Captain-Pessimistic.

oh, to live with sadness, so deep — it has started spreading; i can feel its crushing weight: a stampede.

my trampled bones have started to resemble wildflowers as they decay and the soil flinches at the sight of something so pure — something so tainted.

behold, the lamb of god has become the big, cruel wolf; this is what happens to delicate things after they’re done breaking — after they’re done rotting. this is what happens to pure things after the sins and sacrificial rites.

behold, the lamb of god — the scapegoat has become the wolf

and one day, it will outrun the forest fog — spreading — consuming. devouring. one day, it will outrun the howling in its chest. one day it will outrun the ironic aching of ribs, long emptied.

oh, to be a girl and not a wolf. to live with sadness and trampled bones. maybe one day, i too will outrun myself

— fray narte

Some things, we never tell ourselves out loud.

**ear-buds recommended**

Requested by defend-poppvnk

My brain: Hey remember that trauma? Say hello again