Ahem! Let's try this part of the infinite abyss, shall we? Here we go, follow my lead!
hm... didn't seem to work. i'll try again tomorrow.
i sleep in crumbs,
my bed is a soft dirt floor.
i pretend to be dead when i hear a knock on the door.
light hurts my eyes, but i refuse to wear sunglasses
because they bring up the oh so ~painful~ memory of
that time at fourteen when i was too awkward and too quiet and too stuttery when buying a pair. like an alien afraid of blowing their cover.
i absorb water from microwaved meals.
my mind says lazy, my doctor says clinical depression,
but my heart is the one who knows the truth.
wait- what? it is laziness? ... oh.
oh. well. i suppose i can't argue with the heart.
im feelin sad in this chili's tonight, lads
also sometimes my spacebar doesnt work that's annoying ****
if I popped a balloon for every time I felt
black sludge in place of where serotonin should be,
I'll have ruined my own birthday party.
...oh, where are the guests?
did I cancel on them or did they cancel on me?
oh well. I still have my cake.
my black, sludge cake.
my cool new thing is not bothering with the titles anymore
my heart hosts a shy tornado and I cannot tell
whether I am choking or flying.
We've been together for four years.
After a lovely vacation on the beautiful island of Maui, Hawaii, I present to her a small, felt box, small enough to fit in my hand.
I open it.
A hamster the size of a thumb lays there, gasping for air as the oxygen comes rushing back to the tiny creature. His little lungs were straining with effort.
She gasped at the sight.
One would think that my decision to keep a hamster in an airtight box for no other reason than to entertain her would be an alarm bell of sorts.
It wasn't. Not to her.
She called me honey and named it powdered sugar, right before it scampered away, searching for freedom anywhere on this big sandy place, only to drown when a crashing wave swallowed it whole, mercilessly washing away its tiny footprints.
A better name for the hamster would be...
Anyway. She tends to only call me monster, now.
If only she had heard the alarm instead of the wedding.
Looking down the corridor I see a
door that's being held open for a
man who wears two eye patches, a
frown seen somehow in the dark
outline of his silhouette-
I don't get how he's doing that, what? huh?
Tearing through the crowd of men looking down
I see a dent in the ground and I
narrowly step to avoid the
hollow tile, my eyes widen
I realize that he's gone-
Why was this man walking blind so strangely?
Then I see, everyone has left this place
I pace looking for a space to see
just how everyone has left me, I
can't fathom what magic, where,
where does this corridor lead?
The door reads: "To my friends I left behind."
messing with syllables and stuff idk
I might secretly be a snake
it feels as if I'm wearing my own skin as a mask
it is no longer my own
and no one wants to buy a used skin...
I wish a snake would tell me how to shed it.
but if I do, will I still be a person? will I still be the same?
I suppose i'll... keep wearing the full body mask, and try to remember the mannerisms of me, so no one gets suspicious.
it's working so far.
but I think that's because the humans around me aren't looking for the right things, if at all...
I'd like to meet other snakes.
don't ask what my obsession with skin as of late is about because bud i dont have an answer for you