Monday, January 22, 2007

Scribbled on the Back of a Lithium Prescription

These broken, dirty windows can't keep out the
noise, neither can the valium

Gunfire and screams follow the fake orgasms
from a hooker, the bitch's head banging against the wall

Her orgasm's are for show just like the gunfire,
just like the gun, just like the cock

The screams are very real, invoked by the pure horror
of death, the horror of what I have become

Broken glass from the vodka bottle is as good as the bowie
knife, missing it more than Mom

I left it sticking out of a pig in Barstow, cop with an attitude,
dead cop

Dig a little deeper into the flesh of my hand trying to hit bone,
like fucking corpses

Now her orgasm's turned into a scream, a gurgling belch,
a pussy farting blood, vomit

Something put on for show now turned into something very
real, there are no happy endings

The gunfire's stopped, replaced by sirens, shouting,
disbelief, thank God it wasn't me

Screaming's stopped too, the hooker probably dead by now,
almost there, cumming

I scream, to fill the void, the wound in my hand erupting,
I can't help but lick it, blood tastes so sweet

The vodka wasn't enough to dull that kind of agony, smash my
head against the wall again

A pounding in my head they always explain away as a migraine,
headache, biological

I need to eradicate the life that flows in me, anything but
this sickness, pills can't cure that

The scream I emit is very real as well, but it doesn't mean the
same, mine are sane

Two men lying in pools of blood bowels spilling out, the pain
I gave them was excruciating, glass rod in a cock

A dead prostitute lies broken on dirty sheets, bent terribly,
bloody, sickening grin

Covered in feces and semen, one and the same, I was born in shit
from my Father's ass

Her screams expressing pure pain and frustration mixed together,
mine just lust and hate

The inevitable catching up to yet another doomed victim,
but not me, God not me

It hurts, oh God please stop it hurts, SHUT UP BITCH,
it's supposed to hurt

My screams aren't the same as theirs, alcohol-stained emanations,
vodka snot dribbles

They screamed at the horror of death catching them by surprise,
I at the adrenaline

I scream at the lack of guts in me to embrace death fully,
the strength to flay, rend

On the floor of the bathroom, the tub sloshing and crimson,
pieces of me, sticky, pink

Tiles slick with the fluid my life squirts from my hand,
I grovel, eating myself, my cum

Crying, but not the kind of tears a compassionate person
wants to heal, no priests here

When the pigs come, they think I was injured in a crossfire,
by the nameless shooter

I don't bother explaining to them, the nurse knows when she sees it,
recognizes suicide

Sneaking out of the hospital at 2 in the fucking morning,
dirty, greasy, smelling of sex

Grabbing a bottle of vodka on the way back to the hotel,
no, 2 or 3, fuck I can't recall

Grabbing my shit in the duffel back and heading out the door,
needing to kill, release

Still bleeding, still hating, still seething, still wishing,
oh God, wishing for death

Screaming inside, every day just another pile of proof that
life's not worth living at all

Every day a disappointment that I can't find the courage to die,
hurting myself, never dead

Not even from a bottle is there courage, I know,
there are 78 lying behind me, vodka, sin

The hooker's stockings I wrap up with the gun in my
duffel bag, next to the liver, the cunt

Just because I don't have the guts to kill myself,
doesn't stop me from killing everyone else

Stop me from killing again; help me to kill the only
person I truly want dead, this fake

Another town grows larger in my headlights, my guts
growling, boiling with humanity

Shouldn't have started eating them, that only made the
hatred worse, makes it grow stronger

Oxnard truck stops bringing back memories, dirt, oil, gas,
old dirty men fucking whores

Getting ass raped by a 50 year old trucker, 17-year-olds
are strong too, never underestimate

A claw hammer makes a wicked weapon, the heft is nice
in my hands, always has been

I'm killing him over and over again; he's the human archetype,
God the rapist, faggot God

No different than any of us, just taking what we desire,
spreading my cheeks, I am weak

He wanted me, to dominate the roundness of my ass, lay his
250 upon me, worship my youth

What he got was a broken skull, brain matter decoration for
the cab of his semi truck, death

I didn't rape that boy, maybe I did, wasn't it a girl, I'm
not like that, not gay, sick

Can't remember anymore, think I'm just one of them now,
the killing keeps me alive, coward

That's why I need to die; the symptoms are growing worse,
seeing humans as cows, cattle

Cannibalizing them, Jesus fucking Christ I've lost myself,
the meat getting bigger in my bag

Thought it was all going to accomplish something, a cause,
something to make life better for me

So drunk that night, asleep in the alley, the warm
body that snuggled against me in the rain

My brain no better than static, just feeling the aching in
my cock, surging of semen, acidic

Grabbing at the warmth of the body next to me, burying
myself into it, my eyes wide with lust

The barking, whining and biting only making me more
angry, ripping the fur from it, beating it

Eating the damn thing when it finally died, no animal on
this earth tastes like a young boy

I'm not dying, that's the problem, only you are dying,
constantly dropping dead, murdered

Tons of memories here, especially behind the showers, those
sweaty holes of Hell opened up

That hooker with the saggy tits who got shot by the diner
owner, after he raped her, never before

A black man hanging from the back of the truck with the
Confederate flag, skinheads spitting

Not my doing, why would I need to, I'm greater than you all,
the God of fucking war and death

Enough killers in this world take their turns before me, for
different reasons, not my reasons

I'm killing all of them, the killers of men and women,
those who stalk the living, serial

Prostitutes spreading disease, giving it to me, my cock
yellowing, crusting, falling off

Making my baby die in the womb, those drug pushers
selling their fucking poison to my woman

She died too soon; too soon, I wasn't done yet, my mate,
my soul was in her, my life, sanity

The wound I rent in her belly was nothing, she was dead,
staring at me, pleading with rape eyes

Sculpting a huge vaginal cavity from her stomach, arranging
the guts like a baby, entombed

Strangling on its umbilical cord, a festering womb,
poisoned by heroin, alcohol, a rapist's semen

In blood across the room I wrote "This is what you took from me"
999 times, I can't stop writing it

I'm killing the killers, succeeding at my task, already more than
300 dead, tobacco competition

It's working perfectly; they attribute them all to random violence,
minorities killing each other

White collar murderers, serial killers, drug deaths, rapists,
hit and runs, assassinations, murder

The most successful serial killer in the world is a vigilante,
constantly seeking new justice, the judge

Pray you aren't the one of these, these killers, these vermin,
but if you are, if you are…

Kill me first so this pain can finally end, when you see me,
my cock drawn, gun loaded, don't fear me

I'll give you just enough time to make it a fatal blow,
I swear to that, not a second longer

(They always hesitate...)

by Christian Avery Bryant

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Anonymous Anonymous said...

Jesus.. talk about issues! Googled this dude - he's got a lot of stuff out there - who is he? Know him?

6:18 PM  

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