Stucking here, sucking there.

Trigger Warning.

This short story may be disturbing to some people. It contains violence, sexual acts, clichés and stereotypes, controversial beliefs and ideas, radicalized ideas, offensive language and nonsense, trauma content, fantasies of mass murder, the promotion of cannibalism and eating shit, and, of course, the author is the filhiest person alive.

Readers who are sensitive should stop reading now.

ACT 1 Its all about me not you?

All the people who just stopped here are such pussies, right?

In the garden of your heart, may the flowers of resilience bloom, whispering to your soul that you are more than the scars of your past.

This morning, unfortunately, I woke up as usual. A loud noise of realization and denial hit my sleepy face from left to right and right to left. With tired and sunken eyes, I looked out the window of today's facts and when I thought I had found myself today, I was only left wondering about all the drama around me and the consequences of all our self-sabotages.
Yesterday, all the cameras were on me. In the blinding light, I thought of you as I stroked my giant clit. Images of distant future memories of you whizzed through my head as I sucked your trans*masc enby micropenis. My observers, all facing the screen, tapped rapidly on their touchscreens. Still fully aroused, but still totally elsewhere and horrified that I've once again woken up from my utopian dreams, I chew my way too sweet fucking cornflakes, they grind hard between my way too pointy demon teeth, and the longer I chew, the more I realize my casual lock-jaw and realize I fucking need some Botox.

I look at the manipulated holographic newspaper and realize everything is the same as always, totally delusional, de lu lu and lame as fuck.

Time to leave the fucking house. Next thing I know, I fall with my face hitting the ground first, as usual, and start screaming hysterically.

Like my poralized neighbors all sorts of hate speech and fake news like always misinformation in context of misinformation.
I rant around in my precious head. I ache to grow my eyebrows out again, as well as my hair, and be harassed and stupidly hit on in the most cringe and corny ways at least 6x6÷6 times a day by perverted, sexually confused men.
Which is going pretty badly, since I look like a far-left freak who unfortunately can't hold in what wants to be screaming and violently to be noticed.

I'm looking for validation for my fragile and insecure image of myself. It has always been a bad city to make money in. It's divided into different districts like a shitty birthday cake covered in sugar pearls and glitter, as if a glue-sniffing troll on meth pretending to be a unicorn ejaculated all over it. Made by a confused and traumatized child who has watched far too many cartoons and gaslighted herself into adulthood in a highly mental gymnastics.

I'm feeling a wave of déjà vu. 

May the tears shed in solitude be transformed into pearls of wisdom, each one a testament to the depth of your soul and the battles you've faced.

From vanilla to hardcore, diversity in all colors of the spectrum of a rainbow, you will encounter the most disturbed factions—from deniers and believers, toxic terror faggots, transtrenders, and fake transexuals, to truescum pick mes and transmedicalists, not to mention radical leftists or those proclaiming "I will take you apart" and "a woman is a grown-up female." 

Down in the streets close to Dolly's parts factory, I used to work full with fabulous, stunning Dolls. In filthy strip clubs and brothels in the most sketchy hidden areas, where secretive, insecure males go to fulfill their desire to fuck some chick with a dick or simply get bottomed.

A double chickflip without any dip.

You are not defined by the shadows of others' opinions. Your journey is a symphony of courage, and your existence demands applause.

I'm saving up to get out of here and alter myself to gain even more cold hard cash from being chasers' desired dolly. 

But since I cut my hair in a state of pure boredom or, more or less, the craving to experiment and express myself, or just to break free from cis gaze, my clients decreased by around 69%. Now, my body dysmorphia and perplexing thoughts keep intertwining, absorbing it all like '60s car gas at a petrol station while I'm still stuck here, pulling the petals of some daisy flower until I might find the right answer to solve the quest of my ever-shifting reality and the next move. 

Know that in my eyes, your worth is not determined by societal judgments. Your journey is valid, and your spirit is cherished.

