Double-Cupped, Leanin', Syrup-Sippin' Demon


Lethal in his application, the taste of viscous relapse was all-too enticing to pass up. Despite the 'gests to stop, the quelling of his inner thoughts wouldn't let up. He was tired — oh so very tired of the cycle. He's treading a dangerous journey beneath the nebulous waters, caught amidst the twilight sparkles — the pretense of a “happier place”. Scoffing could be heard all throughout; Frank didn't have a reason to comply — especially to Her concerns. Those times were over, and he took it on good faith that the passage to safety was delightfully swirling within his double cup setup.

The purple nectar wasn't something he came across on his own, 'course not. The Chopped & Screwed era never quite hit Canadian soul, for its niche applications. The jagged, drowsy beats; the deep baritone cadence and a tempo that made the average person wonder if someone spilled the coffee across the synthesizer. Joe's hard-hitting preferences and likeness towards the subculture piqued a deep curiosity after the Fall. After the first go, Frank was hooked. There was something fascinating about the loss of control; a deep-seated submerging descent into an incubated stasis. Indescribable, but discerning from the moment someone took a glance into those glassed, hazel eyes occluded by the crimson chaos. A smog was present that quickly enveloped, and his movements were sluggish. He didn't have a care in the world, but for the life of him, couldn't remember what the hell was said all those nights.

It's a dangerous game; the convulsions came sudden, but quick. He couldn't tell if the symptoms hit in a lucid dream, or reality took its hold from an evil obligation. The Entity's tug & pull never did much to ease the blow. The sin was intoxicating; a poisonous, heart-stopping tonic that sought to alleviate the ever waking mind, and his conflicting duality.

He'd give it another go, even if the risk brought a premature halt to FJSJ.

“Help me forget—just one more time. I don't like thinkin', I don't like a lot of sh*t. Maybe it's the pressure, I 'dunno but I can't afford to lose this for the night—so back off, and quit askin'. Even if we're one. I'll gamble for You.”