The Descent Into Insanity Is Full Of Flavor

The descent into insanity is full of flavor

There is no end in sight.

Look, motherfuckers.

I grew up in a house where I had to cite sources on my feelings. Every subject was an acceptable target for debate. My parents kept telling my sister and I that “not everything is a contest” but that might have been more impactful if my dad wasn’t an Argumentation professor who brought his work home with him.

What I am saying is that I was essentially constructed from the ground up to be the most unpleasant, contentious, prickly, contrarian motherfucker you’re likely to have the misfortune of interacting with this week.

And I have decided that you are a person worthy of love who has had unique experiences that make you special and important. It is my understanding that you are an everyday miracle and your very existence is a gift to the universe.

So nothing you can say will make me believe that you are worthless and useless and incapable of growth and undeserving of kindness. Bullshit. I won’t have it.

Fuck your negativity.

You are a treasure and if you wanna tell me I’m wrong then fucking fight me.

I’m not high I promise :^)

Beautifully Made for Each Other

I am beautifully made. I am without imperfection. On the inside, I am like a cloud, soft and smooth. And, in this, I have something in common with you. You too are beautifully made, even though you do have imperfections and you are not made of bronze and mahogany. And we both do the same thing, too, don’t we? We are waiting for each other. I know you have grand ideas about your future. But I already know what the future holds. We are waiting for each other. Nothing more. I am waiting for you. And you are waiting for me, even if you try to deny it with your big ideas. I am patient, while you run around being educated, getting married, having children, trying to get ahead at some job, making it—because I know you will come to me in the end. I wait in warehouses. I wait in carpeted rooms with others like myself. I am taken around in trucks. I am run in and out of rooms on a wheeled dolly made just for me. I don’t mind, because I know the future. You might live long enough to attain the wisdom, finally, of knowing that you and I are meant for each other. If not, it doesn’t matter; we will be together soon enough. But I am saddened, too. How can anything as beautifully made as we are be hidden out of sight? Shouldn’t our beauty be seen? But, at least we will be together. I will give you rest in a mahogany bed, upon a satin pillow, and it will be my joy. After all, we are beautifully made for one another.

Feed me your words