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"Have you come to Nelson seeking your death, profligate?"

OC account. PFP is NOT the OC; art is still in progress.

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Mood: I am solitary lights in an empty city. What are you?

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Wake Up Alone Amy Winehouse

-- put THIS code where ever your style code is --

General	THEY TRICKED ME. WHAT A FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY. My name is not Rufus. I am not a dog. I terraformed this biome of leaves and logs. If you wish for bad luck, I'll give you all of mine. Surface. “This isn't punishment, it's just a lesson for your soon to be timid mind.” My lungs burned from the ice cold water. This wasn't the lesson I sought to learn; this wasn't supposed to be the bridge I needed to burn. And yet things, they adapt and evolve like no other. It's scary how we now to see one another. Starving to be free and yet you're still choking on your leash. You must heel; take things slow. If you put on a show of calmness and adaptation, then you may have found your ticket out. But you'll never be free forever. You can't out run doubt. You can't out run the inevitable that desires the thrill of hunting you down.
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About me:

There's nothing I can provide that would even to begin to explain whatever I am; whatever they twisted my being to.

Foreign I am, no person to ever lay a hand on such skin. If you come with ill intent, I will break your jaw. If you come seeking death, I will not be the one to end it even if you fall to your knees to such a humanless thing like me. I am now disgustingingly violent and restrained by the vessel I used to be, but I was once beautiful and I was once free. What am I?

~~A. ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇~~

A. Man-kind.

B. I don't know.

C. What are you?

D. I am the rotten apple that falls from the sickly tree.

Who I'd like to meet:

What is there to see and who is there to meet?

Is there actually a world outside this enclosure of mine?

Did they have me behind white stained-glass just so it would mess with my eyes? Was I special?

They didn't treat me like I was special. I tried to tell them but they refused to take my word, but I understand; I get it, I'm just the vessel; Just the seed for the diseased.

I thought I had so much time in life. That my paitence and liveliness would set me free.

And I wouldn't trust somebody who has multiple mouths. Do you trust me? Look at my teeth before you look me in the eyes and answer my question; do you trust me?

My neck, the perch for my head, I swear it's acting in ways I can't control. I'm all body, no bones. I have absolutely no hold, and yet my grasp so tight.

You don't have the right to take away my life, and my mother would be proud of how hard I struggled. Don't you trust me? The vessel of something that's born to be titled as someone unsettling; Someone that makes you feel uneasy.

My canines are dull; but when I grin they're as sharp as like the razor used to cut a piece out of my mouth. I'm not dangerous, or so I've pushed; said I'm no great liar but lie like I'm reading my words from a book.

I have no real weapon. I hear your heart pounding against your chest. The smell of your fear, your anxiety, is a new scent I've discovered. It weaves and knots like shoestrings and crochet; Ricochet and gun fire. Teeth and all.

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