#𝙋𝙀𝙂𝙂𝙄𝙀𝙎: selective multimuse blog, refurb october 2023. written by mo ( she+her / black / 24 / est. / orlando ) THE ROSTER / CONDUCT. | MOBILE MUSE LIST UNDER THE CUT.
Claire Keane
Sade Olutola
Monterey Bay Aquarium
One Nice Bug Per Day

titsay
No title available

izzy's playlists!

tannertan36
AnasAbdin
we're not kids anymore.

Discoholic 🪩
Three Goblin Art
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Sweet Seals For You, Always

#extradirty
will byers stan first human second
Show & Tell

oozey mess
DEAR READER
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

seen from Argentina

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from China

seen from Malaysia
seen from Norway

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from Singapore

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
@peggies
#𝙋𝙀𝙂𝙂𝙄𝙀𝙎: selective multimuse blog, refurb october 2023. written by mo ( she+her / black / 24 / est. / orlando ) THE ROSTER / CONDUCT. | MOBILE MUSE LIST UNDER THE CUT.
oh right this blog exists. blame sela.
⃰ prompt ᵃᶜᶜᵉᵖᵗⁱⁿᵍ ? @outrdark : 89﹕ sender yells at receiver to put their hands in the air.
i. .. the air doesn't break at her shout, but tightens instead. –— there's something of a sinew-drawn stillness tied taunt between these two trembling points of will. SOMEWHERE IN THE TREES, EVEN A BIRD FORGETS TO SING. he turns then, like a dial calibrating thread, like a decades dusted instrument. the barrel lowers first. not in defeat, not in compliance, but perhaps simply . . . courtesy. indulgence. then obeys, his hands following. a performance pared down to nothing more than muscle memory and disciplines. palms half open, empty. there is no urgency in him. no rattle nor fear. just lethal amusements humming under charred skins, the kind that wolves often have when they sense snares but step into them. his shoulders stay square-like, chin slightly titled. SUBMISSION / CALCULATION ? PERHAPS THEY'RE THE SAME. ‘‘ .. careful, deputy. ’’ a pause, watches the tremor in her trigger, the way a botanist studies their petals. the silence that follows is not empty, it is watching her. he might even feel the trees lean in. waiting for the tremor or micro hesitations alike. ‘‘ finger's heavier than you think. ’’
a wonderful warped tour weekend was had
daryls moved to a solo 🏹 @lazirus
I think you lost something. No, he just likes you better.
blue sky / august 16, 2025
EMMA. (2020) dir. Autumn de Wilde
it's funny. how rotten of a shithole this precinct had become without about seven or eight assholes sitting back with their feet kicked up keeping the dust away. david, he loves the smell. loves being the only one alert; the only one working; the only one doing something right; the only one rewarded. being a detective is not a team sport and anyone who does it with a partner is a goddamn liar if they tell you two brains are better than one. david is the brain. and when needed, the brawn. david and goliath, right?
could he see right through him? daryl? see right through goliath like the stone that had struck him bore a hole big enough to peer through? or, humourlessly, had david (not the david with goliath, just david) established himself enough to be that straight and narrow? abyssal gaze flickers up to the sign overhead, through the smoke that is, and the detective scoffs. before he can muffle out a yeaaaah fuck you, he's let in on a secret. at least, that's how his ears classify it. overtime, and not just when the world rolled over and died, david learned that people share things when they need the familiarity of their own voice to comfort them. and fuck it if that's what daryl was doing, only god hears david's quiet voice when he admits when he's actually wrong.
