it makes me feel a little sick still,
sometimes. motionsickness.
moonsickness. my hands are full of
lunalight. covered in blood.
how did you do that to me?
my mouth still halts on certain syllables
like the end noise of sorry, like the way no
curdles in my mouth like vanilla extract
i havent said your name in so long.
i can whisper it to the darkness,
but theres no familiarity. it isnt you
if theres no fear. it doesnt hit the air
shapeless and amorphous, the notes
bending displeasingly, in a prayer. it
falls flat, spread eagled, like a rock down
a well. it slams into me like a promise.
you convinced me i was lying when
i told you every truth i had and so
now i always assume im lying to myself.
i say that im safe, that its different
now, that this area code has never known
the shape of you or your eyes in
the dark, and still i whisper your name
to check if you lurk in the shadows.
half expecting you to speak back to me
every single time. when will the safety
weighheavy in my head like the
danger? do you know that when
i see smoke sift thru shafts of light
all i wish is to be that free?
musical memory is vague but haunting.
synesthe means more depth, more
to remember. the way my skin prickled.
the way your teeth impressed me.
as the beat pounded in my head
like a migraine, brainempty. that
whole album was a black hole for
a winter. id slip into it on my bathroom
floor, sinking into the terror because
it felt like home, like emptiness.
made me remember. it made me real.
you would hold me with cold hands,
raise me up to god and whisper
sweetnothing as my tears filled the basin,
as the tile commiserated me, forgave.
but now it barely touches me. i dont
remember, just a pulsequicken. just
a pause. time fades me like that. i am
a facsimile of who i used to be, a pale
and murmured imitation. a game of
telephone. a matroyshka.
the shower cried harder than i did
back then, weeping and wheezing,
the water tainted me, unforgiving and
cruel. i watched me as you watched
evidence float down the drain. dripdark,
thick with desperation and hope,
your hands stitching themselves into
my hair and offering me to god,
my teeth bared to prove innocence.
waterboarding my memories out of me
curling up fetal waiting for sleep.
waiting for my lungs to fill, to drown.
hazy, catatonic, worship. something close
to repentance, something close to
a funeral. the vacant, fluid shadows
watched me die, cheering mindlessly.
there was no kindness in the architecture
of the home you bought me, a prison,
a fairytale tower, a blackholebody.
even the cats saw the ghosts of me.
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"You're a tourist in the mushroom kingdom when as the final destination of your tour around the country, you decide to visit the castle, where the country's princess "peach" lives and works.
As you go to the castle peach greets you and a couple of other tourist like you, you're lucky that you've arrived in the castle's short time period where it's open for the general public(it's useally for 4 hours in the afternoon)
You guys see many parts of the castle, just wondering in awe by the infrastructure, but as you do this you accidentally go away from the tour group, now you try finding your way back when one of the doors you open leads to the enclosed backyard which functions as a garden.
For a minute you forgot that you just got lost and look around, many type's of wonderful plants are here, although it's mostly flowers and fruit bush's, as you look around you see a pink rose-like which has a crown on the top of it, you can't believe that flower has a crown on the top of it so you lean closer, but as you do the rose suddenly brusts out pollen, and that makes you cough and barely take in oxygen, but after that inital shock, you begin to feel differently, sweet aroma's take over your sense's and your vision becomes blurry and colorful, and then your mind completely blanks out…
5 Hours Later
Peach strolls into the garden to water some plants and to calm herself down for a bit and forget the international relations conflic about fruit export with the mobius country,and as she does that she hears moaning sounds.
"Wh-who is it" - says as she handles the watering can into an attacking position, looks around and sees a fellow human completely delirous, just knocked out on the gravel
"Oh your poor thing" - says as she runs to you
"What happened over here?" - says again as she looks to the plant you where sleeping by.
"Dang it, it's those peach flowers again that e.gadd gave me for my birthday, i mean i appricate his efforts to create some flowers based on human liknesses with science, but they are causing me way too much trouble in the spring time when these emit pollen daily.
I mean the amount of guys i needed to have sex with just cause the flowers makes them extremely horny for me and the only way to counteract it is to fuck them are way too high for someone like me", she then sighs.
"And you're gonna be one of these lucky bastards don't you?", you proceed to respond nothing but with more moaning
"Gimme your leg, time to get peachy hihi" says in a kinda cute voice as she grabs your leg and drags you across the garden into the castle."
Doing an actual pov story, and not just a scp/found media ripoff???
IMPOSSIBLE
Anyways, the 2024 list is officially in use now and remember
Stay safe and obey :)
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With battery fading
Dear C.,
I am writing late in the night, with battery fading. I had plans to change tracks, to venture into fiction this missive, having been granted permission by you, the bored and I. To take it from where you left it, with the walking and aims, in an exploration of wandering, permission and comfort. Thinking back to the situationists, to the derive and the drift. And then linking that with the police state they’re sewing and our ability and our desire and our imagination, when it comes to leaving the house, to just do so, without aim. Here, you need one of 6 reasons, if you don’t fulfill one of them, and cops are the ones deciding, you get to give the mothering state more mothering money.
But. Time passed as we had a guest, who is now settling down for the night in the other room. And now we are tired, and brainempty, and sated. After wine, lots of talk, a good amount of laughter, and some writing – we are writing a parody of a beatles song, virus themed. It’s silly but so good, as is this space. Funny, the intrusion of social contact into my monkitude, that is what I blame for the lack of proper attention to this writing moment. But that’s ok, cos mañana’s another day, and mañana’s also your day, haha! I’m a looking forward to reading you then, and to writing more, without the distraction of friends and wine and normal evenings, once comfortably back in monkland. A place I am starting to really enjoy the exploring of. Beautiful sentence to end. Oh my.
Sweet dreams!
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