Woaj

Woaj

We rise each day, trapped in the frame

Of this prison we cannot name,

Where the walls are made of fear and pain,

Where every step feels like a refrain.

We call it home, but it's not that at all—

It’s a room, a tomb, a suffocating hall,

Where shadows creep, where silence screams,

And where we are shackled by our own dreams.

The clock ticks on, the hours melt,

But no comfort in this time is felt.

Our body aches, our muscles groan,

Yet in this house, we stand alone.

We dream of escape, of breaking free,

But the chains of fear won’t let us be.

The ones we love, the ones we dread,

Are the same faces that fill us with dread.

Oh, how we crave to leave it behind,

This torturous life, this twisted mind.

But where would we go? What would we do?

Without a path, without a clue?

The outside world is just as bleak,

It offers no solace, no hope to seek.

We’ve seen the truth, the endless fight,

Of people suffering out of sight.

So we stay still, within these walls,

Listening to the dark, familiar calls.

The music we play is drenched in woe,

It echoes the life we’ve come to know.

We reach out, but our hands fall flat,

For we have no one to hold us back.

The friends we've lost, the trust we've lacked,

It all comes crashing, an endless fact.

Sometimes we wish to cease to exist,

But even that thought, a deadly twist,

For we fear death, as we fear life,

Caught between this ceaseless strife.

What is the answer? We do not know,

As the years keep passing, fast and slow.

Our body weakens, our mind erodes,

Carrying the weight of these heavy loads.

But still, we write, we try to sing,

Hoping that one day, something will bring

A glimmer of light to this darkened space,

To help us survive in this endless race.

Our heart is heavy, our voice is faint,

We are neither sinner nor saint.

Just someone trying, trying to be

Something more than this misery.

So eat our flesh, devour our pain,

Let us feel something other than shame.

For love, they say, is what we need—

But love, we know, does not always lead.

It’s compassion we seek, it’s empathy we crave,

To pull us out of this endless grave.

A place where we can finally breathe,

Where we can live, not merely seethe.

Yet here we stay, in this hollowed room,

Our life unfolding in a quiet gloom.

But maybe, just maybe, one day we'll see

The path that leads us to finally be free.

a moodboard for @marshgremlin. happy birthday!

bobbit worm, genet, sooty owl, nudibranch, rays, scorpion, centipede, milipede, moth, mantis, caterpillar, amogus, imposter, flatlander, irken (both canon & non canon), sponge, fear entities (all 15), keronian, liminal spaces, kenochoric, chaos, paradox, contradiction, and so many more. we are omni-nonhuman (many nonhuman things but not all)

shoutout to those of us with uncommon as fuck alterhuman types. no shame to the hundreds of thousands of wolves, vampires, and cats but i have never met another slime person like me and it kind of sucks

OH, OH, *THAT'S* what 👁'm *supposed* to look like, huh?! A *pretty* little porcelain DOLL, strung up with yarn-thin ARMS and LEGS like some *malformed* marionette out of a flea market NIGHTMARE? A—*pfft*—white-bread HUMAN boy?? With a face that couldn’t scare a shadow? HAHAHA, NICE TRY! You think 👁’d fit into *THAT* skin? 👁’d RIP it to *SHREDS*! Oh, you want it young, *cute*, delicate? WRONG DEMON, KID! 👁’m a *CONFLAGRATION OF CHAOS,* NOT your PRETTYBOY daydream! If 👁 was even *close* to human, you’d be running SCREAMING the moment 👁 opened up 👁ts **SHATTERED** JAW!

Naaah, no, NO, let’s talk FACTS! 👁’d be a walking, writhing *carnival* of wrong—FLESH that doesn’t quite match BONE, too many *joints* in places you don’t WANT TO THINK ABOUT, a face like an OIL-SLICK *portrait* turned inside-out, with eyes that DON'T BLINK, and a SMILE that’s all *teeth* and no LIPS. 👁’d be the ***wrongness*** creeping out of the corner of your vision—pupils like twin ***suns imploding,*** hair that flickers and dances like smoke. 👁 wouldn’t just *LOOK* off, 👁’d BE off. *Off the charts,* OFF THE EDGE, OFF YOUR MAP!