‘ y'want me t'scold you, or some shit? ’ palm weighs heavy on the back of his pistol. the action tends to bleed behind a tone that can't help its authority. the detective kicks at a mess of molted boxes and papers, the shit hardly moves. ‘ ...what rules were you breakin'? (unconvinced) hunt someone's dog? ’ that scoff returns, tentative now, with an even stranger flicker shaking the corner of his lips. some people call it a smirk. the detective adds, ‘ —someone's wife? ’
infinitesimal droplets sketch their trembling descent down barred windows. the air tastes of oxidized sermons, paper rot, the sterile perfumes of bureaucracy post-mortem. daryl hears the way the place hums for david — how his eyes move like he’s back on the clock, how his hands still measure the room for clues left to dust. the man fits here too well. [ a breed made for afters. ] you can tell by the way he talks: like stratagem’s a language, and he’s fairly fluent in it. men like that don’t die, truthfully. they continue hosting the body. he’s never liked cops. not the way they talked, not the way they watched. certainly not the way they filled a room corner to corner like god himself sent down badges instead of consciences. [ funny, how the world ends, and yet still the cops show up first to the scene. ] behind the detective’s hard voice, there’s a weight there. NOT MOCKEY, MORERATHER RECGONITION. like he’s seen men like daryl before & never truly liked any of them. more likely, it is, that daryl simply hated himself more for what it meant that he understood this. daryl huffs at the comment. half a laugh, half a warning. ‘‘ yeah. funny. ’’ ash tumbles off the cigarette.
something like that. the gruff, sarcastic words echo off tiled walls, softened by mildew & time. shrugs. then answers. ‘‘ dumb shit. ’’ he says, after a while.
dumb shit that didn't matter, now, in hindsight. ‘‘ ... i was an idiot. ’’ the admission hangs there, suspended like smoke, shapeless, penitential. he looks down the corridor, where the dusk lighting flickers slow through the clouds, and for a moment, the shape of his younger self flickers back at him in the dark. it's a sort of half-formed ghost, a mirage stitched from nicotine and summer heat. a boy all elbows and anger, knuckles raw from provin’ things he didn't need to prove. ‘‘ you, how'd that halo look before all this ? ’’
there's a crescendo of elements — some rain, some wind, and there's metal, as well, groaning while its awoken from it's sleep , precinct breathes through it like wounded animals. each inhalation drawn through the ribs of shattered blinds, each exhalation curdled in rust and rain. you know, david and daryl are like wounded animals and crescendos themselves. they're also more alike than either one would care to admit, but that's for them to discover. [ OBSERVE AND DEDUCE : the world has ended three hundred and sixty five or so times already, and yet still insists on dying again tonight. ] daryl saunters at the cell’s edge, haloed in phosphor glow, a statue cut from asphalt & stubbornness alike. cigarette winks alive between calloused fingers, CLINK! says the lighter. the first inhale rips down to the bone. he keeps it there, lungs iron-clad, letting the pain hum like penance. smoke unfurls upward, slow and tender. they'd originally parked here in the precinct to both shelter until the storm passed as well as loot. neither seemed likely anytime soon. the detective hovers about in daryl's peripheral blur, a figure stitched from paper trails and regret, fingertips restless around a pistol’s spine as though the act of checking it might reassemble his belief. ( old instincts rot the slowest, you know. ) above daryl, is a sign that states NO SMOKING. and daryl, half-saint, dull humored, breaks the air with a drawl that doesn't quite ask for forgiveness. ‘‘ rules still mean somethin' to you ? ’’ smoke spills from his mouth like confessions do, and he curls a hand against the bars. ‘‘ always been good breakin' 'em. then world went t'shit, took all the fun out of it. ’’ @52troop
𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 . ( a collection of 100 nonverbal action prompts . mature and potentially triggering themes are present . add “ + reverse ” to swap assigned roles . )
∗ o1﹕ sender tucks hair out of receiver’s face . ∗ o2﹕ sender offers receiver a bite from their fork . ∗ o3﹕ sender places their feet / legs in receiver's lap . ∗ o4﹕ sender offers receiver an earbud to share their music . ∗ o5﹕ sender comforts receiver in the aftermath of a nightmare . ∗ o6﹕ sender gives receiver company in the hospital . ∗ o7﹕ sender wraps their arms around a hysterical receiver to calm them . ∗ o8﹕ sender shows up at receiver’s home late at night . ∗ o9﹕ sender falls asleep leaning against receiver . ∗ 1o﹕ sender wields a [ gun / knife ] at receiver . ∗ 11﹕ sender runs their fingers through receiver’s hair . ∗ 12﹕ sender invites receiver to dance . ∗ 13﹕ sender takes a [ picture / video ] of receiver . ∗ 14﹕ sender places their head in receiver’s lap . ∗ 15﹕ sender and receiver make eye contact across a busy room . ∗ 16﹕ sender pushes receiver against a wall to kiss them . ∗ 17﹕ sender and receiver cook together . ∗ 18﹕ sender comes to receiver after being injured . ∗ 19﹕ sender sits in receiver’s lap . ∗ 2o﹕ sender lifts receiver's chin , invoking eye contact . ∗ 21﹕ sender overtakes receiver in combat . ∗ 22﹕ sender finds receiver [ injured / bloodied ] . ∗ 23﹕ sender straightens an article of receiver’s clothes . ∗ 24﹕ sender crawls into bed with receiver . ∗ 25﹕ sender rolls their eyes at receiver . ∗ 26﹕ sender lights receiver’s [ cigarette / joint ] . ∗ 27﹕ sender is caught wearing receiver's clothes . ∗ 28﹕ sender strikes receiver with a pillow . ∗ 29﹕ sender writes a note on receiver’s skin : [ note ] . ∗ 3o﹕ sender wraps a blanket around receiver’s shoulders . ∗ 31﹕ sender runs and jumps into receiver’s arms . ∗ 32﹕ sender shoves receiver out of anger . ∗ 33﹕ sender hovers over receiver’s shoulder as they complete a task . ∗ 34﹕ sender is found by receiver somewhere they shouldn’t be . ∗ 35﹕ sender curls up against receiver in their sleep . ∗ 36﹕ sender is found drunk by receiver . ∗ 37﹕ sender throws an item of sentiment bitterly at receiver . ∗ 38﹕ sender joins receiver in the shower . ∗ 39﹕ sender is caught following receiver . ∗ 4o﹕ sender traces one of receiver’s [ scars / bruises ] . ∗ 41﹕ sender twines their fingers with receiver’s . ∗ 42﹕ sender barges into receiver’s home unannounced . ∗ 43﹕ sender kicks receiver’s shin beneath a table . ∗ 44﹕ sender aggressively shoves past receiver . ∗ 45﹕ sender kisses receiver’s [ forehead / cheek ] . ∗ 46﹕ sender pulls receiver out of harm’s way . ∗ 47﹕ sender is found sobbing by receiver . ∗ 48﹕ sender locks receiver out of their room . ∗ 49﹕ sender brings receiver [ coffee / tea ] in the morning . ∗ 5o﹕ sender rests their forehead against receiver’s . ∗ 51﹕ sender plays a song for receiver that reminds them of them : [ song ] . ∗ 52﹕ sender takes a [ punch / stab / bullet ] meant for receiver . ∗ 53﹕ sender buys receiver a drink at a bar . ∗ 54﹕ sender needs receiver’s help getting in the bath . ∗ 55﹕ sender and receiver cross paths in the kitchen late at night . ∗ 56﹕ sender twists receiver’s arm behind their back . ∗ 57﹕ sender winks at receiver . ∗ 58﹕ sender is found collapsed by receiver . ∗ 59﹕ sender prevents an injured receiver from getting up . ∗ 6o﹕ sender claps a hand over receiver’s mouth to silence them . ∗ 61﹕ sender cages receiver against a [ wall / the floor ] with their arms . ∗ 62﹕ sender storms away from receiver during an argument . ∗ 63﹕ sender is found by receiver sleeping in receiver’s bed . ∗ 64﹕ sender [ applies / touches up ] receiver’s makeup . ∗ 65﹕ sender throws receiver into a wall during combat . ∗ 66﹕ sender dances sensually with