long, slow-burning fuse

You said this, that you understand. I think perhaps that is A tragedy, and also A mistake. I thought that you were Good.

No. Never mind, I have said this wrong. You are good at these things:

1.     Being my minutes man.

2.    Giving baked goods, which are also Good. Ginger Snaps, &c. &c.

3.    Writing many things always.

4.    Love, probably.

5.    Knowing the right words constantly.

Surely, I think, surely these factors (see above) make you a Good person? But I think you have compromised this. By understanding me, that is.

See here, my minutes man. If you were in my socks, and you made the same decision I did, I could likely not ever look you in the eyes again. On second thought, perhaps that is offensive to you, in which case you should recall that no matter how Bad you are, you will always be Better than me. And my offensive language.

The thing with the people who are maybe Worse than me, is that they are and/slash/or were very clever. And I am not that. You said in your letter that you thought I was quick and smart. But for me those two seem to be mutually exclusive and the only thing I am quick at is exiling my

No never mind I’m not finishing that sentence. Realistically I could say whatever I wish considering this is going in the furnace when I’m done. Maybe I will make a list of the things you could know if you knew me, minutes man.

-      I barely ever speak to you and I miss you anyway. Silly and stupid.

-      Only one person Not many people know this, but I am always burning. There is fire in my stomach or intestines or something, and in my brain. And in most of my organs. Skin is an organ! Did you know this, minutes man? I am burning there too.

-      When I die, which will be within the next six months if we’re all honest with ourselves, I will absolutely go to Hell. And perhaps my Hell will not be fire. Maybe it will be cold, and frosty, because God or someone thought, Oh! So the President is burning, hm? Burning with his power over the State? We will freeze him! And they won’t know it, but I’ll say thank you, thank you, thank you. I will freeze to death for the rest of eternity and they’ll never know how grateful I am.

-      I want to visit the snow one day, maybe.

-      I just want someone to hold me and say

We are not doing that anymore. Thank you for your patience, imaginary Ranboo. Would you look at that! I can even write your real name here. It is liberating, this whole burning thing. Thank god for the furnace. I wish it was big enough for

I should stop this. I’m burning and burning and there’s not much time for writing letters that no one will even see. The fire will swallow this and I will not watch it. I will instead calculate the land in acres that L’Manburg dedicates to wheat farming. I’m quite good at that. But you could probably do it Better.

Thank you, my minutes man, for not reading these words. I can’t believe I actually wrote them. This is fucked.

You are my favourite person on the whole Cabinet.

and the oscar goes to…

“everytime you take what’s mine and make it about you.”

bee box boy

I hope this hurts.

c!tommy painting I did a while ago... lots of thoughts and emotions put into this one...