![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
14 👶 TEXT; UN: JOKER
Dec. 16th, 2019 05:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pillz[tw chemically induced brain problems, joker plot phase 2!]
Number one, fuck the Joker. And number two, fuck Instagram.
I know a girl who has a mind palace but I got a mind mausoleum. Flooded tombs and pauper's graves. Corpses bloat and float away on gastric gas because I ain't bothered to remember. No visitors. No mourners, no funerals, according to one dude. Other times, I remember real good. And it feels like dying. Why do I lose it when I look at his old pictures? Is it because he snapped a groin-height selfie of me pretending to take a nap on his lap? Or that I wasted my time pretending to take naps while I had him. Or is it because his stupid caption said I have soft hair.
(Maybe I lost it when I lost him.)
When you miss somebody too bad for too long, it fucks you up. Changes you, fundamentally. The anatomy of your soul. It mutates under pressure, in cold. Turns into one of those eyeless sharks that can swim in the crushing deep for a year without eating and never see the sun, half a ton of evil muscle that tops the food chain at the bottom of the world. But they rupture into fucking fish slime if you try to bring them up out of the dark. Splat.
I met a doctor who told me I deserved to get what I wanted. He pinned my eyes open in front of a big weird TV and cut out the parts of me that was getting in the way. It worked.
Then I met a goddess who said I could save some little peeps against shit they didn't deserve. She waved her tiny toddler hands and took my worst pain and deepest desire. That worked, too.
Last, I met a healer kid who said you feel bad when you know you deserve it, give or take a little bit of nuance. He didn't do anything. Sometimes less is more. I don't know if it's gonna work. But when all you got is all you got, the sentence kind of ends there, even if you have to go on.
I think I made a mistake. Maybe more than one.
Number one, fuck the Joker. And number two, fuck Instagram.
I know a girl who has a mind palace but I got a mind mausoleum. Flooded tombs and pauper's graves. Corpses bloat and float away on gastric gas because I ain't bothered to remember. No visitors. No mourners, no funerals, according to one dude. Other times, I remember real good. And it feels like dying. Why do I lose it when I look at his old pictures? Is it because he snapped a groin-height selfie of me pretending to take a nap on his lap? Or that I wasted my time pretending to take naps while I had him. Or is it because his stupid caption said I have soft hair.
(Maybe I lost it when I lost him.)
When you miss somebody too bad for too long, it fucks you up. Changes you, fundamentally. The anatomy of your soul. It mutates under pressure, in cold. Turns into one of those eyeless sharks that can swim in the crushing deep for a year without eating and never see the sun, half a ton of evil muscle that tops the food chain at the bottom of the world. But they rupture into fucking fish slime if you try to bring them up out of the dark. Splat.
I met a doctor who told me I deserved to get what I wanted. He pinned my eyes open in front of a big weird TV and cut out the parts of me that was getting in the way. It worked.
Then I met a goddess who said I could save some little peeps against shit they didn't deserve. She waved her tiny toddler hands and took my worst pain and deepest desire. That worked, too.
Last, I met a healer kid who said you feel bad when you know you deserve it, give or take a little bit of nuance. He didn't do anything. Sometimes less is more. I don't know if it's gonna work. But when all you got is all you got, the sentence kind of ends there, even if you have to go on.
I think I made a mistake. Maybe more than one.