My words are mislaid and dispersed within your tender, fleshy vessel; like an astrayed entity scouring a nebulous, dense and emulsified forest. I urge you to seek and decrypt these incoherent, defaced words that are buckled and suspended on adhesive webs of strained, charred branches.

— M. Rose


If you could, would you choose to forget and set aflame to the inflictions that stench of regret?

– 16.09 M. Rose

Sat in the place we first met, I write this dishevelled, rain soaked note. Pain and anger, I can’t stand it. My jittering hand clasps a glass of ice, whiskey, two slices limes and I shudder under my damp clothing. I can’t stand this. My jaw is aching, my limbs are clenched, the bartender is watching me now. Fuck. I can’t stop my limbs shaking. And now everyone is looking whilst I stare into the past.

15.09 M. Rose

Grotesque Palettes – Dark Literature

I choke and splutter as regurgitated saliva builds in my mouth. My reflection proceeds to mock me: “Poor, fidgety little skin-bared Earth worm. The contracture of your naked, exposed frame under these incandescent rays both delights and amuses me!” I smirk and spit in response: “But, why is it that Humans are so aroused by such crude torment and suffering of other beings?” I mount an impulse and drive my fist into the adjacent mirror; fractured glass embeds my fleshy, perspiring palms as I willingly trespass beyond the realms of hysteria. “I question as to whether Human rationality possesses the capability of dispersing the darkness attached to artificial morality? Are we so.. illuded.. by pride that we cower from avowing the grotesque palettes we each consume at night?” This time I am greeted only by blunt, aching silence that sits unreflective and irresponsive like concrete in its dejected case..

— the anonymous insomniac // a.k.a “The Brvtalist”