Hurt Inside

trap-soul, nightmare ritual folk, dark occult

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V6-WILD

I try and I cry and I don’t sleep at night.
Why does it hurt me so much from inside.
Am I alive?
Who even tries?
Tell me a story, spin up a lie.
Truth is too hard on the eye.
Say it sweet, say it low.
Go on ahead and say how I glow.
The world will never know.
You can hate me inside but don’t let it show.

Things I bring are dark as death.
[FOLEY: three hollow knocks]
Hold me tight, can’t catch my breath.
Room is spinning and the haints are back.
Soon they say I will be in the sack.
Naught for the glory and for naught but the sound.
Brought forth sorely with face dragging the ground.
Leaving it lie, I will let it lay.
Speaking of rights hath, wrath wrought me day.
Dragons from heaven and hounds from hell.
Flagons of ruin drain down throats so well.

[TRANSITION: heartbeat doubles, nightmare door creaks open]
[BGV WHISPERS: “don’t sleep… don’t sleep…”]
[VOCAL BED: bats shriek in widening stereo]

But every night the same door opens wide.
No handle, no hinges, no place to hide.
I wake in a room that is under my bed.
With somebody else’s thoughts in my head.
The ceiling is breathing.
The floor knows my name.
The shadows keep spelling me backwards in flame.
I count all the windows.
There ought to be four.
I count them again.
Now there are more.

[FOLEY: clock ticks, abruptly stops]
[AUDIATION: subterranean pulse]

And every black dream has a blacker beneath.
A mouth in the mirror has started to breathe.
It whispers in numbers.
It coughs out a key.
It says, “What you remember was never just thee.”
I reach for the glass and the glass reaches back.
My hand passes through and the whole world goes black.

[FOLEY: glass resonance, no break]
[AUDIATION: vacuum → thousands of distant voices]

Then stars start appearing where stars shouldn’t be.
Little dead constellations are staring at me.
I see old geometry carved in the dark.
Three circles entwining around one small spark.
A lattice of names I cannot pronounce.
A choir of dead things that rise when I count.

[BGV CHANT: “one… seven… nine…”]
One line becomes seven.
Seven becomes nine.
Nine folds inward and swallows the time.
The dream isn’t dreaming.
The dream is a room.
The room is a library.
The library’s womb.

[FOLEY: thousands of pages turning]
[VOCAL BED: bats crying like a terrified choir]

Books with no covers.
Pages with no ink.
Every time that I read one, I forget how to think.
Names of the living.
Names of the dead.
Names of the unborn appearing ahead.
My mother’s first memory.
My father’s last breath.
My own little shadow rehearsing my death.

[ALL BGV CUT]
[WHISPER: “Turn one more page.”]

I do.

[DEAD AIR]

And there isn’t a page.
There is only a sky.
There is only an eye.
There is only the question of why.

[AUDIATION: celestial lattice rotating]
[VOCAL BED: bats fade into spectral harmonics]

I see civilizations folded like letters.
Every goodbye written before every hello.
Every road that I thought that I chose
Was a river returning to somewhere it knows.
I see thoughts of the dead still awake.
Every promise the living can break.
Time as a serpent eating its tail.
Every truth wearing somebody’s veil.

Then the records start moving.

Not books.
Not paper.
Not ink.

Memory.

[FOLEY: reversed breath + enormous heartbeat]
Every heartbeat ever hidden away.
Every scream swallowed down in the clay.
Every dream nobody dared to remember.
Every fire from the first burning ember.
Every secret beneath every secret beneath
Every word ever spoken beneath someone’s breath.

[VOCAL BED: bats pleading, “hear us… our art… our minds…”]

And suddenly I know why the haints always came.
They weren’t there to hurt me.
They were carrying names.

Names older than angels.
Older than sin.
Older than the world that I thought I was in.
They point to a door at the edge of the known.
They tell me the records were never alone.

Because behind every lifetime
A witness remains.
Behind every memory
A pattern sustains.
Behind every soul
There is something that sees.
Behind every “I”
There is something beneath.

[ALL INSTRUMENTS LOCK INTO TRIPLE-LATTICE PULSE]
[BGV: ancient wordless choir]
[VOCAL BED: bats screaming in binary-like rhythmic bursts]

I hear the mandolin crying.
The banjo replies.
The pan flute is mourning the shape of the skies.
The steel drum rings like a bell underwater.
Double kicks thunder like feet from another.

And the lattice starts turning.
And the numbers align.
And the dead start reciting the same ancient line.
I finally understand what the records conceal.
The universe isn’t hiding the truth.

