“Damp Pillow” Fiction. Based on a True Fantasy.

“I feel slightly sabotaged. I don’t regret it. The art was the act itself. I mean, sometimes I feel too smart for my own good. Some people have said they wanted to destroy me.” – Ras Kass

“Damp Pillow”

Fiction. Based on a True Fantasy.

By Ruby

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

“damp pillow”

“warm with tears?”

“you have guns, weapons, agency

I have teeth”


“Once upon a time”

“rip it off already”

“You’re the offense,

I’m the defense.”



I am blood splatter

Where ever I land tells a loud story

A path of how injuries occur

Tracing truth out in a body line

I am blood splatter

Staining every surface I touch

Proof trauma lead us here

Barrel of a gunfight through my center

Your eyes meet mine

I see the light fade

I am blood splatter

Sprayed on your cheeks, laced through your hair

Red guilt overshadowed by your black rage

We are one now

I am blood splatter

You are the barrel of a gun



Do you see where I land? Body bag on the floor. A floor I’m sure you never really looked at.

“This is what killing yourself looks like,” you think out loud. They turn to look at you and inform you that I am not a suicide. I am a homicide. Stupidly you hover over my blood puddles. Your thoughts screaming, “But who? But why?”

Cops stare you down. Pitying you. Investigating you.

You never really looked at anything. Never saw the signs. It took too much time, too much effort to see me. Instead you were more consumed with me unpacking that kitchen. That tiny, listless, vast, unending kitchen. Hiding things in little spaces between cupboards. Every item a memory from someone else. Because you also didn’t see me pack up my life with someone else. You kidnapped me, tied me up, and signed a lease on my behalf.  Assuring yourself once I was there, I’d see the sunshine.


Sunshine where? You picked a fucking basement to live in. Tore me out of my third floor apartment to chain me up in some bottom unit. A renovated basement. Windows level with the ground, you idiot. How on Earth could sunshine find me here?

You know, outside my old apartment. Below the bedroom window. Cherry blossoms. Now my life force oozes out onto perpetually filthy linoleum shrouded in cavernous shadows.

My blood begins to stain your already dingy socks. Blinking, confused and stupid, you let it happen.

You didn’t see the damp pillows stained from my absolute heartbreak. Nor did you see the dripping razor blades. Rose colored glasses, they say. Well you have rose colored permanent filters in your cornea. You fucking idiot. What did you expect to happen?

Police officers cover my face. Positively identified, by you. Village idiot. Clink and the cuffs are on your wrists. Carry me away, in the bag. You’re being escorted too, but in the back of a squad car. Sitting back there, you see me so clearly now.

Planned. Pinned on you. Exactly as I intended.

That’ll teach you to touch me.

From behind the fence, in that police car, you look back to where my body bag is. And you swear with every fiber of your being, that you see me sit up and blow you a kiss.

I did.

I am blood spatter.

You’re the barrel of the gun.

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