It's been awhile

since I thought of that place.

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

Intro post that's randomly late:

This account is run as a way to use art therapy to process trauma, it's gunna be weird and poor quality!

Sometimes the Guys (tm) post other sillier things on here, ultimately what we wanna post we post.

This account will discuss abuse, cults, religious trauma, suicidal ideation, medical trauma, and more!

Sometimes it's funny, mostly it's false eloquence.

Enjoy or don't, carry on!

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

It is Saturday at 10am.

It has been 3 years.

I walk into the building from the side entrance and enter the first door on the right.

The couch is the same.

The glitter is still stuck in the carpet.

Nothing has changed and it has been three years.

And I am still going to the first room on the right with the glitter stuck in the floor.

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

I hate how much time rhymes.

It is an evil reflection of spiraling rot.

I was promised a song in round, notes building and harmonizing into a symphony of future.

This is the screeching cries of a chorus of dying animals.

Souls of the damned damning other unending.

I hate how time rhymes.

[anonymousanomalyinthebuilding]

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

When I was a kid I used to catastophize or panic spiral to the thought that if I stayed alive long enough to reach adulthood America would become a Nazi dictatorahip.

I didn't want to be right

WHY THE FUCK WAS I RIGHT

THE REASON IM HERE WAS TO PEOVE I WOULDNT BE RIGHT AND NOW LOOK OUT YOUR DAMN WINDOW.

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

I can feel the oily fabric of time

Drowning me yet flowing fast as a glacier

A riptide so aching

I can feel the grease cling to my rusted wheels

It's only made the broken hinge squeak when no one is listening.

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

I am a dying mule

My thick red blood running along the dead grass

A crude cruel bolt sticks from my side

I thrash and cry

But I am a mule

And so am not entitled to the mercy of "humanity"

Treated as far less than a man.

I did surrounded by pleading eyes

Eager for my last breath.

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

I sit in an empty room

So close to my dearest friend

She has never left my side, not even for a breath

And so hand in hand I lay down my cards

Then walk to the door

But I don't know how to go on alone

And I don't know how to go on without her hand in mine

But all I know is I cannot live with her by me

For she is death, my mother, my love.

And I have never lived outside the shadow of death, she has never left my mind, but I cannot continue to live.

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

Comfortless comforts

In a time of true terror

And yet no enemy is there to blame

Than the horns of a goat, climbed on mountain high

His screams echoing fear into the valleys

Rockslides mark his damnations

But we we never allowed to learn how to spot a goat

All our collective lessons in hunting

Eaten up

Like a patch of wildflowers in the herds path.

But I hear the screams

I know those horns

I have been shown the horrors of horns all my life!

But no this beast, is but a gentle ram, his horns will protect this herd!

And they claim to understand hiding in sheep's clothing...

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

I hope the rust leaking mountainside reminds you of laying by my side

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

Malicious misinterpretation is still on you hun!

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

"art grows from limitation"

What you see as art is the splattered blood of tattered wings

So desperate to reach the sky

They crash and crack into the metal frame

It is not art it is despiration

Why can no one read when it's blood used to write on the walls?

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

Of alabaster stone

An arch of final respite

An epitaph etched:

"the words once ached for: you were no burden, and our expectations were never failed, and only here you know them true"

Twas no soldier of war lain here

But battles so clearly lost.

So a soldiers funeral well earned.

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

Forget-me-nots are forgetting their seasons

And now no one will be able to help them recall

And once they wander far from home

Few will keep their image by their heart

And time will take, as he is but man.

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

We are made of stardust

Not due to the destruction of one star

But the colmination of all the stars actions

Our dust held in place by the matrices of the possibilities that came before

And there may be some stars

That give us a bit more to work with

Some possibilities never chosen, often taken away

That could have allowed a larger more complex structure

But we cannot take apart our fiber

Unless to merely have it passed onto another

So allow yourself the agony

And allow yourself the joy

For the works of filters before you created more space

And the collections of those after you, would love to roam

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

Lack of work ethic

Has never been a reality

But a lack of hope

Is never but grown

And to some they do appear the same.

For without hope there is nothing to chase towards than the grave.

[oncethestarssetoverthesteeple]

"Flowers fall dead as you pass by"

And now why is that?

"for they know they will never see a bloom so beautiful again"

Rather dramatic of them

"oh no it is not dramatics, but intelligence"

Oh?

"they understand to die is to live again, and a new life is one where they might grow to hold your hand"

Do they wish to keep me afar from the others, to spare dispare?

"oh no, they wish to hold you ever so close, and experience a greed never known to them before"

Greed?

"oh yes you are such perfection you create flaws in the once pristine by experience"

I'm a wrecker now?

"A changer"