this needs to be a mess. thoughts are, so shall this. that's how the mind externalizes itself, crafts mirrors, and finally looks itself in the butthole.
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"rich in deprivation"
blood was dripping off his fingers
he touched the heart and got rejected
he fell to his knees, promising revenge
and darkness fell upon his thoughts.
his calm composure turned ice cold
his eyes lost all the warmth.
his loyalty turned an obsession
with power power power. personal recession.
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i only know the plotline on the surface, but in my idealized, fragmented picture the perfect man's self-discipline turned into a graveyard. a deadly weapon.
never happened. just like the rest of fiction. yet my brain became obsessed. it's so achingly beautiful i almost can't breathe. a new experience, ["]yay["]. thank you, stupid authors and my sneaky brain for pouring the sweetest drug down my thirsty throat. now im delirious and edgy. like some kind of sultry psychosis. it feels incredible and horrid. like im more alive than ive ever been yet watching a dead myself with unseeing eyes glowing in some kind of dramatic enlightenment. like things click or a new chapter bursts open and im pushed head first into the thickest midst of its emotional disorder. limerence. wonder how long it'll last. eventually one's bound to burn out... hm. or are they. depends what's the cause. this one feels deep down deep down deep, all the way beyond myself where the wholeness of /us/ resides.
i yearn to be more creatively capable. especially in drawing.
again kurwa. it's a theme. to draw sensual male bodies radiant with intelligent power, intimately vulnerable under their stoic expertize and confident focus. what's that if not a dream in the land of foreverness. żyć nie umierać.
too bad life's a trial in prison.
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9.5.25
"immersion"
his beauty is painful.
his heart is a mystery.
his mind is in his eyes.
his eyes are grey.
i don't want to know how much more perfect or imperfect he is. retards always contaminate their manipulatively designed wonders, brainrotten. no thanks, choke on shit. ill struggle with my dreams, let my brain fill the gaps with so called gold and so called diamonds. ill stare, sigh, and eventually suffocate. let it be. death becomes more than a relief: it becomes torturously delightful.
romanticization is.
it's more than "i crave him". it's an "i crave myself to become him [among several other men]". that's the core, and i know that yet it still possesses me like some mythical force, a ravenous spirit with lofty ideologies who craves human blood and flesh, yearns to bathe in sexual-emotional dirt. and the synaptic activity of a dutiful, stoic teenager.
kiss me, you angelic demon. i want to feel your mindset on my tongue and touch your most sensitive erogenous zones. i want to melt your composure into an orgasmic delirium and morph your humble compassion into a fierce union. let us not just feel - let us /be/.
you're nothing more than lines, script, and a voiceover. but to the mind, you're just as real as warm flesh and a vibrating throat; and you're crafted so perfectly imperfectly, fucked up here and there or at risk of that, but you're simply delightful. literally to stare at for hours. i literally stare at you for hours.
human brain is ridiculous.
if i could "waste" every day of my life like that, i would. it feels liminal, and that's the closest to freedom and ecstasy one can get. prove that there's a better way to live (you'll have to start with a redefinition of your concept of "better"; just a hint for starters).
does one's life fall apart if they drop order? is diligence the answer to fulfilment quest?
is it. how about there are different meals, each one viable and each tongue is compatible with different flavor profiles.
what will keep me into life if you're gone? nothing. im not into life, im into you.* /you/ are beautiful, alluring, intriguing. Inspiring, with capital I. life - is a trial in prison. a bleeding pupil. it's in fact a nothing. it's overrated. it's glorified, glamorized, and fetishized. and blindly defended - only because of a genetic disorder that sustains simply because it spreads, namely, addiction to survival. blunt. after all, what's the objective way to defend life? how is it better than nonexistence? nohow. it exists only when - and not because - it's logical enough to, and death dwarfs it (physics > biology).
* "sad", and so ill be sad.
ur having a phase. enjoy.
no.
why?
my brain's a dumb bitch.
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not the end - merely THE BEGINNING - but.
opublikowany 19.5.25
