despite how gross and terrifying the dream was, it was surprisingly pretty. Thanks for reading through my schizo rant

spinning and spinning. I would crawl into person after person, making small incisions into their back with the nails of the orbeas and slip inside them like a suit. I woke up when my petals cut into my other petals, exposing red earthy flesh-like soil, locusts spilling out of the ribbon-like cuts.

It would happen in ratcheting intervals until they became mottled, as if moths were eating through them. Instead of screaming, the people would laugh in shrill tones as others watched with large, gaping eyes. I looked at myself in the mirror and I was an indecipherable pattern of fleurs and orbeas

I felt like static, a dithering mass of airwaves and incandescent needles that would roam the dark streets of a neon suburb. I would phase through cracks and ajar doors, crawling into the skins of people and perforating their arteries like millions of invisible skewers bursting through derma

very very very very very excited