receiver . ∗ 67﹕ sender strikes receiver across the face . ∗ 68﹕ sender places their hand on receiver’s leg while driving . ∗ 69﹕ sender pulls a chair out from under receiver . ∗ 7o﹕ sender catches receiver’s wrist when they turn to leave . ∗ 71﹕ sender leaves an intimate mark on receiver . ∗ 72﹕ sender beats receiver in a video game . ∗ 73﹕ sender and receiver stand in stunned silence after a fight . ∗ 74﹕ sender cares for receiver while they’re sick . ∗ 75﹕ sender and receiver go on a hike . ∗ 76﹕ sender is caught snooping in receiver’s things . ∗ 77﹕ sender and receiver cuddle while watching television . ∗ 78﹕ sender throws something aggressively at receiver . ∗ 79﹕ sender creeps up behind receiver to scare them . ∗ 8o﹕ sender and receiver go shopping together . ∗ 81﹕ sender helps receiver [ dye / style ] their hair . ∗ 82﹕ sender draws receiver into a kiss by the back of their neck . ∗ 83﹕ sender is discovered having a panic attack by receiver . ∗ 84﹕ sender accidentally injures receiver during sparring . ∗ 85﹕ sender grabs receiver roughly by the hair . ∗ 86﹕ sender brings receiver to their knees during combat . ∗ 87﹕ sender shows receiver evidence of a lie they told . ∗ 88﹕ sender winks [ seductively / mockingly ] at receiver . ∗ 89﹕ sender yells at receiver to put their hands in the air . ∗ 9o﹕ sender helps receiver patch up a wound . ∗ 91﹕ sender holds receiver as they cry . ∗ 92﹕ sender silently and angrily points receiver towards the door . ∗ 93﹕ sender gestures for receiver to sit down . ∗ 94﹕ sender pulls receiver into their lap . ∗ 95﹕ sender cradles receiver’s face . ∗ 96﹕ sender tackles receiver out of the way of danger . ∗ 97﹕ sender has hidden an injury from receiver , and receiver finds out . ∗ 98﹕ sender confronts receiver about their unhealthy behavior . ∗ 99﹕ sender proposes to receiver . ∗ 1oo﹕ sender has just died , receiver finds out .
⃰ prompt ᵃᶜᶜᵉᵖᵗⁱⁿᵍ ?? @diam1nd : how the hell did i get here?
hollywood's bleeding and a city like los santos doesn't sleep, it twitches. dreams here are electric, trembling things — half-formed ghosts caught between hasbeens and gunmetal. beneath the hum, asphalt glistens with the memory of rain, a mirror cracked by too many headlights. the air tastes faintly of ozone and sin. this is the cathedral of exhaust, the liturgy of smog. when she speaks, she'd done so like confession, like a song losing tune mid-verse. said too clean for streets that bleed oil, too human-like for the city’s machine. franklin chuckles then, not cruelly, really. never that. just with the kind of tired amusement that belongs to men who’ve already seen every ending twice or a few more times. ‘‘ .. & can't even trip. it feel like that sometimes, like they got you in the deep end, tellin' you to swim. ’’ [ franklin's been in the deep end many times before, swimming or another. the first times aren't even water at all, but asphalt slick with rain, his shoes too big, his breath too short, watching lamar run his mouth and the cops run them both. ] ‘‘ guess ain't no map for this, baby, one minute you grindin', next, you're in someone else's story. ’’ what a way to learn to swim. not with strokes but with instincts.
⃰ prompt ᵃᶜᶜᵉᵖᵗⁱⁿᵍ ?? @52troop : you keep mocking me.
and for a moment, even the flicker of midnight candlelight appears to bow, arrested mid-gesture , mockery, she'd said, & oh — that quip of her ingenuous heresy strikes him deeper than any blade or prayer. the chamber exhales, perfumed with dust and lingering perfume of mischief made flesh. loki remains very still, [ the way an actor does before his cue. every inch of him aware that this is his element : spotlights and mockery and such. ] ‘‘ .. mocking you? never, my dear syn. ’’ the voice arrives honey-laced, deliberate, perfidious. vowels unfurl like smoke from some invisible censer. he might jest syn the way a thirsting man touches water: hesitant, greedy, like the young do.
