fail doll // is the acceptance of being considered lesser than, unorthodox, or strange by society or the people around you. whether it is true or not is besides the point of the matter. being a fail doll is a title of honour. it feels like the invisible cast iron barrier gate has been melted away, everyday bringing us closer to the ascension of becoming fail doll. the isolated blood orchid lily in the tin won’t wilt, it’s provider and simultaneous keeper is itself, it tends to it's petals and spritzes itself with water using the emerging branch of skin and floral matter. the idea of florist is mutilated, and the desire to be apart of a garden is full of rot and decay, there is no desire to be strangled and asphyxiated beneath poison ivy and invasive species. nibbled at and ripped through to the roots by grabbing hands. the blood orchid lily wants to be alone in it's tender glass case, concoct the terrarium around it from utter nothing. the prospect of connection is severed, the string has been torn and dashed away, disintegrating through the strong winds. i watched the vein get cut, it feels as though it can never be truly repaired, i can observe the ways i have failed it but something within me feels content or a strange variation of acceptance. i accept that the hair is lost, the soft skin has leathered, and the heart has weakened beneath my feet. the outward rain falling down through the other clouds doesn’t fall onto me. there are never ending sequences of rococo strawberry milk torrential downpours, yet i am laden in black dust unable to be dampened.
the no face girl, sugar-disgusting-cute failure black eyes;baby pink pajamas muddy boots— running in muddy boots in a gothic ruffle lace taobao faux lolita dress ita princess adorned in kawaii bootleg 1.99 figurine keychains

i want to be free from the floating eyes rotten sclera and molten diseased festering hands of individuals on this “earth”. overall, it would appear that genuinely nobody cares about anything except for maybe one person, who does not anymore. i suppose it is my own fault, i've been feeling more and more desire to never speak. it feels there is no point in explaining anything at all. the blood orchid lily disease comes for us all. the continuous realization during hikikomori recovery where you wonder why you're even doing this in the first place.. well, i don't want to go back to that at all... but i'm disgusted by everything... i don't even want to die anymore.. i say it sometimes, but i don't mean it. i don't want to go back to hikikomori life... so i'll have to do something else. i'm okay being "mostly" a shut-in, in the sense of being isolated and majorly mute disconnected. while still trying to explore the world, and enjoying a physical third space, enjoying the artificial fruits of the land (venturing to get the delicacies of life; treats like bubble tea and chinese cakes.)

there is unimaginable pain and suffering, smiling faces make me burst into an electrolyte fountain.. every epiphany that any philosopher has ever come to, i realized it a million times over while my head was resting on a damp pillow before falling asleep. i have no will, this is all that will be left of me once i've turned into dust. surrounded by measly and sparse white flowers. porcelain komorebi desire, eating chunks of dirt through swollen hands and broken nails until i can peer out of the sacred fever window.

a poison smoke breeze hits me in the face, it coats my skin in a thin layer of a sweet and chemical scent. i thought about the prisoner eternity. shibari chained against the rotting oak tree, gaunt infected oozing angels draped down above me, gently hanging side to side like wind chimes back home. my skin is getting sucked in by the moist grass and leaves beneath me. the secret wet dirt of my fellow sisters in this world, marble belly blush lingering in the distance, singing about the forever peace of the concrete ocean's heart. they tell me to eat, devour velvet cake skies and celebrate decay at all costs. must die young. drink delicious cloud flower, and wake them, with who see.. for they are eternity damned to bug liquid dreams. smiling jade bug child, do you remember your brilliant throbbing eye? it had almost every colour of the rainbow within it, adorned along with your bleeding lip. continue to haunt yourself drunk like a black dog, bleeding out milk next to the river and turn it all into a cloudy mist. i'll sit along side the river and dip my feet into it, allow the milkblood to steam the sweaty skin of my forehead and cheeks. waiting for the death day, and our return to the eternal garden of kegadoru. forever bandaged, bellmer angel washing up against the sweet lake hidden deep in the milk forest. nutcracker gimp dreams a thousand diamond skies, they claim to soar above. drooling blue blood and eating raw bare bitter ache. pleading for others to worship the repulsive peach rose, their tender hearts swollen and pink like the puppy crush pound. shooting themselves dead to avoid the pain, letting the pink light symphony rain down onto them and grant them the power of a tragic elaborate death. fantasia fantasia.