Void screaming, Head in the sand

Welcome to Nite's nightmares. I'm Nite and life is not a TV show.

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What the frog

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I am nothing if not a jester.

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We're all going to Hell, list of sins below

Stole a sandwich

Didn't believe in God

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#woven

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It took so long to grasp societal constructs' that we didn't even know we were learning to mask.

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Why does it look like Valentino killing Rosie in Sir Pentious' memory?

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I once had a nightmare that I used a serger instead of my sewing machine on one of my projects. Recently I dreamt I was on a low wagon with corn being scooped out by a ginormous scoop. There were wagons on both sides of the road and the scoops were scooping outside the wagons while everything moved forwards towards the farm. I rolled out of the wagon to avoid the scoop cutting me in half. I realized too late that there was a wall of bright red shipping containers being dropped off but I couldn't roll away and the shipping containers were closing in around me and in front of me. Then Faye woke me up and gave me macaroni

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Everybody out there villainizing our lesbians cause they got the balls to say what ya can't.

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I don't understand why feeling safe is a luxury we can't afford.

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I know it's frowned upon to feel jealousy. As though just the emotion gives way to pettiness. Still it is hard not to feel you are lacking as others go day to day. Their bodies remain strong and stable. While my own falls quickly apart. Unending repairs on a broken house. At least your home wasn't broken to start with, feels like such a childish phrase.

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#bruise #fuck

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Throwback to couch on my legs

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thinking so loud everyone can hear him 👀 also you can find the next part on my patreon! wink wink nudge nudge ;)

LINK ✨

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I didn't recognize my hands,

I didn't recognize my hands.

7 years went by like hourglass sand,

Who am I now and whose are these hands?

Somethings in life you must simply endure,

That face in the mirror is mine to be sure.

But whose hands are these I cannot recall.

Clean with thick scars they're not mine at all.

Splattering ink upon a blank page,

Paint on fabric I've begun to engage.

Now less uncertain about what's in store,

Because my own path I tread on once more.

Covered in paint and ink pen lines,

I look down at these hands like a step back in time.

Wondering how I couldn't see it before,

I recognize these hands they're mine to be sure.