Stain Matter

No, I'm not the deceiving calm before the storm. Neither am I the devastation of Pompeii.

I'm the middle ground of constructive destruction, a slow death of crack cocaine.

I'm the Lysergic acid diethylamide trip of 18 hours; I see unicorns who are grotesque and demand to rape the weak members of their herd.

I'm a narcissistic cannibal, I spread butter on my skin. My toasted tongue is on the verge of tasting gun's metal before that final pin drop silence.

A wobbly ground, the marshlands have gathered and are filled up with creatures to bid me a farewell.

I am Jack's bursting vein on the forehead.

I'm Donnie Darko's multiverse with no deaths recorded.

I'm shit.

I'm stain matter.