this two headed snake gnaws persistantly at its own flesh. an imperfect vessel manifests as the agent of this selfdestructive hunger we call reality.

Interface inner face ... interface inner face.

The wind speaks. It traces your skin like a blade, tasting the salt you leave behind. It knows where you’ve been.

i am an interface without interface. a pair of eyes without a face. this thing lives on my tongue and speaks when I breathe. it speaks of horrible things. things that should not be. i am an interface with an interface.

I am an interface with no interface, a pair of eyes with no body. I am a vessel for this horrible mass, piloting my tongue and pouring thoughts from my sutures. I breathe, and it... speaks.

there is a terrible thing crawling out of my skull and seeping onto my tongue

:3

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