faminehome illustration journal


the hymns that illness breeds into our hearts // a seed it sings

well, I think it’s fatalistic to ignore the writing on the wall


. . . I killed myself a thousand times each and every week but

– and this is big –

I came back every fucking time.


. . Now I won’t throw myself under every bus and stare at speeding ones

intently with longing, instead,

I’ll look at what I love.


. When I stop trying to make everyone and their strangers and shadows

happy, hurting myself for every thing,

is when I start living.


By a w a y l n d x

Artist, aberrant mind

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