𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari) header
𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari) profile picture

It’s official 'take a psycho to work' day. Why else would I be here? ───& a little bit of death. . . ( fake )

Hα΄œΙ΄α΄›α΄‡α΄…. Hᴀᴛᴇᴅ. Bᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ.
Joined October 2017
Photo by 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari)Photo by 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari)Photo by 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari)Photo by 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari)Photo by 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari)Photo by 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari)Photo by 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari)Photo by 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari)Photo by 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari)Photo by 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞 (@Indurari)
Replying to @Indurari
β €β €β €β € π“π‡π‘πˆπ‹π‹-πŠπˆπ‹π‹ π’π„π‘πˆπ„π’ is it Jullien eton Anatole or Dagger Ixur?
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Suddenly alert, the ocean of consciousness retreats back toward the sea floor, leaving behind the ruins of fragmented desires exposed to the erosion of crashing waves.
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Resisting this temptation to push myself back into the dangerous waters of inebriation.
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I happen to know a thing or two about travelling through space.
Sick (with the desire to get lost in space).
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I could not dare to touch the innocence that reaches for a taste of corruption. Instead, I make a hasty escape.
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Will you be there too? In the square filled with ignorance as they salivate for the spectacle where I will be the main attraction?
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My weapons are laid beside your feet. My surrender, yours.
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β €β €β €β € πˆππƒπ”π‘π€π‘πˆ ( the musings breathing life to Dagger Ixur )
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( &. ) ─── Shunned into the shadows of mediocre judgement, the man was reduced to dust beneath the pressure of the universal hatred reserved to the figure they spoon-fed me with poisonous intentions.
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( &. ) ─── General, ill-conceived assumptions of the outlaw, wildly villainised by the innocent who knew so little, have buried the remnants of slipping sanity.
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Never-ending shame sits on my shoulders, like a winter cloak, terribly thick from every episode of paranoia induced by sought mind-numbing chemicals.
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May the demons haunt another whilst I plunge into the blissful sea of unconsciousness.
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The softness of you inspires the sharpest edges of my spirit, smoothing them into shape and without ridges.
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Even in intoxication, the mind sinks its talons into my subconscious. The primitive urge of survival, a cry vibrating through every pore.
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