Fri, 9 February
They're at it again, haunting me. The shadows, I mean. They were my monsters back on my 9th grade. Back then I thought they were pretty and cute and aesthetic with their beautifully colored skin and flowers behing their ears. They were a group, but seen as one. They tell me they were a god. They tell me I'm from them. They tell me I am them.
I ain't god, though. But they insist: but honey you are beautiful, that's why everybody loves you. And the flowery words filled with my favorite words convinced me. Maybe I was them, or I wish I was? Nevertheless, I swallowed the concept.
On the tenth grade, when I was an all-smiled little girl, I vomited them. And i saw them again; I had a chance to see them thoroughly and realized they've got hideous eyes. They got such a disgusting grin. But they were bigger than me.
And so they tried to swallow me that time. They won. I've lived inside the dark shadows for years now, and I tried making up light with the sticks I found in the corner. But then they'll gulp some saliva and the fire I tried making for days will be gone. All gone. Dark. And cold.
Up to this day I still have this regret: I shouldn't have befriend them. Monsters often hide behind the palette. They have sunflowers and they are pretty-- pretty enough to decieve you. And then they tell you you were them and then they eat you up.
There's no way out. Even the anus won't do. Even a knife. Even a rope. Even pills. This will last. We'll drown in our own tears.
