❝  ARE  YOU  ACCUSTOMED  TO  THIS  ?  traveling  for  miles  with  nothing  around  ?  ❞  shawky  finishes  packing  the  saddlebag  ,  careful  with  his  leather  journal  ,  and  glances  over  at  her  again  .  ❝  it’ll  be  hot  ,  and  it  might  be  dangerous  ,  but  this  is  the  only  way  we  make  it  out  to  the  ruins  .  ❞  after  a  bit  of  awkward  adjustment  ,  the  explorer  manages  to  climb  up  onto  the  saddle  of  his  horse  (  only  after  making  a  few  painful  noises  in  the  process  )  .  once  he’s  all  settled  ,  he  smiles  over  at  her  .  ❝               glad  you’re  coming  with  me  .  i’m  going  to  need  all  the  help  i  can  get  when  we  climb  down  inside  .  who  knows  what  might  be  lurking  there  .  ❞

okay u imply that i, at 13, did not purchase every single cirque du freak and still deeply love them

this room is ugly.    you’re  ugly.    the wasteland is uglier.    a tormented moment of vermillion   &   grotesque carmine gore splattered along the decaying wall.    chips of paint rest on the soot - covered carpet,   scorching tears beginning to drip from roseate cheeks.    a mother teaching her hen,   you no longer hold the knife   —   she  does.    her words are laughable,   a moment to sop up   &   carry within your  rotting  corpse.    that’s all you are   :   a  walking  fucking  corpse.    rancid   &   ready to bite,   a symphony of cries from the  mysterious  man  fill the rotting living room.    

i  have  a  family!    please  don’t  do  this!    i  have  caps!    i  have  whatever  you  two  want!

you gorge yourself on his words   /   the adrenaline seeping through your pores from these moments.    have much of this world have you devoured?    how many more hearts can you eat   &   leave in your acetic belly?    there’s always a  drive  to return to this place of darkness   &   blood.    you’re  addicted.    you’re a monster.

❝    ain’t that a shame.    i  was  rootin’  for  ya’,   genny!    ❞    your tongue is bloated with rot   &   maggots,   slithering their way out of your mouth   &   onto the floor.    they beg to be devoured   &   ate in their entirety,   your head leaning back to swallow the remaining.    clawing their way up your throat,   those  wretched  things.    a living dead girl,   you are   —   you’ve  always  been such a creature.    marred fingers snatch the knife from the blonde’s hands,   your  unbecoming  nature  splayed out for the world to see.    a demonstration of sorts,   brutality claiming its residence within your bones.    they crack,   disfiguring themselves as you lowered onto your knees,   hands clasping around the man’s jawline.    silence becomes stagnant,   sobs   &   breaths filling the room to its brim.    shoulders squared,   a curt curve of your lips is sent in his direction,   the blade swiftly slitting itself across olive flesh.    a faucet spitting water,   transparent liquid is replaced with ruby,   besmirching yourself  once  more.    you are the fire,   burning in this inferno of unspoken land   —   nothing can ever sate you.    you’re  always  going  to  crave  more.    

                                                                          𝙰𝚄𝚃𝚄𝙼𝙽𝙰𝙻    𝙰𝚄𝙱𝙰𝙳𝙴        made    manifest   :           aureate    arpeggios    characterize    timbre  ,              seity    to    signature    each    ridibund    reaching    of    stave’s    inhabitants    for    awaiting    firmament       &       her    open    embrace  .             batting    of    RORID    LASH         /         dewdust’s    dance    with    dawn       ;              waltz    of    welkin    as    overture       to    ‘ nother    morn  .