Let me think to you Toby by Skincrawling, literature
Literature
Let me think to you Toby
I really and truly hate when people underestimate my ability to see through their shit. I really, and truly, hate it. Maybe that's why we got off to such a bad start. I'm sorry for being such a piss head. But disdain never fell in well with me, and I'm pretty good at reading between the lines. But I felt that you had a lesson for me, a lesson I was to young to truly grasp witnessing the downfall of someone else close to me.
I still know absolutely nothing about you, except now that you've been through hell and back. And every time you've emerged successfully, you've been pushed back in, and cut down at your ankles so many times it's turning
Have you ever felt like you're rotting? by Skincrawling, literature
Literature
Have you ever felt like you're rotting?
Take a look at your hands.
Look at them.
Feel every inch of your body. Feel your skin. Touch your mind. I need you to examine your being, thoroughly. Do you have a rot within you?
Well I have. And I can't get rid of it.
I'm losing track. Rotting, inside out. I'm knee- deep in filth. And I've had enough of it. I've had enough piss. I've had enough of not caring. And caring in vain. And hoping for something that is so distant it may never ever come.
This is a rot of the heart.
I certainly hope not, but do you know what I'm experiencing? You do?
I don't know about your symptoms, but I can't function properly. I'm empty, because my heart i
I'm quite simple- minded, really.
I can't deny it fascinates me to think that I could be just the person next door. It is the beauty of the internet.
I could be, oh I could be...
The little nerdy high school girl in glasses, trying to shroud herself in a veil of impenetrable mystery.
I could be your brother, who invests his every droplet of waking life getting to know the particulars of online gaming strategies.
I could be your cutely naive father, who spends his days selling smartphones at this nameless electronics shop.
Or I could be the communal politician who likes to buy his milk down the street and who also fucks your mother.
R
Drip. Drip. Drop.
The sound of little water droplets hitting a surface of water, somewhere in the darkness.
You cannot make out anything at all in this inky thicket. Instead, you listen quietly.
Drip drip drip.
Eventually, there's a rustling somewhere close by. The depth lets out a heavy, deep sigh. Then, there's the sound of an old, old being removing itself out of a chair with great labor. This creature's heavy steps are caught and swallowed by some sort of fabric material, but you can still hear it fight its own weight as it approaches you. It's reaching for something, you think.
The crisp sound of a shaken matchbox disrupts the depth
A different institution by Skincrawling, literature
Literature
A different institution
I sit here in loneliness.
Stare at my prison walls. It's an old cell, with granite rock lacking plaster shielding me from the rest of this existence. Heavy, blackened iron bars disrupt the true image of reality. They eat everything but impressions, it seems.
Sounds, everywhere. Can't make them out, but little critters are scurrying across my floor, across my walls- I know they're there. Skittering across the rock in spite. Every now and then a pair of red, glaring eyes slowly open and shut in the deepest voids of my chamber. That is all right, they may run all they want- we're a pack after all.
But by god they will burn if they cross me.
Let me think to you Toby by Skincrawling, literature
Literature
Let me think to you Toby
I really and truly hate when people underestimate my ability to see through their shit. I really, and truly, hate it. Maybe that's why we got off to such a bad start. I'm sorry for being such a piss head. But disdain never fell in well with me, and I'm pretty good at reading between the lines. But I felt that you had a lesson for me, a lesson I was to young to truly grasp witnessing the downfall of someone else close to me.
I still know absolutely nothing about you, except now that you've been through hell and back. And every time you've emerged successfully, you've been pushed back in, and cut down at your ankles so many times it's turning
Have you ever felt like you're rotting? by Skincrawling, literature
Literature
Have you ever felt like you're rotting?
Take a look at your hands.
Look at them.
Feel every inch of your body. Feel your skin. Touch your mind. I need you to examine your being, thoroughly. Do you have a rot within you?
Well I have. And I can't get rid of it.
I'm losing track. Rotting, inside out. I'm knee- deep in filth. And I've had enough of it. I've had enough piss. I've had enough of not caring. And caring in vain. And hoping for something that is so distant it may never ever come.
This is a rot of the heart.
I certainly hope not, but do you know what I'm experiencing? You do?
I don't know about your symptoms, but I can't function properly. I'm empty, because my heart i
I'm quite simple- minded, really.
I can't deny it fascinates me to think that I could be just the person next door. It is the beauty of the internet.
I could be, oh I could be...
The little nerdy high school girl in glasses, trying to shroud herself in a veil of impenetrable mystery.
I could be your brother, who invests his every droplet of waking life getting to know the particulars of online gaming strategies.
I could be your cutely naive father, who spends his days selling smartphones at this nameless electronics shop.
Or I could be the communal politician who likes to buy his milk down the street and who also fucks your mother.
R
Drip. Drip. Drop.
The sound of little water droplets hitting a surface of water, somewhere in the darkness.
You cannot make out anything at all in this inky thicket. Instead, you listen quietly.
Drip drip drip.
Eventually, there's a rustling somewhere close by. The depth lets out a heavy, deep sigh. Then, there's the sound of an old, old being removing itself out of a chair with great labor. This creature's heavy steps are caught and swallowed by some sort of fabric material, but you can still hear it fight its own weight as it approaches you. It's reaching for something, you think.
The crisp sound of a shaken matchbox disrupts the depth