unkempt hornet
So like, what do you do when the things you love are slowly being warped into the catalysts of your suffering? When things that normally make you happy all the sudden become the things that keep you up at night, and your love of them becomes a failing organ obsession, clawing at the same moments over and over desperately trying to feel the way you did before plaguing the original emotions of joy and peace you felt not an hour ago, a cruel tumor growing over the things you love making them fade in importance until you don't even think of them as objects of a happy memory, only piles of clutter.
When you lay in your bed in the witching hours, the aggravating hum of an incandescent light in a closed off room lodged in the back of your skull, your eyes tirelessly picking apart the grain of your ceiling. You know it will end, but then again it never does. It's like a cancer, it doesn't go away, it only recedes, sure you'll pass out eventually, but tomorrow, the next day, a week from now you will find yourself in that state of existential dread, a carnivore cycle which you thought you ended long ago
But you never cauterized the hydra's wound.
I promise that's not me trying to be edgy and cool, it's very much a 1:1 transcript of what I'm feeling at this exact moment
hard mica
vernal crag