I'm seen presently.
I'll rob you blind afterward,
before this reading.
About the Creator
I'm just asking.
The brain before you is unhinged, altered from the alleged blueprints the doctors claimed were adequate in the nineties. Though maybe their chart was upside down, who knows? Imagine your 'You' has a permanent view that loses touch like it's raining hats heroes that Warded you. You won't. protection rejection, right? Thought too worthless to your mind to not just get agitated and ghost the very concept. I'd say you can't, but that spite against, I don't know, luck, is making these rules, you know the ones. Feel like a trap to remove our humanity. You want good things, thoughts, my thinking is to keep the bats from joining the cobwebs where the right brain shoves all the rationality. Day-bats, well, winged moves that I do to disguise as one of you. Which is worse: being uncomfortably accepted with poorly worded versions of your descriptions being the only way they reference you, or admit that the silence inside never started, and during conversations like these, you depart entirely? Admit the seclusion is required, admit that 'vibes' are hormone-powered signals shared between guessers overstepping boundaries in sync.
By Willem Indigoabout 18 hours ago in Poets
Pandora’s Burden
“My brother warned me to not accept gifts from the one who commissioned you,” said Epimetheus to the woman clad in silvery raiments standing at the entrance to the temple. Her silver tiara and the silver rings on her fingers and toes glinted in the firelight cast by torches set on either side of the doorway. Lingering in the shadows, beyond the reach of the flames as she was, he could not tell what she held in her hands. At first what appeared to be a box was perhaps a funerary urn, or maybe merely an apple.
By J. Otis Haas6 days ago in Fiction
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