.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐡𝐚𝐧 .ᐟ

Mothy coffee man. I have come to ask the question of Triple D dude, is thy an oc of yours?

I hate socks. Not in a way that I like feet I hate having feet but I hate the fact that they're trapped even more. 

how can a straight man be misogynistic like if you hate women that much just get a husband??

Grrr what's wrong with me? I started tweaking today cause I have fucking FINGERNAILS. big deal like get over it. You've had nails for your whole life. Why are you only aware of them now?

I'd clean it for you :3

stop I was reading up on dissociating and why are some of the symptoms lowkey (loki) me :sob:

He stared at the search bar, his finger pressed on the backspace button as if it had something to delete. His chest tugged with a question, with a silent scream, but his brain made no attempt to translate it.
          
          What do I ask? How do I begin, when I don't know where I stand?
          
          He knew every answer he'd find among the trinkets of the internet would only be the stains of another person's past experiences. He'd never stumble across the user manual to his own life. No one would ever get to understand things for him, and it was terrifying. He was the first to live as he had.
          
          He exited the app and laid his phone down. Music blared from his headphones. It was the only thing that got him to focus long enough to cope. The notes crawled into his head and soaked his brain, numbing down his thoughts. 
          
          The blankets rubbed against his bare arms, the touch leaving what felt like a stain against his skin. He clenched his jaw and tried to think of something else.
          
          Funnily enough, on his sail to find acceptance, he'd found that fear and anger were the oars to his boat. They might've not kept him perfectly balanced, and his shoulders ached from rowing, but it helped him from toppling into the sticky tar of the ocean below him. The fumes still wafted up his nose and took away his exhaustion, his memories, his recognition of the boy in the mirror.
          
          Stop it. Keep worrying. Worry about anything but yourself.
          
          It gave him a false sense of security. Staying anxious was like a warm blanket during the summertime. He didn't need it, but it reminded him of times when he did, and it made him grateful for the comfort it used to hold.
          
          Turning his back to the footprints left in his wake made it easier to live. He used to turn around to stare at the marks he'd etched into the ground, but it never done him any good. He felt like a dog, being tugged by the collar and getting your muzzle shoved into the mess you'd made.
          
          No. Worry about the things that don't matter.

My brother lives on the wire fence
          Facing his back to my affection
          With his face towards the glow
          
          I let him linger 'till the sun sleeps
          And grasp his weathered hands
          Tugging him back to bed
          
          I'll tuck him under the covers
          like a stray sock in the drawer
          Watch his face contort when I cup his chin
          
          The marks where he'd once been touched
          Have long since faded
          But I have not forgotten
          How easy it had been to hold him.

My son has scales
          Scales that scrape against my stomach
          Stomach your worry, little one
          One day he will catch up to your rebellion
          
          

Just wanted to put up a little announcement to tell yous that I no longer go by Mud/Mudstar/Muddy! You can call me Leamhan, Loki or Moth :3