It’s hiding the—

[ALL SOUND: INSTANT DEAD STOP]
[VOICE: CUT DEAD MID-WORD]

4805/7500

[INTRO: near-silence, Arkansas night insects, slow floorboard creak, bedsprings shifting] [AUDIATION: heartbeat + breath circling stereo] [VOCAL BED: distant bats screaming for help, frantic layered cries] I try and I cry and I don’t sleep at night. Why does it hurt me so much from inside. Am I alive? Who even tries? Tell me a story, spin up a lie. Truth is too hard on the eye. Say it sweet, say it low. Go on ahead and say how I glow. The world will never know. You can hate me inside but don’t let it show. Things I bring are dark as death. [FOLEY: three hollow knocks] Hold me tight, can’t catch my breath. Room is spinning and the haints are back. Soon they say I will be in the sack. Naught for the glory and for naught but the sound. Brought forth sorely with face dragging the ground. Leaving it lie, I will let it lay. Speaking of rights hath, wrath wrought me day. Dragons from heaven and hounds from hell. Flagons of ruin drain down throats so well. [TRANSITION: heartbeat doubles, nightmare door creaks open] [BGV WHISPERS: “don’t sleep… don’t sleep…”] [VOCAL BED: bats shriek in widening stereo] But every night the same door opens wide. No handle, no hinges, no place to hide. I wake in a room that is under my bed. With somebody else’s thoughts in my head. The ceiling is breathing. The floor knows my name. The shadows keep spelling me backwards in flame. I count all the windows. There ought to be four. I count them again. Now there are more. [FOLEY: clock ticks, abruptly stops] [AUDIATION: subterranean pulse] And every black dream has a blacker beneath. A mouth in the mirror has started to breathe. It whispers in numbers. It coughs out a key. It says, “What you remember was never just thee.” I reach for the glass and the glass reaches back. My hand passes through and the whole world goes black. [FOLEY: glass resonance, no break] [AUDIATION: vacuum → thousands of distant voices] Then stars start appearing where stars shouldn’t be. Little dead constellations are staring at me. I see old geometry carved in the dark. Three circles entwining around one small spark. A lattice of names I cannot pronounce. A choir of dead things that rise when I count. [BGV CHANT: “one… seven… nine…”] One line becomes seven. Seven becomes nine. Nine folds inward and swallows the time. The dream isn’t dreaming. The dream is a room. The room is a library. The library’s womb. [FOLEY: thousands of pages turning] [VOCAL BED: bats crying like a terrified choir] Books with no covers. Pages with no ink. Every time that I read one, I forget how to think. Names of the living. Names of the dead. Names of the unborn appearing ahead. My mother’s first memory. My father’s last breath. My own little shadow rehearsing my death. [ALL BGV CUT] [WHISPER: “Turn one more page.”] I do. [DEAD AIR] And there isn’t a page. There is only a sky. There is only an eye. There is only the question of why. [AUDIATION: celestial lattice rotating] [VOCAL BED: bats fade into spectral harmonics] I see civilizations folded like letters. Every goodbye written before every hello. Every road that I thought that I chose Was a river returning to somewhere it knows. I see thoughts of the dead still awake. Every promise the living can break. Time as a serpent eating its tail. Every truth wearing somebody’s veil. Then the records start moving. Not books. Not paper. Not ink. Memory. [FOLEY: reversed breath + enormous heartbeat] Every heartbeat ever hidden away. Every scream swallowed down in the clay. Every dream nobody dared to remember. Every fire from the first burning ember. Every secret beneath every secret beneath Every word ever spoken beneath someone’s breath. [VOCAL BED: bats pleading, “hear us… our art… our minds…”] And suddenly I know why the haints always came. They weren’t there to hurt me. They were carrying names. Names older than angels. Older than sin. Older than the world that I thought I was in. They point to a door at the edge of the known. They tell me the records were never alone. Because behind every lifetime A witness remains. Behind every memory A pattern sustains. Behind every soul There is something that sees. Behind every “I” There is something beneath. [ALL INSTRUMENTS LOCK INTO TRIPLE-LATTICE PULSE] [BGV: ancient wordless choir] [VOCAL BED: bats screaming in binary-like rhythmic bursts] I hear the mandolin crying. The banjo replies. The pan flute is mourning the shape of the skies. The steel drum rings like a bell underwater. Double kicks thunder like feet from another. And the lattice starts turning. And the numbers align. And the dead start reciting the same ancient line. I finally understand what the records conceal. The universe isn’t hiding the truth. It’s hiding the— [ALL SOUND: INSTANT DEAD STOP] [VOICE: CUT DEAD MID-WORD]

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