I now understand why necromancers are a thing.
Phae screams as ey feels like ey is between life and death. Health and sickness. Crazed and sane. Man and woman.
Ey floats around in the distance.
Pretending so hard to be nothing.
What if the only diagnosis I get is from myself?
What if my feelings are always invalidated?
What if my mom has the same mental disorder I do?
And she just takes her internalized bullshit out on me?
What if my mom actually hates me
(but mamma’s supposed to love baby)?
What if I’m useless?
What if I’m helpless?
What if no one cares about me
(but you two)?
What if I fail everyone?
What if I’m not the hateful one?
what if you are?
shaking from the inside as nervous energy consumes from the soul out
away go thoughts of calm, sleep, purity
away goes the desire for stillness as the consumed soul,
now a buzzing sound instead of a thing,
shakes and SCREAMS for action
of a spotless house
of hours of art and creation
of 10-page essays and teaching.
raised with hate of sloth and lathargy
concepts sewn deep into buzzing empty pain
mind is conflicted but celebrates
for better to go crazy and uncontrollable
than to be sloth
calm is death
buzzing white noise of empty
As nothing satisfies the hungry sound
catharsis, cathartic squiggles on the ground
fingers back pedaling, pacing, running
counting vertebrae and numbers in a volume of encyclopedias
mania forcing doubt down your throat, under your skin
irritation boils as heads throb
scared to leave but too afraid to stay
terrified of being alone as people are pushed away
with cold fingers weakly gripping clothes
begging “please come back i need you”
chill, sog, death seeps into the very bones of framework
sinking and drowning until there is nothing left
but a shell huddled up with broken fingers
under wet, suffocating blankets
So a while back, Jaye and I talked about a Coraline AU, with Toby as Coraline. So I wrote this little tiny thing. I will most likely expand on this later, but for now I am definitely pleased with it.
The drive from California to Oregon had been a long one. Toby had fallen asleep more than once, his parents trading off driving when one of them got tired.
Toby lay in the tub, head resting on the rim. The warm water swished around him if he moved, bubbles sticking to his skin. His ankles were crossed over the other end of the tub, a book in one hand and a cigarette between his lips. Smoke curled from his nose like a dragon in it’s slumber, lazy gray swirls creeping up toward the ceiling, disappearing before they reached their destination. His nipples poked out of the water, hard with the chilly air outside the steaming water.
Gettting rid of all the Sherlock in my drafts.