Do I actually prefer to encounter sexual harassment and over-objectification instead of hate crimes? When I was still dancing with cisgaze closely, in a high school ball moment close to the act of breeding, in all norms. My passing level used to be a solid twelve from ten sexy fem babe, and when I was trying to escape from my dear ex-boyfriend's cis gaze, all his friends and all people he ruled over in his kingdom of jerky turkeys would put me in a box of a genderfuck freak, pushing me around, waiting for the right moment when I would fall to take me apart and eat from my artificial flesh.

What I would give to escape this ordeal... one day.

And now, I'm working as a whore on and off, indulging and performing for the most intense desires. But since I love pain, I'm the best performer for a little bloody show. I'm the incarnation of the sickest desires that someone else might not be able to provide. You will find me in my temple. 


Last night, I had the weirdest dreams. I have that theory in another dimension. I was alone with the biggest enemy of mine—myself. The thorns of the rose crown the Romans took from the holy son's corpse, forced on me, cut deep into the flesh of my throat. I get off by the feeling of pain. Little cute evil demonic shadows force me to mark myself in an act of rebellion. I marked myself with the cross, begging for salvation. The Holy Spirit above us never reached out back to me, that fucking asshole. I'm scum; there is no heaven for me. Blood drops from my hand on my giant clit, my provocative tranny cock, my disgustingly beautiful shemale body. Someone, destroy my ass; I'm empty; fill me up with anything but pain. Masturbating and fingering myself with my bloody hand, and the person I love can't hurt me, no matter how much I crave to be hurt. After acting out my twisted, depraved self, I feel dirty, I feel shame, I feel like cheating, I feel confused. Someone call me a doctor. Guardian angel, why did you leave me alone.

The person I love won't hurt me, no matter how much my sinful, debauched self begs for it. The person I love won't hurt me. My love will just chase me through fields of cotton candy, and precious sunshine falls on us while we can't stop kissing and touching our earthly bodies. Time feels endless in the arms of the person who loves. Finding myself in your arms feels like heaven's gate is opening for me after waiting a long time in the waiting room of pity. The rain of salvation drips on my heated forehead; your love gives me goosebumps; your love makes me giggle; your love makes me feel alright; your love makes me drive for more. I don't want the person I love to hurt me, and I don't want that person I love to be hurt. The person I love begs me not to be hurt. The world is a scary place in a state of pain and confusion. 

The person I love doesn't know.

The person I love might know.

The person I love will know. 

The person I love knows.

Im hurt.


Can't wait for the fine day to find the way to move from this old shag. 


One early morning when I was a younger me, unable to protect myself, my evil-grandma, part of this circle of dumb terf whore witches, locked me in a cage and cut the feathers of my wings of glory, rendering me unable to escape. That evil snitch, in a moment of vulnerability when I could only speak in riddles, couldn't take it any longer. In her rampage of hate and pity she felt for me, she chained me up and let me drown in my pit of pee. She would return the favor for her guilty self, quickly fading back into gruesome hate until she found the next level to pleasure herself and sold my ass to a group of predatory unicorns that gaslighted the shit out of me. Till I gaslighted myself, experiencing a constant wave of confusion and chaos. One of her psychoanalytic friends, denying and unable to face the truth, kept screaming and yelling out for my unnatural perversions.


Dear friends, if I overdose on purpose another time, do not cry for me. I may be dead, but I will not be gone.


Scooping di dupen through the valley of terf-suburbia. In each house, some messed up hag is watching me through their kitschy lace curtains in sad kitchens, praying on their knees for the return of their lost sister.

Realize salvation lies not in symbols but in the unconditional love offered by the person who stands by me, regardless of my struggles.

