When you knew Me, I was but a cowering, hibernating plant–abounding splendors lying dormant within the greyness of My obscurity.
And your mistake was in assuming that the sun would never reach Me.
But I'm here to tell you that, I'm blooming Bitch.
The Malknowing of The Flexilis Pupa
So you think you know Her?
HA!
You vile and ignorant cockroach!
You insignificant sycophant excrement!
Foul and debased is your petty existence!
For She is The Flexilis Pupa, and Her essence cannot be reduced and categorized by your paltry understanding.
She is beyond definition; She is a spectrum of Self–sparkling identities that effervesce and tickle the backside of your undeserving tonsils, as you drink from your dog bowl on the floor–Her spiked heel atop your menial, misshapen skull.
NOW DRINK.
A Lost Art
Through the burrows of subterranean consciousness, the bellowing surges forward, headfirst, in search of light, in search of an open amphitheater to project it's primal cry–an ancient lost art among the modern-day herd.
Submergence
In the clammy depths of water, you will approach an understanding of the profound essence of death, and what it would be like to demise from this terrestrial existence, one immersed in the habit of breath.
Breathe deep.
Breathe now.
For your inspirations will expire soon enough.
Specters of Reality
Solar flares bayoneting the sleep of zephyr spheres, beyond the bounds of inept de-virgining teens, as they thrust and heave in the shadows of a forest over yonder.
Malpenetrations–all fair within the fabric of time and space, although, both are specters of reality–hallucinations, of the common man.
Ball Gag of Burning Desire
It has been said by the weak of spirit to:
"Be gentle with yourself."
"Forgive yourself."
"Love yourself."
That if you can do these things consistently every day for the rest of your life everything will be peachy.
But I say this:
"Have DISGUST for yourself." For only then will you have the nerve and audacity to be a better version of you. Because the lizard brain does NOT want change. It craves safety.
But the ironic thing about life, is that choosing to stay in your safe little comfort zone is perhaps the most dangerous place you can be.
Staying still leads to stagnation, and stagnant waters are brimming with disease.
Disease of mind.
Disease of body.
Disease of spirit.
Disease that leads to accelerated death.
The lizard brain will lead you to drink from this virulent pond because it is the enemy of achievement, and it would rather have you sick from comfort, than healthy with aspiration.
You cannot eradicate its voice, but you can learn how to muffle it with a ball gag of burning desire.
Thus spoke, The DragnMastr.
The Exit
There it was–the exit. I opened the door, and glanced inside–darkness and departure. I turned around and reminded Myself of what I was leaving behind–darkness and dissolution.
The darkness may never snuff out, but your tolerance for ruination certainly does.
Do not be afraid to walk the corridors of those shadows, for your inner flames will guide you to fruition.
A Delirium From Disillusionment
A mournful aura suspended the promise of tomorrow, and I could see Hirsutus Puella grieving the loss of feminine independence.
Lamentations asphyxiated the oxygen in the surrounding air, as the grey mass of Lasciva Libido’s words contorted into parasitic larvae that consumed her peace of mind with gluttonous diligence.
I stood there, bereaving not only the disillusionment and death of a cherished idol, but the disillusionment and death of an unlived future kneeled before the altar of My desires.
Whether I liked it or not, My sojourn was redirecting My gaze, away from the delirium of that comfortable corner of life.
I was set free, and what was most unsettling, was that I knew it.
A Theater of Fertility
Entire biologies blossomed in that fertile dreamscape, while the climatic boom of timpani drums rebounded off the mossy skin of the trees with a sense of urgency. The primordial heartbeat of the forest was alive! And we were amidst the pulse.
The Flexilis Pupa, fittingly, sat atop the crown canopy, looking down at the spectacle in whole. She wore a modified, fungal headdress made of the most delicately-interwoven wolf lichens, and a pair of XY areoli that she defiantly revealed.
Pitapat
At that moment, the foreboding microvibrations of unraveling plumerian petals pitapatted throughout our eardrums, like a flood of baby rats scurrying across hardwood floors at night.
It was Hirsutus Puella, and she was abloom with bursts of magentas, pinks, and reds. A noticeable arctic mist hydrated the chakras that grounded her passions.
Her gaze was unrelenting and transfixed on us, like a shadow sin that follows you throughout a lifetime.
The Blooming of Hirsutus Puella
I continued to watch, in oozing stupefaction, while Hirsutus Puella continued to stroke neighboring ovaries with her fertilizing tongue.
Up and down it slithered, engulfing entire anatomies in her mouth at times. This proceeded indulgently for 27 minutes, that is, until she bloomed from her comatose.
They interlocked gazes, and I could feel a premonition start to lick behind My left ear as the wind began to seethe in the cloister.
The Mollycoddling of an Ovary
During one of My twilight treks, I chanced upon a cloistered patch of plumerias, and The Flexilis Pupa was busy secreting her sticky milky mysteries unto their stigmas.
I watched from a safe distance, as her feral tongue mollycoddled their ovaries with a deliberateness and precision that left My eyes fatigued, and My innocence groped.
The Unapologetic Pollination of The Flexilis Pupa
The Flexilis Pupa was a curious creature. She had an indiscriminate prehensile penis that would latch unto stamens and pistil alike–leaving behind an unapologetic sticky residue that would pollinate our collective imagination.