the insane ramblings of a malfunctioning computer guy
dates are in dd/mm/yy
here i have all of my "creative writing", "poetry" o whatever it is. some of these may contain some mature contents, i will state them on the titles
- [4/9/24] (descriptions of gore)
i'm actually thankful for growing up in a non religious house, this guilt thing and the obsession with worthiness and value would have fucked me up even more. for being agnostic i do feel a lot of guilt for stuff i don't even understand, like if in a past life i had done something so bad that this life is my way of paying for it, like a divine punishment, like if god hated me.
sometimes i feel like i have to prove that the air and space that i occupy are not a waste. my mere existance feels like a sin, one that i have to pay for, one that i have to ask forgiveness for.
i know this isn't true and that every person deserves to have a nice life but, once in a while the guilt catches me off guard and attacks me like a rabid dog, i don't always find the will to defend myself, i let it rip me apart and eat my organs. i stare at it despite the digusting-ness of it, it doesn't even hurt anymore, not after all this time. once the dog is done with his feast,he leaves me alone to try to reconstruct myself.
why do i have this obsession with the macabre, the brutal and the bloody? it would seem as if i had no other words to express myself that weren't tales of violence, blood, intestines and those types of stuff thst horrify people. am i the horrifying part? is my brain rotten? if someone could read my mind, what would they feel? fear? disgust? would they get nauseous? would they be afraid of me? would they think this images and thoughts are by my own choice? i can't answer any of those questions and i don't think i'll ever be able to. the only thing i have left to do, is keep living, constantly running away from that feral dog that follows me everywhere (it's useless to run, he is faster than me) (i still try)
- [7/3/25] (descriptions of surgery and the like)
she's my disease but also my cure, my vaccine and my nurse. she's the tumor in my brain that keeps growing back after she, also being my surgeon, removes it by cutting my head open and sewing it back shut over and over again. she makes me stop eating but is also the one that saves me from panick attacks caused by nauseas caused by anxiety most likely caused by her. she's the sweetest and the meanest. she's my savior and the one sent by the devil to torture me. but it's never actually about me.