walled in the well
we love the well we live the well
it’s all well here
we dug the well in the dark
we wallow deeper
we want the well
the well wants us
it’s nice
to be buried, alive
no one knows we’re here
where where
are the well people
with oily reflecting eyes
wobbly wet skin
slime in their hair
cold fingers
And webbing, webbing everywhere.
I once took three men down with a single plastic drinking straw. I am the real deal. A stone cold killer.
I have assassinated fourteen people in my line of work. I terminated another ten just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Recently, I nearly died from being ill prepared. The target sent someone after me while my guard was down. I guess my name and face are starting to be known. I fought them off, but barely. Only luck saved me. I should have been better armed.
It’s alright now, though. I’ve sharpened my cuff links. I’ve got razor blades in my hair, grenades in my shoes, and a pistol up my ass. I am a walking arsenal. Nobody is catching me off guard again.
Oh shit I tripped.
The Hinoeuma asked me to feed the woman in this picture some cookies. I understand the sometimes overwhelming need to feed someone cookies, so I obliged on her behalf.
The woman is still disturbed, but now she’s kind of having mixed feelings, and at least it got her to sit down away from that eternally swirling sink. I’ll make sure she gets fed well from now on. I’m sure that enough cookies will fix her, given time.
❤
Oh my gosh you guys, this took like four minutes to draw. I get so tangled up when I try to draw digitally. I spent like an hour on the earlier image, which pretty much has the same amount of detail. SiGh
I tried to draw for Inktober tonight but it was so abysmally bad, even I am giving myself a break. Mostly I’m just happy to still be able to talk, and breathe. It’s been an increasingly gross day. I’m watching this virus bloom in the warm culturing agent that is my body. My throat is closing up, a tiny series of trap doors, and with each one I lose another note to my voice. My coughs are coming more frequently now. Sometimes I have a sudden unpleasant awareness that I’m running out of air, drowning in my own fluids.
Why can’t colds leave as fast as they arrive?
Going for a walk with sick coworkers
K sounds like she has no nose
Uncharacteristically pepless.
H is physically weak
She nearly falls over trying to take a photo.
I cough and rasp my way through each sentence
But talk a lot more than usual.
Together we walk our fifteen minute break
Slowly
Cackling like old hags
Trying not to laugh too hard at ourselves
Lest we spur on another pulmonary problem.
“Flash forward thirty years,” I say,
“And this will be our constant reality.”
Let the healthy young men and women beware
The three plague sisters.
Flee from their slow, repulsive approach!
Sarah D. Silvey 