ϱ̷̡̨̡̡̧̡̨̡̡̧̛͉̠͈̪͚̻̭̮̥̰̬̼͈̼̟͔̟͓͍̞̱̞̳̫͓̪̤̳͕̥͎͈̜̩͎̙͙̟̣̰̩̟͖̟̲͓͖͕̱̥̲͔͕̱̹̻̞̝̮̮͉̰̪͉̤̦̳̥̥͔̲̙̜̮̭̟̪̥͕͈͎̻̝̲̍̈̍̆̋̐̍̓͑̊̂̈̃̎̎̌̑̽́̑̎̌́̏̓̀̐͗͑͋̓͆̄̾̇̇͊̃́̔̆́̈́̇͒̍̿̌́̈́̈́̓͑̉͋̓̃̇͛̇̇̈́̉̉̅̃̚̕̕͘̚͜͝͝͠ͅͅļ̷̡̧̹̙͎̪͕̩̜̥̹͉̣̫̠͓͖̰̗̜̬̖̘̠͖͈̜̗̘̯͉͍̬̲̞̬̼̤͉͇̝̥͕̭͖̘̪̋̿̋̐̉̉̄͊̃͐͒̅̾̋͂̂̈́̉͆͐̋̈̄̓͛̒͌̕͘͜͜͜͝ͅͅï̴̡̨̧̡̢̢̧̨̡̛̛̛̛̛̜̼̣̝̠͖̫̣͙͔͎̰̦̬͉̙̹͔͙̹̻̪̺͔̲͙̫̻̘͇̳̪̤̲̟͓̯͕̖͍͚̫̞͚͚̼̹͓̟͓̭̝̘̰͍̟͎̩̝̘̮͈̬̰̗̰͇̟͍̩̘̲͚̉̒̉̐̔̆̄͐͆̀͛̈́̏̐́̋̈̈́̌̂̈́͐̍̐͂́͋̓̄̽̉̎͂̅̽̅́̆̿̍̉̓̊̄͌̾̎̒̾̏̂̀̄͒̉́͗͊̊̉̍͋͒̄̒̃̾̄̓͗́͌̍͌̎͘̕̚̚͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͠ͅͅɈ̶̢̡̧̡̢̛̛̣̦͖̮̮̬̹̞̭̝͙͍͙̺̳͚͇̙̞̤̲̬̫̱̝̭̲͇̝̻̻̪̖̳͙̻̳̠̰̮̦̬̥͚̿̊̉̊̑̒͛̇͌̏͑̍̃̌́̇͊͆̀̈́̊̇̽̊̉͒̆͛͂͜͜͝͠ͅɔ̷̢̢̨̢̮̻͔̲̥͔̟̜͉̖̫̥̱͍͙̹͈̬͇̝͍̣̮̘̗͍̮̪͕̞͎̹̝̺̬̼̭̪̰̜͔̣̱̬̖̘̞̮̮͉͕̯͚͍̻̹̹̱͐͊͌̔́̈̐͛́͋̂̃͜͜͜͠͠ͅͅʜ̸̧̡̨̢̢̡̮̣̖̰̯̰̟̳̱̦͖̬̟̳̳̯̹̯͕̟̟͚̳̩̥̫͔̦̠͓͎̰̫͉̪̣͖̳̹̦̺̖̯͙͎͖̣͓̗̯̺͕̱̻͉̯͚̟̭̠̜̹͙̰͈̞̼̪̋̾̓͜͜͜͜ͅ
ϱ̷̡̨̡̡̧̡̨̡̡̧̛͉̠͈̪͚̻̭̮̥̰̬̼͈̼̟͔̟͓͍̞̱̞̳̫͓̪̤̳͕̥͎͈̜̩͎̙͙̟̣̰̩̟͖̟̲͓͖͕̱̥̲͔͕̱̹̻̞̝̮̮͉̰̪͉̤̦̳̥̥͔̲̙̜̮̭̟̪̥͕͈͎̻̝̲̍̈̍̆̋̐̍̓͑̊̂̈̃̎̎̌̑̽́̑̎̌́̏̓̀̐͗͑͋̓͆̄̾̇̇͊̃́̔̆́̈́̇͒̍̿̌́̈́̈́̓͑̉͋̓̃̇͛̇̇̈́̉̉̅̃̚̕̕͘̚͜͝͝͠ͅͅļ̷̡̧̹̙͎̪͕̩̜̥̹͉̣̫̠͓͖̰̗̜̬̖̘̠͖͈̜̗̘̯͉͍̬̲̞̬̼̤͉͇̝̥͕̭͖̘̪̋̿̋̐̉̉̄͊̃͐͒̅̾̋͂̂̈́̉͆͐̋̈̄̓͛̒͌̕͘͜͜͜͝ͅͅï̴̡̨̧̡̢̢̧̨̡̛̛̛̛̛̜̼̣̝̠͖̫̣͙͔͎̰̦̬͉̙̹͔͙̹̻̪̺͔̲͙̫̻̘͇̳̪̤̲̟͓̯͕̖͍͚̫̞͚͚̼̹͓̟͓̭̝̘̰͍̟͎̩̝̘̮͈̬̰̗̰͇̟͍̩̘̲͚̉̒̉̐̔̆̄͐͆̀͛̈́̏̐́̋̈̈́̌̂̈́͐̍̐͂́͋̓̄̽̉̎͂̅̽̅́̆̿̍̉̓̊̄͌̾̎̒̾̏̂̀̄͒̉́͗͊̊̉̍͋͒̄̒̃̾̄̓͗́͌̍͌̎͘̕̚̚͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͠ͅͅɈ̶̢̡̧̡̢̛̛̣̦͖̮̮̬̹̞̭̝͙͍͙̺̳͚͇̙̞̤̲̬̫̱̝̭̲͇̝̻̻̪̖̳͙̻̳̠̰̮̦̬̥͚̿̊̉̊̑̒͛̇͌̏͑̍̃̌́̇͊͆̀̈́̊̇̽̊̉͒̆͛͂͜͜͝͠ͅɔ̷̢̢̨̢̮̻͔̲̥͔̟̜͉̖̫̥̱͍͙̹͈̬͇̝͍̣̮̘̗͍̮̪͕̞͎̹̝̺̬̼̭̪̰̜͔̣̱̬̖̘̞̮̮͉͕̯͚͍̻̹̹̱͐͊͌̔́̈̐͛́͋̂̃͜͜͜͠͠ͅͅʜ̸̧̡̨̢̢̡̮̣̖̰̯̰̟̳̱̦͖̬̟̳̳̯̹̯͕̟̟͚̳̩̥̫͔̦̠͓͎̰̫͉̪̣͖̳̹̦̺̖̯͙͎͖̣͓̗̯̺͕̱̻͉̯͚̟̭̠̜̹͙̰͈̞̼̪̋̾̓͜͜͜͜ͅ
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You are never lost in the woods— you have walked in the dapple for too long to truly lose the way. Look to the moss-jowl oaks and you will find familiar faces grinning back, names you almost know. And the ivy slithers as it always has, as foreign-familiar in its formula as a phrase spoken into garble. You might forget, but the rumble of thunder knows the way as it climbs inside your lungs to shake once more. There is no place for certainty when wandering in the woods-- but step where other beasts have stepped, and you will walk assured.
I want giant soft wings that I can wrap around me to hide
A toxic environment will likely change you more than you change it. So get out.
the microbes. they are chanting to me from the dirt
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aspiring mortician//froot loops//lives in Delululand//stabses u// 29
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