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A poem for someone who won’t read it (yet):

(Tw mentions of death, torture, and religion)

- The first thing that you should know, of course, is that not all of the bodies are real. When they first shove you into the room full of frozen corpses to punish you for being a sinner, I notice through your teary eyes that in the back corners of the room, the shapes are a little too consistent, the blood a little too red. Corn syrup and Halloween decorations, meant to make the room seem even more horrible than it truly is, to make their power seem even more overwhelming than it truly is. Reused set dressing, like a high school play. It seems that even our self proclaimed Gods have budget constraints. Not that they place much value on human life here. I have seen just how much my life is worth, and I am well aware that it is a cheap commodity. It is something that can be bought, if someone is in the right mood, and willing to pay extra. Which brings us to the second thing you should know.

- The second thing, of course, is that the bodies closest to you? They are very much real. The girl from last week, or what is left of her, sits in the middle, staring blankly back at you. Her face is gone, and I wouldn’t recognize her at all if it weren’t for her pretty hair, matted as it is with blood. Don’t look at her. Turn your eyes away, please. Look at someone we don’t know. But nowhere is safe for your eyes to rest, and so you clench them shut. They’ll beat you for that later, but at least we dont have to look into the begging eyes of the dead. For what it’s worth, I think you made the right choice.

- The third thing you should know, of course, is that we will survive this. We already have. They may play at being your god, and you may pretend you want to be their priest, but their power didn’t really extend much further than their reach, and I think you know that. They said God and his angels would be watching, would tell them if ever we sinned or had sinful thoughts. But in the thirteen years since I escaped, bringing you with me? Gods been real fucking quiet.

- The fourth thing you should know, that you already know, is that I love you. No matter how much you might fight to go back, no matter what wounds you may give me, I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out how to escape sooner.

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BULLET FROM A GUN.

Trauma like rifling sends us spiraling forward in an arc of death. As we exit the barrel of the gun that fired us and the door of the home that made us we do not know where we will land. Who we will thud into. When we do it is not the Bullet itself that does most of the damage. It is the Cavitation. A transference of the force of the shot causing an explosion of violence against the ones we are most intimate with. Does the Bullet find comfort in this? In knowing that the violence isn’t its fault? In knowing that it is just a vessel for someone else’s force? No. Never.

When one body crumples to the ground and one stands holding the gun, only the Bullet and the Victim feel the warm blood cooling in the night air.

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Both versions of the Divine sign!

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Heres the members of the Number system i know about! myself excluded, cuz i just look like our body does.

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slaps ive been making for another zine fair! featuring one that im realizing is kinda bootleg version of bunlith. whoops. anyways im gonna make my next big piece tomorrow!

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okay i changed my mind this is the final version

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Conscripts, v2.5

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Conscripts, v2

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mouse pulling a thorn from the cats paw

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Conscripts v1

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Out for a walk

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While I have teeth

no one is safe

Pliers pressed to my soft palate

Like the barrel of a revolver when I was fourteen

click click click

holy holy holy

first should go the canines

sharp and violent

the most obvious culprits

blood will pour down my chin

onto tile floor

mirror reflecting a crazed thing

not me

not me

not me

I am pure and holy

and soon I will be free of bite

next come the incisors

there are a lot of them

but don’t lose

your nerve

they are just as dangerous

your reflection weeps

and you laugh in its face

an emptying smile showcasing

a truly domesticated you

Bicuspids. Focus.

no one is going to save you

so you have to save them

I grip bloodslick plier in hand

and grab at the teeth

harder to reach

they splinter as I pull

I cannot tell if I scream

or if I am singing with rapture

if theres a later I will claim I sang

but for now you need to pull

like when you tied string to teeth

as a child

hoping to see the tooth fairy

or at least her money

if they hadn’t grown back

I’d have been perfect

the perfect

toy

tool

machine

but they did

molars.

hands shake now worse

grab tongue, cheek, gums

almost resisting the joy

that is to come

pull and shatter

not the first time nervous agony

as wires expose to cold air

and hot breath

last time probably an accident

tooth split open by someone

Might know them

but hurting others is wrong

so don’t tell anyone

just live, exposed and toothless

bask in the joy of their safety

and your usefulness

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First few pages of my new sketchbook!!!

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I’m coming back, for sure. So don’t bury me too deep.

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Some green.

Abandoned stuff

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Abandoned stuff

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Looping around and around the same place. Suppose there’s a joy to that.