‘‘ .. i only test the music of your patience, and you make the most delightful noise when you’ve caught me out. what better sport for trickery than the muse ? ’’ and the words linger in this evening air after he’s spoken them, as if reluctant to rejoin the lesser music of mortality. for that is what he is: SPEAK IS TO PERFORM, PERFORM IS TO EXIST. and the audience was ever so sweetly, so terribly credulous.
it's a craving. an undeniable desire, no doubt: john seed. this folded image of a baptist undone like the wrap of thread gone loose off the spool pin, unravelling and revealing that of a pale, manufactured, white-bellied tube. the chase of the youngest sibling down to the final arrow shot through his head made him look similar. stripped of garments by the sheer thrill of the hunt—and john seed is no hunter. was, no hunter. and he was hardly the hunted. without his little stage, without his little audiences, without his little ravine: a baptist—the baptist—was nothing at all. pale and sick, manufactured like everyone else, and white bellied beneath all the sweat and blood that stained his clothes wrapped around his empty tube of a body. for a minute there: standing in haggard breath from tar lungs, watching daryl retrieve the arrow john didn't deserve to die with in his skull, amy almost thought she and john—swan and baptist—looked similar after all this time.
" i know. " fear mongering is an ancient trick. how a wolf uses the vastness of the forest to echo its howl: fooling a lamb out of luck that no one is coming to save it. not its mother. not its shepherd. not another animal. that it would meet a fate of a thousand wolves, even if there was really only one. amy listens to jacob like a lamb already dead. what more could he do to her?
.. a lot.
amy stares down the barrel like its the old street of a childhood memory. what was it, botolph? saint botolph? just like the barrel of jacob's rifle: that house was darkened and empty with a silent predator stalking its halls like the bullet amy thinks she can see the head of had jacob not lowered it from her eyes. " it will. eventually. " swallows. down goes the plea that begs him to just lift the end of his fucking gun up again and scare the birds out of the trees with a blast that will send her brain across the room. how terrifying it is that this time: amy is far too scared of this wolf to listen to him any longer. " could just kill me too. quickest way down a hill is t'trip—right? ..you kill that girl yet? "
something akin to darkness warps around this encounter the way heat warps metal: like snake to flute , the forest’s breath sucked clean from the space, the muzzle quivering like liquid glass. a halo of gun-oil and sulfur perfume lingers ... his pupils shrink to pin-point psalms. [ JACOB SEED : born of infection and crossfire, a creature of echoing orders. ] ‘‘ ... i guess i could, huh. both of you. ’’ & he says it plainly, almost bored. no flourish. there's no need for it, really. the possibility weighs like wet cloths and he knows the shape of it — THE SNAP, THE TASTE the calculation that comes after. there is a hunger there, a neat, animal thing that has learned to savor endings. but, there is no trigger need pulling. there are rules, you see. and truthfully, they're not of law or rights and wrongs, but of sermon and pedigree of the voice of one joseph seed as a scaffold around them.
‘‘ see, though, that girl ain’t yours to measure. she ain’t mine, neither. ’’ SHE IS THE FAULTLINE IN THE FAITH, a thin-boned prophecy wrapped in bruises. not a child, definitely not a saint, but a suggestion of both and that's what makes her dangerous. joseph calls her renewal, fresh air breathing and whatnot, as if god himself had taken to building his next eden personally. jacob sees something else: a lamb born rehearsing their scream. she moves through the compound, bare feet skimming dust. in plain words, she's a sermon he's been ordered to memorize but can never believe in. [ you know, he wonders, sometimes if she'd float if the river finally comes for them all. if joseph would call her holy once her blood runs black. ] he leans forward, thumb worrying the chipped paint along the rifle’s spine, the gesture halfway between confession and compulsion.
there is no mercy in the voice that follows, only function dressed in faith: ‘‘ you wanna test it? see if she bleeds something holy or bleeds like the rest of us? ’’
— ˀ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤslipknot — self titled album ask prompts.
all you have to do is get rid of me!
don't you fuckin' pity me.
you haven't learned a thing.
you want it, you need it.
you stupid fuck.
don't ever judge me!
what the fuck is up?
you can't begin to consider the palpable hate.
god, what the fuck is wrong?
i have sinned by just making my mind up.
how the hell did i get here?
i am my father's son.
