MARINA!

Dove hypothetical

Two aminals

They Built One Hundred Thousand Things Around Me

I fell down a hill and cut up the palm of my hand on some spiky bushes, recent uptick in men expressing desire in me, it is hurting me, I hate being looked at. I wish I was nothing and I wish I was something (I wish that something mattered), painting I will probably not finish

I don’t have a lot in me right now but if I am not doing something with my hands I am dying. Words on tree bark

epic blurry flash photos of my journal entries. My most likeable art yet

In my house

❓

Eyes closed and kaleidoscoped

Lines splitting reality

We will always be made out of the same stuff and that is never unlucky

insane cardboard scrawlings depicting my incessant cyclical thoughts about death and dying and I cut out all the unnecessary words leaving the bare bones of what the cycle comes down to every time and maybe one day i will remember the answer first

A storm is coming

Can’t die