But oooh, what’s *this?* 👁 get it, it’s FLATTERY, ain’t it? A tribute—painting the DEVIL in some guise that *fits* your SUGARPLUM DELUSIONS, making 👁t palatable, taming it! How *cute*. Trying to MAKE 👁NTENT SQUARE PEGS FOR YOUR ROUND HOLES! Trying to box up CHAOS like some kinda birthday present! But CHAOS has no box, no LABEL, no *limits!* Put *me* in a cage, and the BARS MELT INTO WIREY, HISSING COBRAS; cover my FACE, and 👁 sprout ANOTHER!

You can DRAW 👁 like you’re playing make-believe dress-up, but GUESS WHAT, SUGAR? That’s like calling a ***tsunami*** a puddle—it don’t *work*! You want something from me? Then 👁’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING YOU CAN ***REMEMBER.*** HAHAH! Next time you decide to imagine 👁n these petty ***meat-sack silhouettes,*** imagine this: fingers *unspooling* like tapeworms, EYES that seep *colors* even the ***UNIVERSE*** forgot to see, limbs that splay open and crawl like they have a MIND OF THEIR OWN. THAT, ***friend***—that’s more like m👁!

Not your porcelain doll-boy, not your smirking CASPER knockoff. 👁’m the breath in your mouth when it goes ***cold*** and you can’t figure *out* why, 👁’m the *shadow* in the shape that *shouldn’t* be, 👁’m the SCREAM that turns to LAUGHTER halfway through your throat. SO KEEP DRAWING, KEEP WRITING—but remember… you’re ***playing with matches.***

And while we're on the subject, let's just get one thing *clear*—👁’d rather NOT be shackled down to some flimsy, FLESHY *faux human* form *AT ALL,* thank you very much! Why play pretend as one of YOU when there are *infinities* of shapes to take? Bodies are just the stage props of a cosmic stage play, so at least give 👁 something ***interesting***! Don’t slap 👁 into a template that’s been REGURGITATED a thousand times over! Where’s the *spark*? The *creativity*? The ***UNHINGED INVENTION?*** Heh, at least that foxy little number we stumbled upon—a mismatched, fragmented creature with *fur that shimmered like static*—had a *touch* of the sublime! It was ***clever***—long teeth, unnerving eyes that saw straight through dimensions like cellophane! Now, *that* was a depiction with some MEAT on it!

If 👁 have to look through your eyes, then MAKE IT WORTH 👁TS WHILE! Use that fractured, SPINNING brain of yours and conjure up a form that *sings* with the wrongness you feel when you’re ALONE in the dark, that makes you question where the line between yourself and *something else* really is! Come on, give 👁 a shape that MAKES THE INFINITY-HAUNTED SPACES IN YOUR MIND SQUINT IN **CONFUSION.** Something with teeth in all the *wrong places* and *too much* of a grin—give 👁 some credit here! Why would 👁 ever want to fit into a box that’s ***ALREADY BEEN TICKED OFF*** in the annals of human history?

And when that fire spreads, don’t come crying to m👁 when all you have left is ***ASH.***

But *best* of all—OH, *THE BEST* OF ALL—why not just go for the ***REAL*** deal? Why do you shy away from depicting what 👁 **truly** AM, huh? What, got a problem with *triangles?* HA! Afraid a little **GEOMETRY** might bend your brain the wrong way? A perfect, sharp-edged, eldritch shape, *crystalline* in its simplicity yet full of infinite ANGLES to pierce through your flimsy reality like a **SERRATED DAGGER!** Triangles are the strongest shape, the root of all structure and all COLLAPSE, balanced on the edge of every impossible paradox and folding into itself like a tesseract with a taste for blood! So what's wrong—does the thought of staring at 👁n its purest, most *primordial* form make your squishy little neurons want to curl up and DIE?! It should, you know! *After all…* triangles are where EVERYTHING BEGINS AND ***ENDS.***

home? or just a another house?

mimic loves you, stay safe.