Tumgik
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guilty. guilty. guilty. guilty. guilty.
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your words get caught in your teeth like rose petals. you feel them taking root deep within you. you turn to the sun, and your blood starts to burst from your veins like the plant stems snaking through your body. you don't know what to say anymore. a red tulip bursts out of your throat.
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the sand is hot under your feet but the water is hotter. you’re surrounded by stingrays and gingerbread floating in the bay. you look back to the piers. you never woke up.
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You laugh and spin, dancing among fragments of rainbows. The sun melts, dripping bright blue wax over your skin. It's such a beautiful day and you don't care anymore that you can't feel your legs. You dance on the ice, and it shatters. You don't care. They can have you.
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elevator music rings in your ears. you don’t remember if you’re going up or down. the door opens into the next elevator. you don’t remember if you’re going up or down.
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What's scarier: the thought that you never were in control, or always were?
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The halls don’t end. They keep going and going in empty, carpeted infinity and the world outside is an eternity away.
You are more alone than you have ever been, because even humanity does not linger here.
The white walls are everything and they are nothing and they will never end.
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head spins. head spins. you thought it was saturday. you thought it was tuesday. your words won’t come out in full sentences. you don’t remember your native tongue.
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hours blur as you spend your day waiting for the sun to set, to rid you of the heat, of the fever. your shadow grows longer and you watch it, and you watch it, and you watch it. it is hot, and you are waiting.
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battery acid pours into your ears. you can taste static on your tongue. you dont remember how you got here, you dont want to go home
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the day is gone before you blink. the humidity rises. you can’t breathe. you can’t sleep.
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you fall asleep in midwinter. you wake up. it is spring. the flowers are far too bright, too pigmented, to be real, you think. the birdsong grates, artificial, against your ear drums. you fall asleep and wake up and fall asleep and wake up and it is still spring. you trust nothing and wait for summer.
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in the dream you are the mangled offspring of an old god, gilded and terrifying. in the dream you speak only latin, repeating "ita paenitet me, ita paenitet me" over and over. in the dream the new god snarls at you, the priests snap and bark, the women avert their eyes. in the dream you cannot seem to wake from you are struck down at the altar of the new god, sobbing "ita paenitet me, ita paenitet me" (you are so sorry, you are so sorry)
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Your head shakes and your vision blurs with it. Everything feels wrong. Your skin is crawling and there are eyes on your back.
Your head shakes and your vision swims. Your hands aren’t your own.
Your head shakes and your vision doubles. Triples. Why are you crying?
Your head shakes and your vision goes black. You stagger, and fall—
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You open your mouth to scream and your ears start ringing. Your throat is straining but the sound is coming from the walls.
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your vision blurs every couple of seconds. is it already time to get up? where are you right now? for how long? are you really there? was the sky always this color?
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you haven’t moved but the room hasn’t stopped spinning. you can’t tell which way is forward.
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