vile bile and vitriol explode from a mouth dotted with sores and pustules that pulsate and putrify with each slippery self-hatred mantra they can think of, corroding and coagulating diseased mindflesh like maggots do after enough time has passed.
it’s not their own mouth- it’s yours, in their head, fabricating fairy tales of falsehoods and fantastical representations of a self perceived. they can’t tell it’s not real, not now- not while they dive in the deepest oceans of the deadbrain void.
riley's ramblings 