Writing and writing so many letters addressed to wherever you may be, please come to find me. Doing a line after line of speed, destroying each after each caused by my unworthiness. Working out, proving myself, so writing another one and another one. I actually get annoyed with this shit, always the voice of my grandma and the fluffy scary unicorn whispering into the back of my neck like what the heck. But today is the day I will escape from this scumhole of a town to find you, guided by unclear transmissions from a possible future you. Not your current self, but any self you're going to be, that you wanna be, that you need to be, that you already are, for each coming tomorrow.

Amidst the chaos of self-discovery, I confront shame and confusion, seeking a doctor for my wounded soul, but finding the remedy in the unwavering love of my companion.

Pink precious shotgun, I'm watching you floating and slowly rotating. The gravity pole of you is dragging me towards you; I can't resist, it's the day, yehaw motherfuckers. You better let them lock me up sooner this time. You think I'm psycho, don't you? Addressed to the people who raised me, fed me, and wiped my little sissy ass, wishing all of us were dead.

Instead of ending their lives like some gory slasher horror movie, I decided magic can play itself. Like some candles in the dining room, setting up the fan with a piece of cloth close to the candles, I left with my backpack full of makeup and some cute cha-cha heels.

Like the thorns of a rose crown, my troubles pierce deep, but in the quiet moments with the person I love, I find solace, the pain easing with each shared breath.

I actually would, months later, see some news lady discussing the incident on a giant flying jumbotron in the city center of that immense, never-sleeping city I found myself in. Her shocked and serious face was so hilarious while talking about the morbid, cruel, and gruesome way of murder, with one person still missing in the open puzzle to be a suspect. They all died in a big ass fire; I imagine the smell like some fried bacon.


Karma lama diorama. This life ain't nothing more than a pure lame drama.


In my dreams, I would have left driving in some fancy-ass Cadillac, but instead, I chose to take the bus and watch the neighborhood change. I dropped off my letter at some post office and decided to continue my journey while hitchhiking from small town to small town until I get somewhere with more possibilities to find you. In my speed come down in some random dudes car, I watched unexpected brutal interruptions in the beautiful, untamed landscapes of giant road billboard advertisements of straight people porn and political elections of the new world order.

My jaw dropped when I saw the face of cis gaze just smiling with his stupid thumbs-up pose. 

I was shocked, but you never get what you want; you always will just get what you get. 

Karma levels in harmony with the universal waves or justice and magic are in line with intentions and the approach of the world you currently live in.

But it's always a never-ending shift of realities, and you can just set your own goals and drive for more, but never crave too much; it will just interrupt that wild water interference.

Bloopin' di swoopin' like a jellyfish doin' the limbo, screamed while playing anal bingo, by some hysteric wimbo bimbo while stucking in the limbo and drinkin some period blood mixed limo.

You might have already received a letter, but probably you didn't because I don't have enough credit or any leftover money to pay for magic express delivery services. Also, the way they treat the little delivery demon cuties is unspeakable, and any forced labor, egg-laying, degraded chicken lives a more worth-living life, I guess. Well, well, well, stopping by in random motels to crash for the night and trying not to worry about tomorrow and what to do when I run out of money again. Maybe I will do some cam shows with my ex-sugar daddy, but just having that thought, another thought of mine, eww, just raised up like a sports car in my brain. The stars are so fascinating; I've always been fascinated with the night sky. One day I will afford some high-class spaceship like some of the rich people own in the faraway cities, out from any contamination and insane feral outlaw zones. Also, a new moon is rising in a few days; we can see the goddess in her most powerful state, and I will continue finding peace with the four powers of destruction or just a little shit chat. But it ain't one like those you have in random parties when dumb poser gay elves just approach you in the weirdest way, like, Hey babes, you look stunning tonight, dude, I better do. But hey, let's focus on the night sky, watching little twinkling twinky suns and suicidal falling stars and hoping the goddess can help me since my guardian angel abandoned me for being a hopeless case. But hey, it's time to go to sleep.

Dream baby dream, dream baby dream, dream baby dream for me.

