Author Topic: Disjointed Ramblings by SirGroinPain  (Read 245 times)

Slimebeast

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on: March 01, 2019, 06:18:47 PM
It released itself from itself ever forward, more, more. It came out of it's mouth and then it exited it's mouth. Like a snake shedding its skin. The veins in questions are filled with hallucinogenics.
The year is 1945, you awaken in unkown lands and feel maggots deep in your liver. Recently your sister regurgitated glass. Mr Ferdinand's sister's condition was left unkown, however he felt like he had maggots deeply injected in his lower abdomen, his mandibles opened very easily, realising the maggots, his lower and upper body began to rot.
Slurped down, all of it, you feel sick and full, it drips from your mouth, it smells like burned flesh, but you know you're not inside a kitchen.
Overbearing joy, fall down, spontaneous ignition. All gone, not even a bit of ash, charred beyond recognition, you breathe in the ash, that's where it was, deep inside your lungs waiting to make it's move and suffocate you. You're joyful.
It reeks of inhuman degeneracy, they're more than happy. We joined in, eternal damnation would be a better alternative. You wish for the worst suffering, but your wish is discarded.
You feel the tumour on your skin, on your arm, it's growing, yet loosening, you insert your finger, deeply inside, you feel a fluid, a rough one, it cuts your finger open, you release your blood inside of your tumour. It feels great, your tumour of mucus and grease and pus is like a hot summer day, life goes on, you however don't. Your arm is dislocated from last night
You look on the ceiling, it jumps on you and you look towards it. What a gorgeous ceiling, what an odd face, you scream, but you sound like a wounded infant, you're a tragedy, it screams louder at you, you're mute, there's no one on the ceiling but you, jump down.