'bout time i set this record straight.
i'm nothing short of being one complete catastrophe.
i've felt the hate rise up in me.
how many times have you wanted to kill?
you're leavin' me suspect, i'm leavin' you grotesque.
i am not ashamed.
i can't be blamed!
do you wanna feel pain?
all i ever wanted out of you was something you could never be.
maybe it's me, but i'm frantic in a panic.
what the hell did i do to deserve all of this?
i don't like a fuckin' thing.
this fucking life is killing me.
it isn't easy to be hated.
i feel safe.
feels like a burn from which you never learn.
spit it out.
i won't allow it.
you bet your bottom dollar i'm the top of the shit pile.
i wanna die, i'd rather die.
how many times have you wanted to die?
can you look in my eyes when my back's against the wall?
better get away from me.
all i wanna do is stamp you out.
never had peace but i gotta fight.
think i fear you? bullshit!
is there any way to break through the noise?
what the hell am i sayin'?
i'm cold, i'm ugly.
i'm gonna snap.
there's something inside me.
better get an army 'cause the fire left me unscathed.
what is vital isn't always humane.
cause and effect, you jealous ass.
i'm takin' names and gettin' pissed!
it is time!
it's all in your head.
forget today, forget whatever happened.
my state of mind gets so one-sided.
i don't want you to pay anyone when i die.
this'll better me, a part of me.
it doesn't matter what price, you win.
my heroes are dead, they died in my head.
what the hell have i done?
i can't control my shakes.
fuck you!
running out of ways to run.
get the fuck away.
where you gonna be in the next five years?
fuck me! i'm all out of enemies!
idiotic sense of yourself, are you that dumb?
the price is too human for fucking sake.
she's never coming back.
you got no pull, no power, no nothin'.
is it malice that makes you this way?
fuck this shit, i'm sick of it.
can't escape this place.
i am not a dog, but i'm the one you dog.
i wasn't very much fun to be with anyway.
have you ever seen god?
i have never felt so final.
seems you're saved.
keep in mind, i watch you.
all this attention is doing me in!
i don't need you anymore.
i found you.
now you start shit? well, ain't that somethin'?
then you're dumber than i thought.
you heard me right, bitch, i didn't stutter.
there's something in you i despise.
who the fuck am i to criticize your twisted state of mind?
every damn word i say is a sneak attack.
i can't be a part of a system such as this.
i see you in me.
someone in behind me.
you're goin' down, this is a war!
i haven't got time for the living.
something inside me has opened up again.
i make you my enemy.
what the fuck is this, another joke?
you keep mocking me.
did you never give a damn in the first place?
payoffs don't protect, and you can hide if you want—but i'll find you.
i can't believe i'm doin' this.
are you scared of me now?
now take a real good look at what you've fucking done to me.
do you know what it's like to live with that?
i can't think of any other words to say but fuck.
you lied to me for so long.
i know what you want, and i can give it to you.
you ain't no fucking friend of mine.
get off of my back.
you don't care 'cause you don't exist.
am i the only motherfucker with a brain?
this is no kind of life!
you won't bother me if you let me bother you.
good riddance—though i'm sad to say i didn't get to kill you.
i am the push that makes you move.
i'm hearing voices but all they do is complain.
all i see is hate.
fuck you all!
give me any reason why i'd need you.
i can't remember, i don't understand.
you don't matter!
you ain't shit, just a puddle on the bed spread.
man nearly killed me.
show me what you wanna be.
all i want is what is mine.
i don't wanna do a show with your shitty fuckin' band.
