Sinking.

Sinking.

Sinking into the abyss,

The Mariana Trench,

The Valles Marineris,

The turbulent storm and the black hole,

The beginning and the end,

All the grey areas there are,

And all the exceptions,

As well as the loopholes,

And the roundabouts,

And the scenic routes,

And getting lost,

Too blind to see,

Or hear,

Or feel,

And I wonder,

Why I took that small step,

That leap,

Insignificant,

Yet life-changing,

Into the dark.

Not a big fan of what melatonin has been doing to my dreams lately.

My new favorite genre of picture is a very special thing that most animals (and humans!) do: face nuzzling as an act of greeting/comfort/intimacy. thank God that this is happening all over the world right now

Isn’t it wonderful?!

could you imagine being an inhuman thing? could you imagine being holed up because the sight of you sends heads spinning on a bewildered axis? Their eyes boggling out of their heads? Their mouths agape like horrible, sickening fish? Their hands, clawed and wet from the beading of cold, slimy sweat at their palms, clutching at their bags, their itchy clothes? Sharp teeth bare behind thin, curled lips in a grimace? Mothers shield the eyes of their dearly beloved, chubby, sticky offspring? Grating, hushed whispers echo through the wondrous caverns of your mind, and you wish you could understand their inharmonious grumbling.

i do not want to be someone else’s. i do not want to be… theirs, whoever they may be. i belong to me, so therefore, i am no one’s. all i want is to know someone who finds me, night, day, dusk, the early hours of the morning covered in fog. they choose to be with me, and i choose to be with them. with that, i am content.

i do not blame my house for being haunted, even if my house is not a home because of it. its something im supposed to feel safe in, yet im taken under siege, trapped in a dark room by doors that swing shut and lock on their own, the lights flicker on and off and i can't control as much of it as i thought i could before. it's not that the house itself has anything wrong with it, though. sure, the floors are creaky and there are bugs in the rafters- but all houses have those problems. my house, in theory, functions as well as any house should. but mine was built on something it shouldn't have been, the foundation was different, the contractors who were supposed to build it up into something livable ignored the history of the grounds they had chosen, and the house was cursed to suffer for their actions. maybe their houses were a little haunted, as well. maybe they could overlook the poltergeists because their houses were sick, too. but because my haunting leaves me with bright red handprints on my skin, because my haunting drives me mad, because my haunting cannot be masked with yankee candles and new bulbs, im the one who must take responsibility. i do not blame my house for it's illness, i do not blame my house for causing me so much distress, because the house is not at fault. i do not blame the house. i blame the contractors.