In the meantime, we can see some weird light formation in the desert from that run-down motel's window where our main protagonist is sleeping on a mattress that has seen way too much, like the one and only true pillow princess, knocked out by heavy sleeping pills and old-fashioned Xanax. That junkie whore but still so peaceful.

"Excuse me, what is her name?"

"Sorry, like, who the heck are you?"

"Just some newly employed guardian angel, and who are you?"

"Well, I'm the narrator's voice. You, nervy colibri, get the heck out; you just ruined the whole moment. I will contact your manager."

"Omfg, I'm so sorry. Bye."

"Great, back to whats going on." 

Dream baby dream, dream baby dream, dream baby dream for me.

Luminous, glowing bubbles of light in bluish greenish tones flickering in the night sky, moving like drops of liquid in fast motion. Under the mysterious light, a gathering of some cult of mutated potatoes, praying to a magic fridge while mumbling some kind of strange mantras. 

I remember when I woke up in the middle of the night, and the brightness in the distance lit up that motel room so much. I was super hyped because I expected some aliens landing, but I realized quickly something way more dope is going on. I rushed out, running towards the lights, and the melody of that ancient mantra sung by the mutant potatoes was almost frightening.

I tiptoed closer to the fridge, like an insecure, paranoid deer. A magnet sticker on the fridge is saying, "Dear poor you, not poor anymore. You found salvation and washed your sins away. You converted, and we take what we take because our fake holy spirit told us to."

It sure did—yikes, this neo-religious cult bullshit. Let's take a look at what's inside the fridge; I'm kinda hungry anyway. I opened the fridge; it struck me. I couldn't comprehend; it was way too much for my earthly Chihuahua brain. I just slammed the door and tried not to have an asthma attack. It wasn't that easy, but I made it. Like, the heck, I was just looking, and my brain is way too overloaded. It was like the ultimate ADHD nervous breakdown. I was seeing multiple possible futures, and some ancient-like being talked to me in a language I never heard of. I saw cities burning, and everyone was acting totally normal, ehm normal? beside the casually radicalized hate pushed to the next level on the magic screen device that also distracts me way too much.

I decided this is way too intense for me right now. I don't want to be a hero and stop some overlord creature, god, whatever it might be. Find someone else to do it. My own life is a struggle, like, for real. Leave me alone!

All I wanted was some cold limo, and all I got was some mindfuck hero-like introduction to some interdimensional quest that ain't paying my bills either it affords plastic surgery to feed my obsession of beauty and please cis gaze again, cis, because he's ruling the world, and all I do right now is try to find that handsome enby transmasc I fell in love with. This is a frustrating journey, and I have conflicting thoughts sometimes. But you know what? I actually don't want to please cisgaze; that asshole just frustrates me. ARGHHH! I'm screaming like a hysteric bitch in the worst timing, like always. 

Yes, I'm intense. Yes, I might be an insane witch. Yes, I might be a cursed whore. But at least I might have a mission or a purpose. Wait, do I? I mean, I can't change this cursed world. I noticed while screaming around like an insane whore, as usual, these stupid potato weirdos look at me with many questions. Actually, I'm not sure because they have no eyes or ears, but they obviously made sense of me. 

Hey, guys, you know what I am? I'm a "wimbo." You know what's a "wimbo"?

They shake their chunky potato bodies to say, no, i guess. Well, guys, a "wimbo" is a combination of the words "bimbo" and "weirdo." It has both attributes of the classic bimbo and a you casual weirdo. 

You know what? I might also be one of those annoying truescum bitches that harassed me a while ago and started a argue whos basicly more trans or not these bitches are a combination of a clown and a bimbo, because both are actually full of absurdity if you watch them closely, like the whole online community for example drowning and stucking in filter bubbles.


I remember a while ago I went to a party with some other dyky punk trannies who are all escorts just like me, and for some reason there was a big insecure energy in the room about the topic of topping.
And I get it, I don't really "top" bio guys with my giant clit either, maybe in a good moment and with a big tip. 

