Fiction October

Describe a Monster rising like a supernatural figure

But in reality it's just a human with you projecting your fears onto it. The catch is, you never know if it's actually a monster or not 

Fiction idea

are you charming or are you evil?
Maybe there's no difference between the two

i absorb so many things. and in terms of compatibility, i know that i absorb you quite well. 
We started off with a spark of physical intimacy. There's no secret that you drive me crazy up the wall and splitting edges upon the blades of the fan

that kept the fire burning—

 there is an output

The insect zombie

He takes cultures of the parasite and develops them . Reasoning? To be rid of society's greats. It's fascinating to see life lead to death in a manner that hollows people out into a singular purpose that has a drive to go beyond death. Purposeless humans with meaningless lives are then given this purpose to serve the parasite. Which can be controlled by the government to have certain cultures thrive and evolve under very specific circumstances that are beneficial to capital rule.

One host can last years. So they are essentially sleeper agents .

Drainage

I feel the night rain pushing down on me 

It leads us into an oppressive state a depressive state of mind 

Flecks in skin gardens to an ice mixed with sweat 

Anger hurt jeleousy jeleousy jeleousy jeleousy 

sticks like forks of lighting into flesh

A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact that the author is what he is. It has nothing to do with the fact that other people want what they want. Indeed, the moment that an artist takes notice of what other people want, and tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist, and becomes a dull or an amusing craftsman, an honest or dishonest tradesman. He has no further claim to be considered as an artist. (1184

Management watches the brain burn 

Flames will lick it as naked words curl up tensing before bursting into ash

The gods of my former years are smiling in the garden of st Mary's cathedral

I sweep the gunk off their names and hope they will be remembered 

Kakaks the capitalist gender

kill a plant—women like people who kill for them

The beautiful babies. I rent my body out to people who want to be me, and they have control over my body to seduce people.

Caring too much rupture

She calls onto her grand flaring body 

With a cemetery gaze she waits

There she waits for the gaze to pierce through the body that knew no guilt.

She waits till her knees were sunken into her own grave