// hallucinations, cults, trauma
She’ll always be waiting for you. You should be grateful that she chose you. Do you really expect someone else to chose a thing like you?
The humid buzz of cicadas crushes you against your mattress with the weight of the sky. You mumble a curse and light another cigarette.
Intangible gossamer threads dance in the heat shimmer, mixing with eddies of dust and smoke to form a lattice of illusory chains and wires climbing off your anorexic body.
Its not real. Keep telling yourself that. Why do you miss her? Why is everything so empty without her?
Can a doll truly escape its witch? You know she could call you back any time, all it would take is the right word. Maybe she’s just waiting for you to give up.
“Then she can keep fucking waiting!” you say to the yellowing walls of the closet you call a flat. Are you lonely yet?