/lit/ - Literature

Another ripped at its innermost.

A thousand meticulous unscripted thoughts parade and storm throughout your tormented mind, unspeakable by words or any verbal communiqué to any auditor listening across the trepidatious woods or cityscape, understandable only in the most incomprehensible harrowing bane refracted throughout your mind in perfectly clarity, a picturesque image of insanity painted over your mental canvas.

Innocent hope sanity lucidity a faith incomprehensible to mortal understanding beneath the realm of lesser conviction that no reliance will to reassurance. Lost from sense misplaced across time seeping into reveries of the most reticent kind, returning fold a magnanimous bang of brilliance echoing pain and anguish across the netherealms of your highest closest held assertions. Break bleak blast and bloat blotched bodily bogging broths of bled boiling blood-bridges, ripped a-round ravaging rancorous ravine’s reaching relentlessly regretting relinquished restoration rested reaped recordation unrequited. The very tenants of thought, identity, you’re entire quintessence of being is not dithering but rather met as absolute devastation. Its newly voided chalice obliquely tarnished with an eternally shattering enumeration of infinite manifold possibilities of lack. Yet piously to true sin encroaches inwards with only withering maroon miniscule infinitesimal life bearing branches reaching into the emptiness that plugs you, plunders and plunges your lack, dripping into nothing, withering without reach and probing for an entry point of recognition within your innermost constitutions. Turning up unmitigated with desolation. Bleak nil. Desolate naught.

Unfeeling Nothing. Nothing. You are nothing.

The feeling only last for a mere second, but eternity stretches over multiple vivid judgments harsher than from yourself or any god you can ever conceive of. When you come back down, only hell reawakens you to a glimpse of saneness. A mere drop in an oasis of dread and fretful anxiety return to you and for a moment, you can open your eyes and reassert your mind again.
You scream and cry, seeing only phantasms of red scarlet fleshly dew dripping down her arm covered in crimson liquid. Ripped out of your mouth carrying the remains of your humanity with it, relapsing vanity and your darkest dreams over and over with the sight of her walking away with it. With the faint sound still beating as she walks away, the other dolls slowly bury you and begin to tear and rip apart at you completely. You feel like you should be dying, drowning in deaths embrace or at least choking on your own fluids atleast, if they could still flow freely.