.+°,×✧still mentally .+°.✧ `°fucked in the head✧`×

(Holding pencil in a vice grip, forehead dripping with sweat, visibly vibrating) i can make art because its fun. Doesnt need to be useful or meaningful. I like making things. Making things is fun. I can make things because its fun. I enjoy things. I can enjoy things. (pencil snaps in half)

This used to be so personal to me, it used to be so viceral. I used to be so open, unafraid of consequences i neither thought nor cared that i might face. Its strange. Its a funhouse mirror in a way. Its everything i ever could have been and all that im not and all that i desperately wished i wasnt. It is a liminal space for me. Who are you? Who am i?

You festered, you infected their head, you swirl around like smoke, and like smoke they breathe you in, like a tsunami you overtake them, feared and anticipated - but there is nothing that could ever prepare someone for this. For you.

Ghosts can hold your hand btw. Ghosts can swirl around your fingertips and leave residue under your nails. Ghosts can reach their hand inside your chest and linger there, btw.

On a completely unrelated note i rly rly rly wqnna try the strawberry ultra monster soooo so so so bad

I wanna go to design school i wanna sell handmade jewellry i wanna paint i wanna make zines i wanna go into biochemistry or microbiology i wanna be a crow i wanna be a ghost i want to study language and art i want to find a clubbing social circle i want to decompose i want to be a friend i want to be a wounded bird i want to live i want to die i want to heal i want to fester i want to implode i want to become i want to become i want to become i want to become i want to become i want to become