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user: knifekind
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name: casper
a name meaning "treasurer"gender: male

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you linger in the corners of this old home, the arches of the ceilings reaching far above the heavens, gentle fingers reaching out to touch clouds and stars, brushing against the edges of the universe's great cloak. the roof towers overhead, a crown of plaster and asbestos, and how heavy is the head that holds the crown?
and god, you miss it. you miss your body. you miss the feeling of feeling.. real. complete. you miss the sun on your face and the feeling of skin on your bones, of hands against yours. you miss feeling full and whole, feeling like you have a real form aside from the husk you feel you are now.
"i never wanna see you again!"
it hurts. it truly does, truth be told. your throat is raw, destroyed, the chords of your throat just as tight as your chest feels. you cringe at the sound of your voice, at the words spilling from your lips - something about them feels feral and foreign - like someone else is speaking the thoughts you've been holding back for as long as you can remember, flying you on auto-pilot into a crash that will do nothing but hurt everyone involved. it wasn't supposed to be this way, it never was. you were supposed to be a happy family, a happy little group of all-american happiness, the perfect picture of a nuclear family. however, things don't always turn out as they're planned. you were tired of their constant critiques and snarky remarks. you wanted out, to be away from the constant berating. you made your decision long ago. you're done with being their puppet. you worry your lip through your teeth, resting a hand on the tome in front of you. everything starts to fade...
you walk around on your toes nowadays, sidestepping between floorboards and waiting for the rushing sound in your head to stop, lest anyone hears the sounds of you when they're supposed to be alone. you're always alone in this big, empty home, and you've got more than enough time for reflection.
"casper? are you there?"
it's your mother. she's gone all out, an ouija board sat on the dining room table in front of her. she looks older, her dark hair streaked with grays and worry lines on her forehead.
"casper, it's mother. if you can hear me, say something. please."
you turn. not today.
[400/400]

ghosting - a
weheartit board by spookkind
cold wind against hollow cheeks, lips
chapped and raw, overgrown nails, rail-thin bodies,
eyes overrun with pupils, a bloodless death,
speaking in tongues long forgotten, papercuts on
calloused fingers, unsent letters, linen sheet ghosts
with no feet, fog you can feel, music boxes that play
funeral marches, letters from dead people, smoke
that tastes better than it smells, coats that look like
cult cloaks, blurry polaroid shots, eyes glowing in the
dark, worms, feeling like someone sees right through
you, claws against marble floors, overgrown trees,
skeletons with ivy in their sockets, lonely hearts club
adverts with no replies, radios that only spurt nonsense,
name-brand euthanasia injections, rosary beads held
in bloody hands, angel wings flecked in molten gold,
storybooks with ritualistic instructions, porcelain dolls
with real eyes, magic books by famous authors