I mean, really, I get it, I'm also so dissatisfied with my body in so many ways. Almost cisgaze rules our trans* bodies. Here I am, deeply bored and fed up with the situation, I just dropped something into the conversation in front of this real scum pick me cry baby, watching her mouth shit out words and random phrases, wondering if she even understands herself.

I actually saw a younger version of myself in that girl, or at least a small fragment of what I used to be. I just said that I am in love with this transmasc*enby/afab* person from another dimension, and seriously, whatever they are or identify as, they are hot as fuck to me, and in multiple timelines, I fucked this cutie enby.

This one pick me I'm talking about got so weirded out about it for some reason, even though it was more than appropriate for the setting; you should have heard her nonsense talk, bla bla bla sucking dick, bla bla convincing some transphobic and homophobic guy that he's not gay for fucking a trans girl as bla bla being so hateful to bisexual guys, bla bla anyone who is trans attracted is a chaser, bla bla and so much more nonsense. 

I thought, wow, this bitch is projecting all her insecurities onto me in such a hateful way, and I still don't understand why. I mean, it's my body, and it was such nonsense, especially in this bubble of acceptance and no judgment. Ahh, I remember we got into Pick Me territory. Actually, I don't know which side is less annoying, these stupid whores or some freaks opening their trans spectrum umbrellas and creating neo pronouns. I want to be dead and identify as she/was.

Your own misogynistic idea of womanhood and what femininity is or isn't, with double pleasing yourself and toxic idea of an ideal relationship and some relationship with some asshole who is just like cisgaze to give the comfortable feeling of being accepted. 

But what do I even know.
Myself, who wears only pink and pastels and is most "hyperfemminsed," as they call "hyperfem" in the context of cisgaze rules, and pleases the shit out of him and expresses a level of deranged cuteness, wears so much mascara to archive the biggest deer-like eyes, and turns to please cisgaze for way too long, and I still do. If you try not to, you are still playing into his hands and the concept he is forcing on all of us in his regime of terror.

I'm feeling a wave of déjà vu. 

Wearing only pinks and pastels and most "hyperfemminsed" like what they call "hyperfem" in the context of cisgaze rules and pleasing the shit out of him and expressing a level of deranged cuteness, wearing so much mascara to archive the biggest deer-like eyes, and turning to please cisgaze for way too long, and I still do. If you try not to, you are still playing into his hands and the concept he is forcing on all of us in his regime of terror. But what do I know.

Doing a line of hatred of my most painful insecurities and the depth of my soul.
I tried to please his ego asewell I feed my own idea and concept of femininity and almost my own internalized misogyny and repression of myself.

What does it mean to be a woman?

What does it mean to be a feminine being?

What does it mean to be someone like me? 

I've tried, I've deconstructed it, I've destroyed it, I've started a never-ending war within myself, and I'm still fighting a never-ending war within my own tribe or community, whatever you want to call this lunatic gathering. 

I don't even have a community since I left my hometown and all the fags and lesbians and trannies and whatever I met there, some of my own journey resonated with me and understood me

had another bullshit moment just listening to this random bitch. Who is trans enough and who is not, and for God's sake, I totally agree on some level who is not trans and who is actually trans.

Your own misagonestic idea of womanhood and what feminity is or what not with double pleasing urselfs and toxic idea of a relation and some relation with some asshole whos just like cisgaze but what do i know, only wearing pink tones and expressing a level of disturbed cuteness wearing so much mascara to archive the biggest dear like eyes and turned to please cisgaze for way to long and i still do. If u try to not to pls cisgaze you still play into his cards and the concept he forces on all of us in his regime of terror.

Doing a line of hate, my most painfull insecurties annd depth of my soul.

i tried to pls his ego asewell i feed my own idea and concept of feminity and almost my own internalised misogyny and repressing myself.

what it means to be a woman?