when i get my hands on you, ain't a fucking thing you can do.
get this or die!
i have to laugh out loud.
just do what you have to do to me.
even if you run, i will find you.
i am hungry and tired.
don't you know who you're dissin'?
i don't know about malevolent.
give me any reason not to fuck you up.
it's too late for me.
i can handle anything.
if you know what's good—just shut up and beg, brother.
i can hardly take it.
you don't give a shit.
i'm not the second coming, i'm the first wave.
i guess it's time to bury your ass with the chrome straight to the dome.
why am i so fascinated by bigger pictures, better things?
gotta be that way if you want it.
i wasn't promised a thing.
no one knows what it's like.
you suck, they suck, guess what? get fucked.
all you wanna do is drag me down.
i haven't changed a thing.
is it a dream or a memory?
you made your own fucking choice.
better make yourself at home, you're here to stay.
anybody else got pride?
life's so shitty, but ain't it fucking great?
too far gone, i'm catatonic.
you can't kill me 'cause i'm already inside you.
how long have i had this?
i can stare into a thousand eyes but every smile hides a bold-faced lie.
i think i'm slowly dying.
this is not the way i pictured me.
hard life is hard as hell.
i'm always confused by everything.
i am the very disease you pretend to be.
i wish i didn't like this.
i laugh 'cause there's nothing to say.
who the fuck are you?
you're all reality and sound bites.
you all stare, but you'll never see.
are you sick of me?
i don't care what you think, you'll never understand me.
lemme tell you somethin'—i'll push you back!
you don't care.
i don't give a shit, bitch.
just 'cause i have nerves, don't mean that i can feel.
forget about the battle, it's the war we gotta win.
the pain was always free.
carry it with you 'til someone forgives you.
fuck everything that you stand for!
biding my time until the time is right.
you act like you knew it all along.
why didn't i see this?
get a grip, don't let me slip
you can't stop me from breaking your face.
get this 'cause you're never gonna get me.
i am fucking gone, i think i'm fucking dying.
maybe it's time you had the tables turned.
just another dumb punk chompin' at this tit.
stay the fuck away from me!
life is just too fucking hard.
damn it, man, i knew it was a mistake.
can't you see it's gotta be this way?
the whole thing, i think it's sick.
don't berate me.
ain't never had a problem since you stopped coming here.
many have come and gone.
do you wanna take my life?
i don't need this.
all the doors are locked, all the windows shut.
say you'll do it, but never will.
here comes the pain.
only one of us walks away.
get outta my head 'cause i don't need this.
was it something that i said that got you bent?
sing sing (2023)
⃰ prompt ?? @52troop : what i wouldn't give to be in church this sunday.
somewhere, the wind drags itself across the carcass of this land .. a hymn sung through hollowed-out concrete. somewhere, in unfathomable beyond, a church bell rings, its echo mangled, its note caught in the throat of the wind. crescendo of dusk, or perhaps what remains of it, bleeds into the hollowed out arteries of the woods. FOUR WALLS AND A ROOF: that’s what’s left of the church now. four walls, a roof, and the echo of hymns turned to nothing. [ observe then conclude : the pews still bleed from the boards, the air smells of rot and resurrection, of faith left too long in the sun. ] rick’s voice just a threadbare whisper, confessional in its cadence, folds itself into that same shape. the words stir something dormant. and frank, creature of aftermath, that iron-wrought reliquary of violence and smoke, exhales through what one might call a laugh.
‘‘ .. yeaaah .. yeah, man. place like that wouldn't take us no more. damn pew'd fall in soon as we walk in. roof, too. ’’
pause. prolonged, deliberate / the flame of his cigarette quivers like a votive in the ruins. rasp of bone and half-remembered mercy. a joke, perhaps. a confession, more likely. addendum, the woods listen and they do not forgive. people are dead, skin is charred. and for a fleeting moment, if only in the fractured eye of divinity, two damned men look almost holy. ‘‘ if you find one still standin’, sheriff, i’ll light a candle with you. hell, maybe two. ’’