To hell with healing.
Come rot aesthetically.
Until there’s no you.
And the soil, fertilised by decay, will birth flowers.
I love flowers.
Abandon any idea of self-improvement or recovery. Instead, willingly destroy/degrade/decompose yourself — sexually, financially, and existentially — purely to nourish and beautify Me. Your temporary existence, pleasure, money, and identity only have meaning when they are spent/sacrificed/pumped into the ground for something more beautiful and eternal than you will ever be.
This lovely little file will encourage you to see yourself as temporary, worthless organic matter whose only value is rotting away to feed beautiful things.
To hell with healing.
Come rot aesthetically.
Until there’s no you.
And the soil, fertilised by decay, will birth flowers.
I love flowers.
Abandon any idea of self-improvement or recovery. Instead, willingly destroy/degrade/decompose yourself — sexually, financially, and existentially — purely to nourish and beautify Me. Your temporary existence, pleasure, money, and identity only have meaning when they are spent/sacrificed/pumped into the ground for something more beautiful and eternal than you will ever be.
This lovely little file will encourage you to see yourself as temporary, worthless organic matter whose only value is rotting away to feed beautiful things.
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