Rusted Burial

you're so weird and creepy *kicking my legs*

blood. it is all blood that you see. blood from each wall to the next, dripping, dropping, dribbling, each crevice filled with the sticky red substance of flesh. your mouth almost waters, tasting of metal and tang. you are not to bleed. please, do not let yourself bleed.

i am in severe distress. i am vibing. i am king of the world. i am bored. i am lost at sea. i am making coffee. i am foraging in the forest. i am making tea. i am chasing pigeons. i am napping in a chair

i hate it when people ask me to “explain my thought process” like hell if i know

“what’s going on in that head of yours?” nothing i want to be a part of

“nothing that will make any sense to you because it’s like six degrees of separation mixed with a bad game of telephone.”