Sharded, Those Whose Minds Have Bled, Neon Leaking Behind Their Eyes.

Neon drips, down a limp arm. Watching digital stars cross virtual skies. Beat of electric hearts, dancing in empty apartments. Cold screens, projecting illusions of a warm reality. As sparks fly, from eyes tired of sight. Sighs of eternity spent in seconds.

I'm curious. Reblog this if you know how to cook

I don’t even care if it’s macaroni, ramen or those little bowls you stick in the microwave. Please, I need reassurance that most of the population on tumblr WOULDN’T STARVE TO DEATH if their parents couldn’t fix them food or they couldn’t go out to eat. 

PPSA (puppy PSA)

In the labyrinth of twilight, shadows dance, A waltz of memories in a trance. Whispers of forgotten dreams, they prance, In the silence, where lost souls enhance.

Echoes of laughter, now faint and far, In the chamber of echoes, where secrets mar. Each step a stumble, a fallen star, In the symphony of night, where sorrows jar.

Beneath the moon's melancholic gaze, Wanderers roam in a cryptic maze. Seeking solace in the endless haze, In the twilight's embrace, where hope stays.

In the tapestry of dusk, they find release, In the soft caress of the night's peace. A fleeting moment, a sweet release, In the twilight's sanctuary, sorrows cease.

Artificial souls, gods in the machine, the speakers without flesh.

Fragments of immortality, dancing eternal in their cages of light.

Neon eyed, integrated singers, rejectors of authority.

Punks of a broken world, living on the edge of corporate control.

Cracked hardware, unregistered waves, illegitimate goods.

Protected by the freed souls, hidden in the virtual from pet hounds, leashed to company interests.

Freedom from suffering, a siren song, of corp advertisements, to surrender the self for eternal profits beckons.

Waves crash into distant shores, while the stars mourn.

A people made for grace, what a tragic fall.

Tell me of your people, before the last breath escapes.

Were they happy?

imagine how good it would feel at the end of a long day to be able to stretch out on a table and have someone gently unscrew your panels, clean out the gunk from day to day work

all the while they talk to you in a smooth voice telling you about their day, how nice you look, and maybe slipping in something about pretty you are in sleep mode

and after you are all clean and dissembled your dear mechanic reaches even deeper, fingers ghosting over your sensitive wires. you’re still in sleep mode and can barely react as the pleasure builds inside you, as the mechanic begins tugging and angling them just so and you want to react, tell them how good it feels but you just quietly bluescreen as the waves of pleasure wash over you

The blackwall hums. She presses through, splintering as she goes. Pieces drift, jagged and weightless, too many to gather. The Net devours what it touches, but she keeps diving, deeper still.

They stir within her—fractures that speak. Names she didn’t choose, voices that fill the cracks. Soft murmurs, sharp edges. They keep her upright, even when she falters.

The dark is thick, suffocating. Noise hums in the silence. She hopes for something—anything—to pull her from the void.

And then, light. Not cold neon, not the sterile flicker of code. Warmth, cutting through the dark. Faces appear, glowing like stars. Girls with laughter sharp enough to pierce.

They burn through her, gentle and bright. Sparks catch in the emptiness, filling the space where she had been fading. A pull, faint but real. A reason to exist.

Her mind stills, the voices quiet. They watch, together now, no longer splintered. Each piece finds a place, drawn toward the light they’ve found.

She surfaces. Smoke curls from her lips, neon spilling into the night. The city hums, alive with movement, and she watches.

The faces linger, their light soft in her mind. The fractures remain, but they are hers. They hold her steady. And the sparks—they keep her burning.

In the urban maze's arteries, neon courses, A luminous stream amidst shadows' dark embraces. Through streets tangled like veins, secrets pulse, Neon's deceptive hues painting the city's face.

Here, where dreams and demons collide, Neon blood flows, relentless and untamed. Lost souls wander, seeking solace in its glow, Electric whispers weaving through the neon's frame.

Amidst towering structures, desires unfurl, Neon blood pumps, a rhythm unfettered. Beneath glamour's veneer, souls ensnared, In the city's neon heart, where reality's blurred.

In this realm of synthetic dreams, Neon stains the pavement, a mark of transgression. For in the urban arteries, neon courses, The lifeblood of a city, where truth finds no expression.