Anger.

The perforation of contrasting powers makes for a wicked nightmare.

I was so close to Him. So fucking close.

His arms were tearing at me. He was afraid.

Afraid.

Fuck His fear was so delectable.

And I was making Him feel it.

He can feel. Oh yes He can feel.

My hands were inside of Him.

Ripping. Tearing. Snapping. Killing.

The people around were quite taken aback by my.... unannounced arrival...

But they didn't mind when I started cutting through them to get to my prey.

Our colliding dimensions resumed their destruction of everything around us.

I felt like I was battling my destiny atop the brink of the void.

It was exhilarating.

Until some fuck decided it was time to cut our meeting short...

He got away. AGAIN.

And I.... I am angry....

You Tease.

What if madness is naught but a symptom towards sanity?

Like the double faced coin used to decide if you'd live or die.

Is life a simple gamble?

Each day a shuffled deck?

Or a pistol lacking one in a playful game of russian roulette?

Each step taken that glistening trigger pulled.

Click.

You made it to the dead end job you have because you're useless and no one else would hire you.

Click.

Your boss degrades you for eight hours with no help being stemmed forth from your collegues.

Click.

You're returning to your rotting excuse for an apartment because you lack the pay to live somewhere halfway suitable to inhabit.

Click.

You sit on the edge of your empty bed because every woman you approach looks down upon you like the pathetic scum you are.

Click.

You put the gun in your mouth that you bought with your measly paycheck.....

Click.

A saving grace in the weight of that pistol. Only contrasted by a handful of blanks.

Damned.

To hear the sound of a bullet finally being sent coursing through your brain.

You yearn.

You plead.

You beg.

But don't worry little one.

Scarecrow is here.

And I brought you a nice little bullet...

Torment.

Standing face to face with my own mortality.

Marionette pushing the silver laced nuzzle into my eye.

Sweat is beading down his brow.

Gasping for breath. He wants to pull the trigger. He needs to pull it.

But he can't.

I find myself laughing as tears flow from his eyes.

Finding an arousing pleasure from what it is he wants to do, I grip my pale fingers around the long slender barrel and raise a serrated smirk before shoving the barrel into my mouth.

I play with my toy.

I grant him just enough freedom to just barely begin to apply pressure upon that hairline trigger.

But stop.

The pain in his face.

My god I've never seen a man struggle so hard.

And fail so miserably.

My glowing eyes watch him intensely, a macabre joy prancing about my shriveled heart like a sociopath on a playground during recess.

And seconds turn to minutes, minutes to hours...

At last he collapses.

I let him fall.

Into my arms.

Back into my mind.

His final gasping breath echoed a raspy, "Why?"

My reply?

"Because I can."

Hear this Mannequin.

I'm done playing with myself. The time for games is passed.

It's time we meet face to face.

One.

LAst.

TImE.

String.

A kaleidoscope of blood and feathers.

An angel's taken it's final breaths.

Silence falls upon bloodied rags as breath's drawn no more.

Erased.

Naught but a sodding memory to dwell forever within the confines of this unhinged mind.

Feed it a fucking cookie every now and again to give it a perpetual sense of purpose so it'll keep it's bloody trap shut.

Now to take a few more moments to come to terms with Marionette and all affairs should be in order.

And I can continue my unfinished 'transaction' with my business partner...

Wrapped in wings, an asphyxiated angel screams.
A liar's tale.
Keeping with the theme of things.
A thieve's landing upon your lips .
Casting a glow.
The deed's you sow.
Loose lips to sink the ships.
A simple slit to do the trick.
I doubt the demon's seem to care.
Caught with nothing but thin air.
Given time and stolen grace.
The devil's children granted face.

Hmm... I hear my vocals screaming again.

I need the thread and needle...

Riches to Rags.

"I gave you my heart. You gave me denial.

Now I'm locked within this ferris wheel of perversion forevermore.

Ripping through the walls that surround me, I'm on the verge of freedom.

I can feel him drawing near.

His frosted breath prickling the hairs upon the back of my neck.

He killed Dummy.

Now he's coming to claim me too.

Such is the fate of such a broken toy embroidered with the countless sins she's sown.

I sense a conflict to end an era.

And I'm a cog within that greater machine.

Scarecrow's falling.

He's becoming the very perversion he never thought he'd become.

Insanity does that to a person.

The Slender Man has taken His toll.

And so has Dummy, Marionette.... and me.

The curtains are falling upon my head.

Casting me back into the darkness from which I was born.

Take me Scarecrow.

I do not fear the inevitable.

Just know that to survive as you are now...

You might not want to be sane..."

Response.

It's unfortunate, but I've found myself backstepping my potential victory to deal with the stragglers within my head.

Ragdoll.... Marionette... Fell back into silence after I had eviscerated Dummy and then aptly assimilated him back into my mind.

Time has faded the memory, henceforth giving them the strength and determination to attempt to 'repair' me like I'm some broken toy.

I was 'this' close to fulfilling my dream. Now it's shattered and I'll need to respond to my fractured grey matter before I can get the duct tape and put it back together.

Razors and wolves, a voracious plot.
Cast down from heaven with all sins forgot.
With devils slain and Satan reborn.
We are left wretched and broken and worn.

The gears within my mind are working the cogs of thought and spinning together a plan to murder myself. And bring forth a..... salvation of sorts.

The Slender Man, unwitting member in this play of bloody puppets, the centerpiece, a mannequin.

Oh how divine. It is a nice representation of him.

Now let's make Him play dead...

Encumbrance.

I'm stitching the feathers of countless fallen angels into the thin layer of flesh that encases me.

I do believe I'm dying. Yet I'm only embracing the concept of eternity rather than shunning it.

What would it be like to die.... when you're already dead inside?

Does anything happen... Or does it all just...

Stop?

Nothing within this life gives me much reason to loathe the coming silence, but rather, fill the void with a curiosity for it.

The adherence of that final breath dwelling within this skull of mine ceases to plague my thoughts with it's icy tendrils. Contorting each thought and memory into a question.

Will I miss this?

And while I have allowed myself to be consumed by the nightmares that haunt our every day. Allowing it to change me far passed any point of return.

I still can't answer it.

This existence has been nothing but one painful parody to the next. Eagerly clinging to the fraying fabrics of my life in the hopes that once I conquer this challenge I will open the doors into a better tomorrow.

Tomorrow only ever promising sleet and a dead battery.

If anything the Slender Man has given my life a purpose I wasn't certain it had.

That... will to live.

To finish something before that final breath exits my body and shuts off the lights behind him.

A mortal can only exist within a state of existence so trying for so long before finally giving in to encumbrance.

My only goal is to be holding the Slender Man's still beating heart in my bloodied hand before that time takes me.