Rachel

me: good morning brain: it’s Feel Bad Time me: good nite

I actually hate being sappy like I’ll say “I missed you today” then immediately drag them to diffuse the situation

“Where were you today? I missed u. Thought ya lil ugly ass went and joined the soul circus”

imagine if we woke up one day and all modern medicine was replaced with warrior cat herb knowledge

someone breaks their leg and the paramedics arrive. one pulls a huge wad of spider ass thread out and starts wrapping their leg while the other shoves a bunch of leaves into their mouth

You approach the van and you hear your mother. You hear your father, your brother, your grandmother, and every other person that has ever wanted you to succeed. The tinted windows shut out your vision of what’s yet to come. A lullaby hums in the background, drawing you nearer and nearer. Bees are in your head. Dig them out. Pull out your insides and sprawl them out in his hand. It’s what he wants. And you want him.

You come to caged in the basement of a bookstore and your first thought is, Oh, I didn’t know he read. Your hands are tied to your waist and your hair is done up the way he likes. You’re wearing the dress. He knows about the dress. He combs your hair and spits in your face; it’s salty. He smells like love and sanity and a dark, dark vanilla. You know, he put it on just for you. He did all of this for you. For you.

He takes your hand and guides you to the pot where you’ll piss for the rest of your life. He gave you a matching throw pillow and blanket, the color of the pile of bile slumping next to you. There’s a body attached and he tells you his name is George. George was our friend. But George didn’t like him, so now he’s dead to us. George tried to take me away from him, so now he’s dead to us. Now he’s d e a d.

As you’re cradled in the arms of your demon you think about missing the quiet nights reading blank pages and sipping on empty tea. He guides the thoughts out of your head with the pair of shears he keeps in his back pocket. Just in case.

At night you’re plugged into an IV that drains the red and replaces it with a navy violet. You bleed what he wants you to bleed. He hooks up your nerves to a computer so he can play them like a sound pad. He turns your moans into verses and choruses that haunt your dreams. What even is a sound?

You fight your way to the forbidden mirror, (the first thing you’ve done without his permission), and see an old lady staring back at you. Bruised.

He got you.

NONE of this would be happening in the Berenstein universe

‪if you knew me between the years 2012-2016, let me reintroduce myself‬

some trends i am really down for