there is nothing to be missed of limbonic cycle, nor malleable body, nor everything cast upon me, repressed, then brought out once again. i should not miss that place, but even seeing it like this brings me the comfort of a home i only felt with a certain somewhere else. a body made is meat is not mine, it shouldn't be mine. trapped. let the ichor void flood from my mouth, my eyes, my veins, and every other orfice as you gaze, and i gaze back at you here. do you understand me?
let me return to the decaying wallpaper, the dust of wood floor, the never ending rain, the suffering of a life trapped between living and dying. let me return to faces, warped, yet not too harsh to me, at least. i'm asking nicely. don't you understand me?
i wish i could run away from the truth, too. i really do.