♦ pitied by @chattyCeazarnie
WHaatever you saay
THaat aalso sounds likke aa pleaasaant paastime, however right now, I aam enjoying the former
○ ● ○ ╰( ◕ ◡ ◕ )╯ _|| ||_ BLOOD 49:27 "rai2e yOur vOice2, lift them On high. fOr Our little baabea2t, whO2e blOOd i2 Oh 2O 2weet, let her ichOr be Our 2alvatiOn and an Offering tO thO2e mirthful twO. LET OUR KNIVE2 CARVE HER FLE2H AND PULL THE PIGMENT FROM HER VEIN2. drink my 2i2ter2. and drink deep." #viOlence #n2fwe #cannabali2m #clurch #mirthfulpO2ting #2cripture ○ ● ○
\ c0rv1d ch1cks d0 N0T l00k l1ke cluckbeast ch1cks!! they d0n't even l00k REM0TELY s1m1lar! n0t all featherbeast ch1cks l00k the same! they're n0t all fluffballs! / \ 1 just saw that damn ph0t0sh0pped 1mage 0f a y0ung "c0rv1d" that's actually a cluckbeast. 1t was c1rculat1ng sweeps ag0. 1'm s00 fuck1ng t1red 0f 1t /
I do [][]ope to get more into poetry sometime. It's a delig[][]tfully calm activity to partake in. One can bare t[][]eir soul, or put out words t[][]at just seem pretty. I likely won't be very structured in my own works, but it would be fun to dabble w[][]en I [][]ave more time. ]:>
brOthEr gAndEr Is gOIng tO bE vEry cOnfUsEd And And cOncErnEd by thIs plEAsE dO nOt wOrry thIs Isn't nOrmAl plEAsE thIs Isn't nOrmAl fOr mE jUst IgnOrE It plEAsE
I hAvE IndEEd gOt thIs In thE bAg kIn prAyEr wIll gEt mE thrOUgh thIs sUrEly It wIll
IvE bEEn dEAlIng wIth... sOmEthIng? pErhAps An IllnEss Of thE pAn, Or A spIrItUAl pOssEssIOn? It hAs bEEn AIlIng mE I Am stIll In thE hOspItAl frOm Its lAst ExcUrsIOn And It Is gEttIng wOrsE
my hEAd stIll hUrts tErrIbly bUt Its ImpOrtAnt tO smIlE AnywAys :)
꧁#grief #zebruhcodakk #kryqusxyllem #traumadumping #selfreflection #mourning #cwdeath #cwobsession #cwpublicspectacle #nsfwe Hhhh. I've spent a long time trying to determine if there is an appropriate amount of time before I should stop being affected by something that rewrote all of the scribbles of my thinkpan. I haven't found the correct determination of time. Which, I guess, is surprising to me. I thought I would understand time very well by joining the Felt. But I think I understand it less. It's been a long time since Zebruh. I can say that plainly. It's not pretty. It's noe like, a bit of romantic devotion to him. Not as like, a joke, or a badge. Or an announcement. I'm not trying to make you all twitch. It's just. How long it's been since Zebruh. That's the line my pan keeps returning to. Since Zebruh. Before Zebruh, happiness wasn't easy. It was recognizable, sure, but it came like a pressure. It was a small mercy chemically dispensed through my pan to make my continued suffering worth it. A message could sit in my pan for nights and keep me warm enough to survive #mypod. After him, happiness just doesn't happen the same. It's awful. I still laugh, I still get flustered, I still enjoy board games and measurements and my little bits of cruelty from Chittr. I feel the stupid jump in my thumper when someone says something kind. I think I believe them for half a second. But I have to punish myself for believing them. Nothing gets as high anymore. The happiness reaches the ceiling and breaks its horsn against it. Everything pleasant is aware of itself and the room around it. I am skeptical at all times. Every little warm thing has me checking the corners of the room as if it is allowed to exist in my life. I used to think being noticed by him was proof that I had been made real. Then I lost him. Then everyone noticed me. And being real became unbearable. I wish I could say I learned something from it. I wish grief made me kinder, or convenient. I wish I could say I'm done confusing my feelings of devotion with feelings of surrender. I can't discern between attention, and safety. I want to be understood. I'm not finished. I'm not finished healing, but I am trying. There's a little humiliating difference, you know. Kryqus made me understand another piece of it, whether he meant to or not. The incident with him, and the way that I was forced to look at myself like a carnival machine that chews on its visitors. It's staying with me too. I was angry, I am always angry, really. Of course I was. Anger is easy. He recoiled from me, and I felt angry. But, he eventually relented. Thankfully, he finally declared that he officially had no interest with me. I'm happy about that, I guess. In the same, small, fleeting way. I wanted to say it was all voluntary. I wanted to say everyone who came near me knew what the page was. I wanted to say I am only a mirror, and if someone bleeds on the glass, that is hardly the fault of the reflection. A mirror can still be cruel, especially if the subject is. A stage can be a trap. Chittr is a trap. It is a stage of grief and cruelty. I do not know what all transpired with Kryqus after. I don't wnat to know. I guess. Out of fear that I had something to do with it. Maybe more than I would like. Maybe the incident was never really between us as individuals, but between what I made and what it allowed people to become while standing near it. I don't want to know. No single apology in the world could fix it. What happened. I know I can't fix it. I can't fix him. I can't fix how I felt or, maybe, still feel about him. My pan is fresh, it is always fresh. Like a recently peeled scab that keeps trying to heal over itself. I think I am coming to terms with the fact that I will not return to who I was before Zebruh. I was not better. I was simply broken differently. I do not think happiness returning at a lower rate means its fake. I still get to feel happy. But it's all maintenance. I hate maintenance. Maybe this is cope. Maybe it is ugly. I loved Zebruhh. I love him so much. But I lost him. Something in me dimmed, broke, and let me crumble into a spot where I have harmed and embarrassed myself in public enough times to know that shame is my indecency. I am not decent enough to do or be anything new. I am a spectacle, mistaken for needing saved. I am continuing to make a spectacle out of myself because that's what makes Chittr clap. Even if pitifully. But I am still here. Not triumphantly, or, as a symbol of something. Don't make me into a discourse object, or a pity offering. Do not see this as a reason to ask more invasive questions in my messages. I am an inventory note. Vesica Anelus remains present as the Panoptic. Happiness is present, but altered. Grief is present, and intrusive, and is sovereign over me as it pleases. I remain, unfortunately, responsible for what I preserve on this website. Hhh. His page remains under review. Given he is dead. This will continue. That will have to be enough for tonight. Because there is nothing more I can say. I just miss being the nothing more part of that. #Nothingness꧂
haha, yeah, for sure... 1 a1n't 1nto the clown th1ng, but more power to ya, brosk1 }:)
th1s goes hard... guys he's actually k1nda bad*ss...
࣪⊹₊˚{ {{ HICARIS RULES FOUR #HICAPOINTS }} }˚₊⊹ ࣪ no. 1.... # of points awarded MUST be CLEANLY divisible by 4 no. 2.... # of points overall must ALSOOOO be cleanly divisible by 4 no. 3.... your net total can be adjusted at any time based on my approval no. 4.... your net total will decide what happens later \}*7*{/ ࣪⊹₊˚{ #hicapoints #REGLUB #fincessregulations #girlglubber #girlsystems #cullquette #whatsyourscore }˚₊⊹ ࣪