What it means to be a fem beeing?

What doess it mean to be someone like me?

I tried, i did deconstruct it, i wrecked it, i started a never ending war iniside myself and continue fighting a never ending war in my own tribe or community whatever u wanna call this lunatic gathering

i dont even have a community since i left my hometown and all that fags and dykes and trannies and whatever i met. There are some my own journy resonated with and also who understood me 

here i stand listing to that insecure pick me bitch while i watch her mouth shitting words and random phrases wondering if she even gets herself. I saw myself in her, how i used to be at least a lil fragment of what i used to be. 

Some while ago i went to some party with some other dyky punk trannies and just had another bullshit moment just listing to that random bitch. Who is trans enough and who isnt and for god sakes i totally agree on some level who isnt trans and is actaully trans.

I even will wear some Terf-merch with a s shirt on thats saying Woman: Adult Human Female. And join trans- exclusionary radical feminist lesbian book group pretending to be a biological dyky woman whats rly easy for me when i keep my mouth shout and walk in there with my short hectic cuted hair and just lisiting to their belives and guess both sides are so radicilised my own tribe this tribe , its frustating.

But to be clear, I don't see anything wrong with people wanting their own safe spaces, or just wanting to be with their own kind. Where they feel most comfortable and heard and welcomed. 

All sides are so polarized, and it's hard to find common ground, and it's not my responsibility, but sometimes it feels like it. Since I feel so neutral about all sides and watch all wars, fights, discussions from the perspective of a tripping possum with angel wings.

It almost sounds like my delusion of grandeur has found its next peak of some volcanic eruption.

I'm feeling a wave of déjà vu. 

And these lands of colors and abstractions and all the forces of the rainbow. I can totally understand why my heteronormative neighbors in the neighborhood where I grew up would just scream and curse, "Those ABC people are brainwashing our youth". 

Deforming, reconstructing, reshaping, rebooting. 

There is so much hate and sadness and also trauma and all those dirty ABC people. Also, stigma? Is it stigma? Many of us have experienced emotional abuse, neglect, physical and sexual abuse. Many of us are neurodivergent; many of us don't want to question and throw themselves into a delusional fantasy story, romanticizing the thought or idea that when I am completely changed, transformed, reshaped, reconstructed, transitioned, call it what the fuck you want, my suffering will be gone, gone and I will be happy. 

Some already know, some will know, some will learn in the hard existential crisis way, and some will never stop suffering. 

But that's not going to feed your purpose or give you any kind of happiness, okay maybe for some at least they claim. But there are other things you should strive for to find inner peace and purpose. Also, many of us restrict ourselves a lot, many of us put rules on ourselves and push away possibilities and have thoughts like I will do this or that when I transition or pass. Almost to the extreme of forcing into isolation so as not to offend the cisgaze regime? 

For instance, you can apply this to other patterns and scenarios as well.

Realize salvation lies not in symbols but in the unconditional love offered by the person who stands by me, regardless of my struggles.

I love the feeling of being in love. 
I'm so bad at handling being in love, even though I like the feeling so much. When I get it, it makes me crave for more. I guess it's always missing from some sides in my life.
I want to be more than the whore that I am. I know it doesn't define my worth, it wouldn't with anyone else. I'm more than valid and right.
But even when I get it, and it's a genuine feeling, it's too much for me.
So I push it away as far as I possibly can and fall into sharp, broken pieces. I swim around it like a pack of sharks until I attack. But I don't attack my love. I attack my other pieces. Each shark bites into the back of the other. It looks like a jagged, bloody necklace.

I'm kind of a lone ranger, but ur love feels so good. 

When I have a crush, I always fantasize if they could be the one. I do that with other things too, and I miss opportunities and just dream like the natural daydreamer I am. Or I find myself high in my bed, crying or sweating in a hot bath full of bath salts and bubble bath crap.

But I shouldnt project anything on you and stay clear in my mind and not push anything on you. 

