Aug 3, 2025
A Plea for Help
Watercolor. Ink. Acrylic. Pandemic rot.
A dead city bleeding in the background. A Trump-shaped sun that won’t shut up. A bottle of bleach like a communion chalice. Hydroxychloroquine like candy for the damned. A message in a bottle that says “HELP” and goes nowhere. This isn’t hope. It’s a toxic tide.
This is what it felt like: the world on fire, America mainlining bleach, and the only lifeboat is a rubber tire full of fucking ghosts.
We were told it would be fine. It wasn’t.