Delirious... Delirium... Flavor fueling the twist of madness. Like a sweet and salty tang of intoxication that makes you see things. Oh how much more there was to this sweet and dark flavor, the sweet and dark temptation of murderous intentions of the mind. The mind... A morbid object within the large ivory case covered by the soft versatile flesh canvas. Easily sliced, cut, ripped, marked, and poked with things it was so easily damaged. There were things the flesh canvas could withstand and at others that it couldn't. Such meaningless uses... It was deafening. Yes. Deafening. A soundless outcry that made no truth to what the canvas was. This truth was later carved to its full by one being. One being that was born in London no less. This being was the reason for madness in one child's heart and soul. His eyes opened, orbs encrusted of yellow and vein from bloodshot, lifting his head he shook it with a smirk, "Dare I mark the thing I shall say. Can you not turn that infernal racket off- or is it part of that wormed corpse that rests in the ivory casing?" The man pulled his ear bud out as he heard the shout from the cell, the male stopped and looked to the door with a blood smudge on it, fresh blood. The male just blinked and held the bud in his palm, Chester by then was by the door and tapped the metal with the back of his hand on the knuckles with an open clench, "Yes I can hear it. Yet that be by a simple margin." He leaned on the wall, "It's so ghastly - can you not listen to Mozart or that Ludvig persona? It's much more soothing and stimulates the grease you have surrounding the worms in your casing." he muttered before hearing the male scoff and beat the door, making fun of him for hearing his loud rock.<br/><br/>Chester was once known to a girl, a young girl as the Cheshire Cat, the very same of tales but one of a much deeper meaning. He was a strange man. Scraggly hair and marred body in all. As so was the male who he told to tune it down, the janitor, "Don't let the door hit you-" the male chuckled as the loud pang sounded in the hall, "Too late. Maybe you should have kept the sound low? Not a distraction if set soft, well to me that is." He began to hum as he lifted his hand and bit his thumb tip, piercing the cleft made from previous bites. Walking to a wall he licked his lips, "Oh how the blank walls deter my sanity, I wish these had my gorgeous pictures. The last place shunned me for my self torturous deeds, poking and prodding my finger tips every other day to draw out the paints inside of me. I'm a walking bag of paint. Red and black paint. Oh how I remember drawing out<span style="font-style: italic">her's</span>... I wish for a taste once more. All I did was a nibble on her hand's bridge- he one between index and thumb. Oh how it was sweet." Reaching up he felt the padding. Each one at that height till he found one near the door and then set to work. He had gotten skilled over the years. Before and during his asylum stays. He was two days new to this place. The... Wonderland... How ironic... That was what<span style="font-style: italic">she</span>called his world. Could this be the chaser of the rabbit white?<br/><br/>Chester didn't know not did he care. He just went to work. Plastering his own blood in thin light lines before making dark adding details to a face he was making. It would take a while to create the face and add such vulgar and morbid detail. Oh yes... How this face brought memories back. His fingers tingled, making him stop and chuckle moving to sit in the middle of the room looking to the started face of a person, "Here, there. It doesn't matter where you think you are going. Only where you will soon be is where." He splayed out his hands, placing them flat before him and was on all fours in a raised plank, stretching like a cat and then back to sitting, closing his eyes he lifted his head to the ceiling, "Everyone here... Is mad. I'm mad, you're mad... It just depends on how you perceive such word. Madness is insanity while its also anger. In my case it's insanity? I smile when angry but look otherwise when joyful. So therefore I must be part of madness. Or was it how I created art though morbid intentions?" Falling silent he began to hum Lacremosa.