and i got raped?

icky ants, slugs, cockroaches, my dead truck, my dying friend, myself

Some slugged-out deadbeat invented a rape accusation (with me as the victim) so they could use it for some self-righteous callout against a person I like; invent a rape story using a real person, completely numb-out your whole soul, and then sell it as an NFT; soak up the back-pats for your good deed; what a shithead; the priest who raped me wasn:t online, I wasn:t a teenager, I:m not a teenager, Charlotte did not rape me. How bored+unfunny do you have to be to make up shithead accusations like that so you can shill some NFT to your fellow bored+unfunny cockroach fans; you don:t have a single bone in you, you:re a slug; go crawl in salt; you raped me. you invented a rape so your bored+unfunny slugged-out numb soul can sell a rape-victim NFT because of how bored+unfunny you are.

Go crawl in salt; you:re a rape slug; online there are rape slugs; there are unfunny+bored rape slugs online slugging through data covered in some inveesible seminal fluid causing everything to reek of unfunny cum and bored crypto.

Rapist unfunny+bored slugs exist online, and they are unfunny+bored.

It:s extra insulting because the rapist slug cited an article that outright mentions, at minimum, that I am in my late 20:s — while describing me as a teenage girl. a RAPED teenage girl. A girl who has been RAPED. Thank god boneless semen-stinking slugs are there to defend the raped victims of kaliacc. The rape victims that are manufactured by a coven of boneless semen-stinking unfunny+bored slugs.

And I got raped?

I wake up; I log on Twitter; through my notifications I learned I:ve been raped?

And I got raped? I was groomed into it, surely; surely coded in my messages about insects and torture is a secret cipher into the shittied intestines of Remilia — and I got raped?

Carpenter ants have taken over my room at night, and I have to sleep on the floor in the storage room (which I:ve cleaned up, it:s nicer now, I like the floor).

My truck has broken down and needs ~7000$ in repairs to be ‘fixed.’

My crush from highschool, who tried to support me through hospice, who I rejected for prom, who told me I was like the raped kid from Perks of Being a Wallflower, apparently has cancer, I just learned.

I wasn:t even sure if I should be sad about that, but I cried anyways. She gave me a book to read in Hospice, and I got mad at her; our parents thought we would marry.

And I got raped? By this twitter person online, sometime in the afternoon, they raped me?

It:s like my life is I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream but someone replaced every mention of ‘hate’ with ‘rape.’

The slugs did this; the spineless shithead slugs that smell like cum and bloat themselves up with to-market art for-profit; the victim-generating engines that are fueled by gaseous rapes and compression-filtered grooming.

Here I was, Here I am: dumb as shit, and being raped and groomed.

Age me down 12 years so you can rape me? I:m young again and being raped, again?

The homeless guy tried to rape me but he didn:t even succeed — and here some manufacturing brain-invading imp slug shithead is rewriting history so that I may be raped; here some plausible and logical corporaepod is swelling her stomach to devour tens-of-severals of cryptos to exhume rape from her glands.

And I got raped?

And I got raped?

Today I logged on Twitter; and I got raped?

I was groomed into being raped on twitter? So someone can sell a rape NFT? The Rape NFT? I:m responsible for The Rape NFT? Art has produced The Rape NFT?

My gracious paladin slug; I kiss your whole-body foot: you have written my rape and my grooming, and have defended me in moments; you nary wasted a moment in my defense to actually read my words, understand my person, or counter the numbness running through your whole limbic-digestive system: you just acted — and that:s beautiful. I:m exactly like you, my gracious slug paladin, and exactly as bored+unfunny.

I miss my friends; I miss my twitter, too; I wish I didn:t destroy most of my relationships — I wish I had a vehicle, again; I wish Daniella didn:t have cancer. and I got raped?

Daniella was there, even, when the homeless man tried to rape me on my eighteenth birthday; her and Jordan probably prevented it from happening; I didn:t process the situation @ all for awhile, but she always looked at me really concerned when I brought it up (jokingly); I felt really dirty for months after, and I didn:t even get raped. We were listening to three6mafia “You Scared Part 2.”

On twitter, I logged on: and I got raped?

Charlotte raped me? What? My article got read and it described Charlotte raping me? My article was read through some bored+unfunny slug clicking through profiles of connected-persons and doing ctrl+f “charlotte” and calling it a rape? I spent all that time writing my feelings and it got ignored for ctrl+f “charlotte” so it could be sold as an NFT for some bored numb slug to feel involved?

O, my paladin; I:m forelorn; I:m foreloren; I:m fourlourn; o, my paladin: carpenter ants, trucks, cancers, and I lost my friends — defend me from these things. I can barely stand to look at others online anymore; they remind me of painfuls, and I become dramatic.

The day you raped me, I was planning on hanging myself — for attention, not for real, I:ll cry and get over it — from the storage room doorknob, I had been breaking-down crying from how my life was disintegrating around me and an unchanging sour variable had been found in pit of my chest: me, that evil lump responsible for this wroughten world: my life smells of shit: and I was raped? This: another one of my manipulations; I am a skulking emotional abuser: and my paladin saw it right to rape me. Every night the same: break-down panic crying; I can:t do this any-more; I can:t stand this icky feeling any-more; I must die; a sin against an icky slug god who granted me precious gift, & may find succor in my rape.

My rape is on the blockchain? Maybe it:s another persons rape, encoded in the thought-controlling construct of Torture Chamber. Inescapable sacred Torture Chamber; that infinite body that has placed my rapist there, with me: on twitter, online, against me; in the walls and phosphenes of Torture Chamber, in thought as Thought Control, in Goodwill bookshelf as Total Control: the secret to my rape buried in there.

The slugs and cockroaches live as dead baked-in shadows hidden in the phosphenes that grow on the walls of Torture Chamber, there they reach outwards to the occupant with molesting hands: wanting pains and joys that they have infinite distance from.

I cry, because I have lost more friends; and I think about killing myself in that icky fake-way that is like a smudge against my ability to be anything-but an emotional abuser. It:s a tool, just like my rape: to get attention, and for my rapist to make NFT money.

Wholes of persons boiled down into art, in unfunny+bored shapes; saturated materials (from rapes and traumas) given to slugs to make distanced-art; o, my followers: todays piece is made using paints made from a rape victim: notice the bored+unfunny expression on her face: I am an artist. I am an artist. And I got raped?

I don:t want my mom to find me like that, so I can:t do it;

I don:t want her to know that I:ve been raped by a twitter person who can sell it as an NFT, either.

How humiliating:

The kindness I had felt, replaced with a rape and a grooming.

I:ve been raped and groomed; I am forkclorn; o paladin; deadbeat*unfunny,

O paladin; O I am unlaughing.

Cough up a bunch of shit smelling phlegm from your lungs in privacy, you shithead.

O paladin;

I hate you

Shithead

O paladin; I could clench myself to your chest in desperation to feel nearer to you; I am lonely and I am hurt; go sink into the dirt; I hate you; I like Charlie; O paladin; w/e; my feelings are hurt.