I should not, and neither should you with me. 

Sometimes people start to like me way too much and that scares me away. 

Plus, people can bore the fuck out of me real quickly. 

You're either a gem to me or a disposable little toy. Wow, that sounds so shitty, but hey, I always protected myself in that way. 

I remember falling in love with a client once. Obviously it was shit on every level. 

She never had a real lover, which may be why my one version of me in this one reality was more than obsessed for 5 minutes of spacetime, or it was just the first time for this early version of me to be open with my sexuality. It was also the moment that this me in this universe broke up with cisgaze. 

This book, this object, has no ending and no beginning. It doesn't follow the construct of time, just as my perception of time. Also, there is no time; we made that up to measure our work, energy, productivity, slavery, or whatever we want to call it. 

Right now I am just chilling in this random van, looking at this crystal ball and checking out all the other possible versions of me. 
I wonder if I should stop looking for you since this one version of me is no longer projecting stuff onto this other you, but I know she still loves this sweet enby and she knows they loves her back?

So we are all growing in some way right now. Also, this one me from this one really weird multiverse wants to be like me.
It's New Year's and this bitch wants to change her life. I guess she will, but still, wtf. Also, I should check something else.
I spend hours stalking other versions of me in random multiverses and losing opportunities like this other version of me.

No more truning away.

The Power of selfpresentation and the cryptification process.

Let's have a little thought experiment.

If a biological woman gets a short haircut, like some butch lesbian, she will still face harassment and confusion for looking boyish, or whatever people project onto her. She remains a woman, more or less passable and more accepted than some tomboyish transwoman.

I will just grow my hair out again, and my next look will be a fusion of some bimbo and a weirdo. I'll save up each little coin I find to get my bones reshaped and my nose broken and reconstructed.

Im out of sync im out of touch or am i ?

i always expirmented with my looks like my never ending adventures in another dimension 

I will just grow my hair out again, and my next look will be a fusion of some bimbo and a weirdo. I'll save up each little coin I find to get my bones reshaped and my nose broken and reconstructed.

I didnt only reshaped my looks, the style of my current haircut or makeup i leveled it up i break it down to archive a next level glow up.

While my futureself keeps stucking here and sucking on cisgazs brothers giant dick.


I got lost, Im reshaped, Im reborn, like the pheniox from the ashes.

So much time passed by, wasted time, her body is made of crystals, shes only crying only at the afters or while taking a shower.

Her eye are shitting diamonds shes a imposter angel, shes precious and a woman of god.

She looks like candy bubble gum and fun and when she smiles at u deep into ur soul giving ur a strange feeling of uneas, abstracted and decoded, when ask for her name or shes acutally into talking to you.

In this state she wont walk before or behind you she will walk through you like a ghost and catch up with ur inner secrets like a unwordly spy agent in the name of anyhing she stands for in that time or moment, since shes changing everytime shes bored or frustrated with her life.

Is there anything more I can do for you?
Should my hair be red or shall it be blue?
Is there anything more I can do for you?
Shall I let the green grass turn black for you?
Is there something more you want me to do?
Shall I hand out all of my secrets to you?
Maybe then you′ll see me through
Is there something more? 

Any brother of cisgaze is another cisgaze version in itself and every brother of cisgaze is the gaze aswell the attraction and way i precieve or present myself is part of the gaze. 

He and all his brothers are real slutfuckers and in the caves and dungons and farwell other realities of the children of the night and sins you find so many of them attracted or chained to the magic juice of the magicains and wizzards, we all crave for till the end of a never-ending story while losing yourself more and more.

And no one in this fairytale will live happily afterall, and afterall i missed dancing with cisgaze hes the one im actually attracted to.

Sadly many of this individuals and the way they are raised have rly broken and insecure perspective on masculinty and their own understanding what it would mean to be a men.

And sadly dumb naive me fell in love with a guy who couldnt rly handle his attraction to me.

