lungs, pins and needles, casts and catheters, wraps and relays, falls and flailing... oh, V.
You and me.
Me and V.
I can't tell you where our path leads, or where it ends.
But I sure as fuck can tell you that before it does you will have to learn how to breath again.
You'll see the back of my hand.
I don't give a damn.
I'm the one,
With the plan,
I'm ƭɦε ɱαɳ.
Silence fills you laying helpless. Nothing to give, nothing to gain, just nothing.
Hearing the world pass you by like a watch that's forgotten how to tell time.
As a piece of anything being refused to fulfill why it's been designed.
No purpose in the shouting face of no mercy, like a crime.
Everything is magnified.
Your decisions, your life, your lies.
Magnified.
It's actually kind of funny.
Breathing is one of those things you just assume you can do.
You really take that basic function for granted.
Well, I did.
Until I woke up one day two months later when the ventilator was gone.
They couldn't figure out how my heart kept beating. Why my lungs kept pumping...
neither could I.
// Eyes fighting against the light after a somber sleep induced coma. Panning out from pupils to an entire body covered in beige peeling bandages. Hands feeling body parts with new unfamiliar pins and creases. Breathing heavy still getting used to the pace of a chest formerly in pieces. Shaking, sitting up with a loud moan, afraid to ask for help, even more afraid to do it on his own. Clinching shut, trying to find some type of will... each breath, each step, at each crucial depth.
There is no shutting anything out. Darkness only leads to the flashbacks of a ram being impaled into a flail chested mess by a man with no real name, and no real soul. A simple hole, left by a complicated foe. It's true that I know transformation, after all I was Gabe Reno, until making a deal to become the Devil's Outsider here on Earth as overseen by his gatekeeper, the WiTcH DoCtOr. I got immortality in pursuit of my everlasting wrestling prowess. They got a soul, the one that used to be in this chest hole, along with my heart, organs, and all other fleshy rottable things.
The first time I had the bandages removed, I felt like ƒµ૮ҡเɳɠ ૮ყ૮ℓσρร. Have you ever not seen light in months only to finally open your eyes on a sunny day in a window walled hospital deck ICU? They said it was the only bed left. Next to all the ones filled with people expected to die in the next 24-48 hours. The Devil won't let me die... figures.
I hope V has health insurance. I hope he didn't cheap out on the life insurance policy when the salesman started getting greedy. 50,000; 100, maybe 200 thousand? Whatever it was won't be nearly enough. He's manage to give me something that even evil immortality could never provide... pure unadulterated rage. The annoyance of having to learn to walk again, the daily inconvenience of having to only walk into dim rooms for weeks until I could adjust without blowing my own brains out, the suffering of forcing each breath through broken barely recognizable ribs and lungs, pins and needles, casts and catheters, wraps and relays, falls and flailing... oh, V.
You and me.
Me and V.
I can't tell you where our path leads, or where it ends.
But I sure as fuck can tell you that before it does you will have to learn how to breath again.
You'll see the back of my hand.
I don't give a damn.
I'm the one,
With the plan,
I'm ƭɦε ɱαɳ.
