Thoughts and stories

Elias

Tw? Blood ig idk
Elias
Sick with obsession, spending all his time drawing the faces of those who he's never seen. Painting till his hands ache, he needs his obsessions like a parasite needs a host. Starry eyed for the beauty of the people who will never exist he's losing his own humanlike beauty. Deformities and mutations, patterns on his skin, sharp yellow teeth, big antenna with eyes...more and more as he starts to isolate himself to indulge himself in his art. Going down rabbit holes of beauty standards wishing to be thinner, to be taller, to be muscular, wishing to be human again but the more he begs his body the worse it gets. He was born in his own world and praised for it, now he's stuck. He's stuck thinking of not real faces and their stories, their life, yet he refuses to have his own life. His eyes reflect like a wild animal, his hands become paws or webs, every morning he's different. Every day he becomes less Elias and more of something he is disgusted by. Despite this he constantly indulges himself in his craft. Canvas after canvas, sketchbook after sketchbook. He never takes a break, his art is his everything. The paint under his nails with never leave, the lead mark on the side of his left hand is infused to him. Alone in his apartment, then alone in the woods. He will never stop his art, he isn't good at anything else so whats his point in life if not to preform his one and only talent? Sickening. He's broke, not a penny left but he steals his art supplies. In a coat pocket or sleeve he'll get a tube of paint or s pencil sharpener. He disgusts himself. Theres no way he could walk so far from hospital art to get food, to steal a snack. But the squirrel in the tree is just close enough. Raw and alive, it fights to stay alive. The stores nearby realize he's stealing, he begs for them to let him get his supplies but they refuse. He cant not make his art, eventually he runs out of paint and led. The pencil sharpeners plastic smashed on the ground wile the blade goes shallow and deep in his flesh into patterns, Faces, stars, art. Carving art wherever he can, eventually the pain is numb and dull. He scabs and scars into a beautiful piece of art but it will never be enough. Without obsession he is nothing, he is a parasite.