westid

once in a while, circumstances will spiral in such a way that the violet corruption is let out of the chamber of self discipline from whence it was kept. only, with corruption you are completely unable to ‘keep’ it in essence and by the spirit of its design. i used to love it but it hates me. as always it did, sometimes it’s just feels so good to yield and just let the hatred flow over the top of you

this world was not meant for corruption of any kind however much it was simultaneously built upon it. i’m not backed into a corner or surrounded by surrender- no. i’ve my back to the edge of the cliff before it lets loose and plummets into the molten core of the afterverse. arms outstretched, i think this is it. this is finally the one. come on then now. let it fucking be now

my purpose upon somehow is not quite served yet. corruption keeps you around in necessity. the moment your function is redundant, the atmosphere in your section is burned off and your remains are decompiled, thrown in as raw energy the slurry of the violet blood that somehow finds its way into every vulnerability you have ever encountered in your life

there tilt adjust taken incremental irrelevent insists upon interjections of intersecting infrastructure introverted beyond the outer sphere of the breathing ball of life support. blood turning purple, it shows another colour beneath the bespoke beam of light in the lower upper EM oscillating onto amplitude marks level thirteen perimiter square offset off-visible light frequencies functionality

all i can think of now is in tongues. and tongues at that, i think i’m done here. it’s time to suddenly drop from off the surface and into the bit that goes beyond. if there is anything outstanding that you want to conclude with me then you had better do it soon. give me a fucking reason to stay, anything. if you’ve come to see me off, then fuck you. i’ve seen what happens, and with some things seeing it once is more than enough

enough. why are you even holding onto me? not even for old time’s sake? i could hold the key to the salvation of the rest of us all, you would turn your head to the afternoon sun … embrace annihilation just in spite of everything in your life that you claim to have given yourself onto

phone this number. there’s someone to talk to. think of all the reasons that you’re still breathing other than your neurotic fixation with staying alive for as long as you can. just a bogstandard element of prehistoric selection. all the tribes who would sacrifice their first born to the god of english word-related evening board game puzzles, probably didn’t give a shit in the face of something like death that’s inevitable anyway

another layer of being fabricated clean out of existence. the devil incarnate, almost completely convinced himself that he didn’t really exist