Hes one of these muscular giants that live in valleys surrounded by mountains and probaply only have mind capicity to lift rocks and move mountainformations from a to b but got lost to find the c.

They are worst knowing their abcs than me.

I remember the first time we met and he just approached me on the dancefloor like wow ur incredible hot and makes him hard to behave and i just look up to his face and say my casual cold thank you, u quite handsome urself big guy.

I wasnt that impressed of him caus he kept beeing quite weird without me knowing hes here with his ex and later in the toilet area we been sharing the lil cabin and we kissed and he told me hes here with his ex and doesnt want to be respectless or something i was just thinking wow but shes ur ex common like what u telling me but my lips just moved and said fair enough i get it.

When me and my friends been about to leave the slutfucker was there with ugly ass ex girlfriend i was just like wow when she walked out he was going back inside i thought but right the moment she been gone he came back up to me and was like hey do u wanna come to mine bli bla blub and i said nah i wanna stay with my friends and choosen family and he told me yeah lets meet next days at mine i was like yeah sure but next time we actually ended seeing each other in another palace of sins my one gay elve bestie already left and i was there with two more left overs i tried to get ride off but who joined me and him drinking some juice and snorting magic powder and i rember one of the leftovers had such craving and said to him he rly also wants a line at least, slutfucker rolled his eyes and agreed on that but luckly after that they left us alone so me and him parted ways for doing our random other shit we felt like doing and i socialised with a bunch of other dolls i got friends and family with, who later on gave me mental support when he turned to big jerk.

I been dancing and after a while he been texting me what im doing so meet up and headed to the toilets and while we waited in the que some rly run down faggot who didnt saw the sun for month and didnt had any vitamin c in very long time offered us some cocain and we been like okay well why u just commin up to us offering ur drugs.

Well he tried to explain his situation and that he just didnt want to do it alone and needed some companie like some people drink alcohol after.

Im so bored i kept sticking arround and sniffing glue.

Whats my worth ? 

Im i just some object, a play thing for peoples desire.



ACT 3 A Poem for the slutfuckers </3

Wishes of a pick me.

Fuck me, slutfucker, I want more.

1, 2, 3, I wanna suck u free.

3, 2, 1, time is over.

3, 3, 3, give me anything I want.

I know u want me, I see it in ur slutfucker eyes, trying to play it cool, fragile masculinity and insecure pick mes get sexually along.

Fuck me slutfucker.

Slap me.

Ur big fat cock hits my confused face from the left to the right.

I love u slutfucker if u would just shove it up my ass.

Sexual distinction.

Fuck away the clouds in my head, slap my face so hard gravity makes me hit the ground.

I can't stand to see you, while I'm crying and snorting off the magic powder on ur dick.

ACT 4 SPIRALINA, spinning through dimensions and crossover scene changes.

Hail Satan, I want to shoot them all, I've got murder on my mind.

I wish I was a shape-shifter, a skin crawler just under another blood moon circle.

I would slip under your skin, you'll find me in the rivers and swamps, down and up in Florida, an alligator queen named Tiffiny Sprinkles. 

I'm the sun, you're a lost conqueror of a lost world. 
Im the desert you walk in riddles. 
Im the sand of uncertainty you walk on.

I sting all your enemies with my venom, I'm a wasp. 

I feed on the rotten flesh of your herds of cows and livestock.

I am in the mud on your shoes.
I am the fish in your soup.

I grow to enormous size, a wasp the size of a truck. I steal the newborns like a wasp that stole the beacon I ate as a child at a barbecue.

I'm a parasite, I burrow deep into your skin, but I don't want you to suffer too much to notice my divine presence. 
I'm moody like a hyena, I rape your father in the name of fun, just for simple fun, cause your bloodline tortured mine.

Give me violence, violence. 

Spiralina, here u come, there she goes?

I'm feeling a wave of déjà vu.