It's hardly a coincidence that I wake up with my cup half full every day.
I fill it to the brim on purpose and wait for it to overflow before adding more and more until there is nothing left.
And then I erupt.
You see, the only thing I'm filling this cup with is my own blood. It is my filth, my perversion. I sulk in it.
Worst of all, I enjoy it.
I adore being sick; I fall into this mud that I call home of my own volition.
I wait for the cup to overflow because that is when I feel the most like myself. When I'm at my worst, that's when I'm the most alive.
When I feel most at: Home
(Written by Lou.)
















