Do you think I am an automaton? — a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless?

they told me you were gone and i screamed. i wailed, i cried and i screamed. as loud as i could. i halfway hoped that if you could hear me screaming on your way to heaven, you would turn around and come back to me.

That is my greatest fear. That if, if I lost control, or did not have control, things would just, you know. I would be… fatal.

Picture Post, England, March 25, 1939

He was supposed to be an angel but they took him from that light and turned him into something hungry

your boy is a soldier / and his mouth tastes like / fear and blood, dust, fire / home and battlefield.

lie about some greater good when you ship me off to war.

my kind of rebirth tasted like blood.

"it's okay that you kin him but you gotta let him go" "no wait he's my emotional support manipulator"

This haunting was a gift. You did not ask for it, but here it is, and wrapped so nicely. It would be rude to take it back. Maybe you can find a use for it.

w̴̼̜͆̈́͌r̸͇̩̗̎̆̐ȍ̸͉̞͖͎̦̐̑̇̈́̃͜n̶̨͈̠͌̔̀͗͜g̷͍̽̈́ ̴̨͚̿̋ť̸̛̥̈ě̴̡̙͍̼͔̰͋̀̓͠x̸̡̖̹̻̫̍̂̎ͅẗ̵̥͇́̇͛u̷͍̝̙̘̙̍̎̈͝r̸̡̬͇̤̥͔̅̚ḗ̴͕̮

n̸̲̉̂̏o̵̗͖͖͒̽ ̸̙͈̺̻̅͌<̷̥̳̱̫͛̄̕3̴̨͚̲̥̉

ĺ̴̬a̵̼͆͘ẓ̴̯͝á̵̬ř̸͍͚͌u̸̻͎̎s̴͎̠̓ ̶̢̆ͅg̸̣͑ė̵̲t̵̫̤͠s̸̬̲̏̇ ̸̻͖̑͗m̶̱̩͊e̷̬̩͘

ŵ̷̤̈́ȅ̶͍ ̷͔̋͛ą̶̈́͑ŕ̷̙̏ė̷̖ ̴̰̲͐̆o̵̙̎͝n̸͖̦͊e̴̞͐,̵̘͝ ̶̲̣̄̃ạ̶̘͋s̵̖͂̽ ̸̭̆w̶͕̩͌ë̷̲̿ͅ ̴̠̔̈ä̵̠̣̅ḽ̶͇͑w̷̳̆̿a̸̛̪̋͜y̶̧̅̐s̸̺͌ ̵̖̭̄h̶͇͜͝ȁ̷̟͈v̶̢̨͋e̸̲̚ ̶͓̮̆b̴͍͎̀ȩ̴͐͝ĕ̷ͅṅ̵̛̹

i̵̬̎͜ ̴̳͊c̵̣̏ą̴͚͠m̴̖̖͠e̵̝̬͌̐ ̴͚̀w̶̫̮͐̅h̶̨͝ȩ̸̅n̷̛̰̲͗ ̵̧͂͂ȳ̶̘̅o̸̝̾́u̴̧̜͠ ̴̺̽n̵͇̉̓ḙ̵̡̋̀ê̸̦̟d̴̗̍͝e̶̟͓̓d̴͖̈́ ̷̺̥̽m̸͈͗e̷̟̫̽͝ ̷̦̎ľ̵̟̉͜i̴͔̥͝ḳ̵̨̏͌ḙ̷̄̈ ̷͔͍͝l̷͕̗̄̏å̸͕̝̂z̴͚͝a̸̤͈͊͠r̴͈̒͜ũ̸̠̈s̸̗̅

LOOK. YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN DESTROY ME. LOOK. I CAN DO IT MYSELF.

Don't you dream of forgetting this? Have we forgotten what we want? Counting the wars and broken bones. Haven't we lost enough already? Isn't this more than what it's worth? Have we forgotten where we came from? Long way from laying in the dirt.

Somewhere, a child is bullied for the first time. The rest of their life alters irrevocably.