Club 27 Has Reached Capacity - F. T. Willz

.a warning for the oblivious.

.a warning for the oblivious.

the art of lying is a science: i’ll put on my lab coat and my safety goggles and tinker inside your head until all you see is what i want you to see.

you’ll wonder, “have i gone blind? or was i blind all my life, and it’s only just now that i’ve realized what all this is?”

and i’ll slyly grin, baring my teeth in a way that hopefully doesn’t threaten you, tucking my demon’s tail away and out of sight, pleasantly answering, “i don’t know, you tell me.”

what a farce it is, a tasteless, turgid, terrible show, poorly written and scarcely rehearsed. the actors are all shams, ghouls and frauds, devils and beggars and thieves and cheats. such a shame that something so beautiful could actually be so ugly. not many can see behind the thick draping of those velvet curtains, but i see.

i see everything.

and you see nothing, because i’ve kept everything from you. take a scalpel and slice through my chest, peel back the thick draping of this velvet flesh, crack the cage of ivory bone, have a peek inside at all these holy terrors.

they’re living in me.

i am them, and they are me.

(this isn’t a horror story. nor is it a horrible declaration of self-emaciation. it’s a warning. be careful who you believe.)