Loathve

I hate the way I write hate the way I look I hate the things I say I hate the way I am

But I adore what all of it has earned me

Flyer (Rough Draft) (2)

Do you know of the society we've been creating underground?
We don't allow colour
We don't allow sounds in a major key
We are scared of the things you brush aside so easily

We know we are going to die
and
We plan on appealing

We are held together by the strongest and the weakest of bonds
We are all very weak people, you know, and this contributes greatly to our unity
Otherwise, we are very different from one another

Strangely enough, we are being watched
It is not fiction, I assure that I have this information on a good source
It is part of the reason I even broach the subject with you

Mostly, they are women
They wear pantsuits, and look perfectly terrible
This is all I know
I fear that we have caught the attention of the wrong people
But I do not know what they could want from us

When we meet, we rarely speak
Most of us pace and look worried
We all bear watches and glance at the, calculating what time we have left
In retrospect, it seems to take away from the experience
I've been meaning to bring it up
It is difficult without speaking

Can I trust you to keep our secret?
Obviously, now that you've learned all about us, you can't possibly join
But I hope we may keep you as an ally
And please, please, stay away from the women in pantsuits

An Excerpt From An Origin Story

You can't keep telling me that it hurts
Can't you see there's nothing I can do to help
There's so much I would give you if you ma-
STOP SHAKING GODDAMNIT
I can't support you
I can't make it better and
god
We're both going to die like this

You would think it would feel more poetic than this
But you're so, so pale
and I
I'm so empty

Gallery

Things are getting more bizarre
I never imagined artistry to be such a rabbit hole
But I've ripped it open myself
And now there's no choice but for me to dive further

I am not looking out of the same eyes that I used to
The world is not scary
I do not hear with the same ears that I once did
The world is far away

You should see what the air looks like here
It is like a fine mist that glosses over everything I touch
It is a fog you cannot outrun

I make my home in a photograph
The further I pull myself in, the more secure I feel
By the foreground, I drag my body into frame
The trick is thinking hard and squeezing into a ball
(the gravity is different here, and if you are not careful, you will tear apart and splatter across the world like ink across a poorly developed photo)
I reach further, helping myself towards the next level
I enjoy being out of sight, but sometimes, it is scary
The deeper I go, the fainter the colours
Eventually, I always find gray
It is in the corners, behind the reaches of the eye
This is where I hide
Behind every wall, through every door, I find rotting beams and old scaffolding
The infrastructure never creaks or moans but I fear it may collapse any day
After all, this is a ghost town
It may soon cease to exist altogether

I live in a memory that will never be fully revisited
I live in an emotion that has already been felt
It is passed over
It is past

Am I stuck here?
When I press myself up to the foreground, I see other worlds, and sometimes feel alone
There is so much more out there, but much of it seems the same as what I have here
Each photograph is different, but has the same sad shape
And I've at least made peace with the demons here
I will die here, or, at the very least, there is little reason to suspect otherwise
And if I were to migrate into another world, it would accomplish little

I have known for far too long
That to die alone is simply to die

I used to practice
I thought it noble to leave on my own terms
These days, I am too tired for it to matter
No one else seems to object

I live alone in my photograph, but there are others here
Naturally, they never move
Sometimes, when I am weary, it looks like they come to life
The expressions on their faces never change, but they murmur to each other about the strange being sulking around among them
Sometimes, when I am downright exhausted, they speak to me
They don't always realize I am an outsider, but this only makes me feel more foreign
They are both figuratively and literally transparent
It does not go over well whenever I observe this aloud
They ignore me again when I awake

One girl is less (figuratively) transparent than the rest
She is more (literally) transparent than the rest
I often fancy a love story with this one
She doesn't ignore me when I am awake

I am scared of so much
I fear to the point where being afraid simply describes me

Every night as I close my eyes, I imagine never awaking
It is (frighteningly) simple to do
Maybe the picture people would hold a service
Quite positively, they would be unaffected

It sometimes upsets me that there is nothing I can do to leave a lasting impact on these people
It often upsets me that, were I to leave an impact, it would be meaningless to the world
It constantly upsets me that the world is meaningless itself

There are simply too many other photographs

Wherein I Test Myself

This is a dead man

He did great things

You have not

You will die

Create with your entirety

Kafka is dead

Create with your entirety 

You are not yet dead

There is a world in your head that no one else will ever see

That should make you sad

It does not make me sad

My world is better

This has been perfectly bizarre