SololosoInstead of the world it's just the house.
The rooms string together but there's no rhyme or reason; kitchen meets bathroom meets basement, jutting from aimless hallways like thorns, but the hurt is everywhere.
This place is endless and everything fills you with Being Exposed, leaves you as an air-seared nerve or a rabbit in the talons of a
There's water. There's food. But it's never enough so your throat always burns and your stomach always aches and getting it is always disgusting or humiliating because the whole fucking place
There are windows sometimes, but they're not a good thing. You look outside and it's pitch black. There's stuff out there but it never matches up and the space doesn't make sense, shouldn't fit. No wind, no noise, no movement. Pitch black, leaves and grass motionless, dead.
When you stand in front of a window sometimes it feels like that will be your forever and it's so horrible but it tastes sweet
Instead of the world it's just the house.
Instead of us it's just the house.
Instead of
just the
hou
se