As I cannot cope with the hidden feelings I am harboring day by day, I must put Buried Alive on the operating table, open its chest with a rusty old knife, rip its heart out, beat it with an oversized sledgehammer until the damned thing beats again, then carefully re-wire everything and elaborately close the wound with duct tape.
As horroristic as it might be, it is necessary. I have again come to a point when my soul is massively overflowed with emotions hidden and forbidden, ripping my heavy head apart if I don't let it leak out somewhere. I cannot let it leak out to anyone, so I will do regular memory dumps in the form of a drabble series, titled "Drebbles", the spelling intentional - I won't tell what the intention is though.
If you like to read the miserable byproduct of an otherwise perfectly happy and intact soul, you are welcome to be my reader. If nobody ever reads it though... even if there was a magical way to make me care less, I couldn't.
Have fun!
As horroristic as it might be, it is necessary. I have again come to a point when my soul is massively overflowed with emotions hidden and forbidden, ripping my heavy head apart if I don't let it leak out somewhere. I cannot let it leak out to anyone, so I will do regular memory dumps in the form of a drabble series, titled "Drebbles", the spelling intentional - I won't tell what the intention is though.
If you like to read the miserable byproduct of an otherwise perfectly happy and intact soul, you are welcome to be my reader. If nobody ever reads it though... even if there was a magical way to make me care less, I couldn't.
Have fun!
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