you’re not sure when the scary thoughts began. you just know that they manifested from the ink of a dark night and carry the energy of a withering forest in autumn. they hound you, grow in size when unattended. you don’t mind much; you have more to write about if you ever really do.
the green in your header disgusts you. it reminds you of gloomy swamps oozing with matter, of the gunk in your sink that you swear comes to life when the house is still at night. still, you leave it be. you are afraid of what your identity will become if you change it.
your profile picture hasn’t been changed since you set it when you first made your account. it was originally a picture your cousin took of you outside of your house. you thought it to be goofy when you first chose it, but every so often you zoom in on it just to make sure the camera didn’t hide anything malicious behind you. sometimes right before you glance away you swear you see figures lurking in the sickly orange light in the background. you dismiss it as overthinking and continue on.
your phone never sleeps. someone is liking your post every few minutes, another is sharing it to their mass of followers. your own following grows to a monstrous size, despite not being active for god knows how long. it intimidates you. it keeps you up at night. it is thirsty for more, demanding for you to spill the contents of your horrific brain onto the cracked and ugly pavement. yet, for some reason, you continue to welcome the waves of attention crashing over you without satisfying their hunger.
you try to keep your mind clear of frustrations felt towards your blog. the ones that crank the horror machine handle will get their feelings hurt if they overhear. after all, they tell the stories. they’ve seen it all, they are capable of anything. you wouldn’t want to know what they would do to you if you ridiculed them.
you still don’t understand why you force yourself to write such gruesome, terrifying things. your own words force your eyelids open throughout the night, keeps your ears honed sharp and alert for every single noise your house makes. just to let off steam, you reassure yourself every time, pulling your covers up to cover the length of your body. who are you comforting: the demons inside your head, or yourself?
what is your purpose?
you do not know.
you may not ever know.
all you know are the words within this blog and the twisted wonderland you bring to life for it.
