Wilbur's Doing Really Well :D

i want to run away and bury myself in a bog.

Just inhale peat moss.

Let watercress grow from my ribs.

no more society.

no more squabbles.

only frogs and phosphine.

:,)

i think me and my fellow ghostly apparitions have some scheming to do

Oh to walk barefoot through the damp dirt in the forest, following an almost human silhouette into the darkness.

corona is spreading like butter on warm toast. stay inside. dont spread butter

ive become convinced that bo burnam is a cryptid / god hybrid of chaos and morals.

True chaotic neutral.

He is the only god i would willingly bow to.

i feel

the stars are

singed

with the ash of burnt words

the night sky is

scorched

with longing for another

my bed is

burning

with the emptiness of being

without you.

my lover,

come home.

i’ve been living

and thinking recently.

its been nice.

the guitar and his voice and the voice cracks and the straining and all the passion he puts into it and the texture of the song and how happy he looks and and and and

dozing off inside a summer’s sunny world is heaven.

it makes me wonder why fall is my favourite season.

maybe it’s melancholy feels familiar

and the summer feels too good

Maybe i’m afraid of goodbyes

and in love with things i am afraid of?

if i were a better man i would say i am simply afraid of things becoming too good,

but a part of me knows

that autumn isn’t about the melancholy

it’s about healing from it.

Hope this helps someone

- blue