Sep 2, 2025
M30s
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M30s
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Danny, take your medicine; and if your throat closes, then it’s for the best- if you truly have that fire in your breast, then you can live without any breath in your chest. danny take your medicine, it’s for the best. it’s a hard pill to swallow, and it’s shaped like a note i wish i let you borrow, and i can let rhymes flow off the top of my mind but nothing in here is deserving of your prime, so why do i write like it’s for anyone’s eyes but mine?
there’s art, and it suffuses my life with a deep orange glow like lone beach sunsets or late night highway streetlamps; and then there’s reality, and the endless abrasion of days that interrupt the truth i feel in my dreams. i’ve chosen to be alive, and thus to be the best that i can be; and i’ve reasoned that the best i could do with this biological idea delivery mechanism of mine is to find the idea that might help people with this affliction- the dozens of voices i’ve known and loved who live every day wondering why and wanting to swallow knives. ‘you can swallow shotguns if you want to’, the teenage artist murmured to himself, and he slit his wrists and went to sleep; and i don’t remember what i dreamed of, but when i woke up there was joy in my disappointment.
i’ve glimpsed it, felt it, run my fingers through its essence and understood with the most basic sense of my being what true beauty is; and if i can share a glimpse of that through these flawed symbols scrawled to exorcise emotional hauntings, or moving images crudely attempting to synthesize the art of reality, then i can die happy, i can let this fear in my gut go. i will not be forgotten; i will not let the blood and sweat and tears and vomit that have birthed who i have become be for nothing. there is a great mystery that involves every single last one of us, and i may not be able to solve it- but i can help us get just one step closer to the day that nobody ever has to live like this again, and that’s enough for me.
i hate this haunting. i hate it with every fiber of my being. i have bathed in it, been shaped by it, let it predict and dictate my life; because the hate drives me to kill it, and i can never let myself forget that. i let my guard down, sometimes; i forget that the pain comes back. i let myself believe in in a story that transcended itself; and i can appreciate the aesthetic attempt, but the truth is that a wandering eye doesn’t draw companions; they want shelter, and safety, and warmth that has a source, not this endless search for truly newfound meaning. there’s a machine that carries me that wants that, too; but i choke down my medicine, and we’re both better for it.
i can’t promise safety; i can’t promise a satisfying conclusion. what i promise is knowing at the end of your life that you did the best you could do with what you were given. so i gather my tools, and gather my senses, and set about building an idol that can defend this.
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