+ L e w i s ? +

Gosh your art is so good pamekeihwkanzbl

i feel so alienated

have you ever felt 
          ah
          how can i say this
          Unreal, for lack of better words?
          
          Feeling transparent
          When you touch something, you feel an imitation of pressure 
          Just 
          An imitation 
          An echo
          It's vibration against the air surrounding you - never truly touching
          You
          
          I don't feel like myself
          I don't feel
          Me
          I don't feel real
          I don't feel real

im a good boy please validate me

lestat from IWAV is now somewhere in my top faves in film hhoooo

you know how like
          avoiding triggers is a thing
          but what if talking is the trigger
          because I was doing just fine
          But then I responded to a fic and just... looking at what I said made me feel so insecure and overwhelmingly childish - if not naive and just flat-out stupid. 
          It was the beginning of a nauseating spiral of self-loathing and raw embarrassment for my entire being.
          I feel very horrible right now.

i love sharks so much

its so wild to think thats its my birthday i mean
          i only remembered that it was going to happen at all like
          yesterday 
          wild
          i feel indifferent

my anxiety surrounding conversations has gotten worse to the point im always at a loss and overthinking and i want to c ea s e
          talking shouldnr be rhis hard

it was like that scene in lion king where simba was calling for his dad, his dad limp on the ground, unmoving. Except, it was her bed instead of the ground, and a grown man instead of a cub. He nudges her face and calls for her, knowing she'll never wake, but nevertheless hoping she'll call back. 
           it was such a sad sight. it hurt more and more the more he called for her. His voice sounded as if he was just trying to get someone to pay attention to him instead of trying to awake the dying form on the bed. the sound of lax breathing never seemed so taunting as it did in that room. it was a sign that exclaims that we can get through this! theres still hope! if we could just spend a little more money, a little more love, she can surely make it..! 
           "mom. mom. mo---om. mom! mom."
          i can still here him call.
          i can still hear his masked desperation even when i left.
          it was such a pitiful air to breathe, and the thickness of it seems to cloud the house. 
          "mom!"
           it just reminds me we are still apart of the animals the we see on National Geographic. 
           we surround a dying loved one. its kin nudge the body for response; desperate, scared, and confused. but unlike national geographic, the impact of death is far greater. its like building a house of cards that fall no matter what you do, no matter how much you try and how much money you spend on tools to keep the tower stable and steady. its like seeing that tower oh so close to being just that but oit of nowhere, it caves in and spreads across the floor before your very eyes.
           we tried so hard to save her. money, prayers, MONEY. MONEY. all our effort just to see the body grow worse and worse. paler, limper, seeing the body break down and the spirit die until finally now. in bed. tubes sticking out of his mother like some experiment in his own house. calling for her to wake with only the sound of the machine to taunt that there still might be a chance that we can't have.