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A breeze blows into my mind, through my ears, nose and mouth agape. Burdened by the mud, detritus, and fog in my brain, in my thoughts, the breeze slows. I think the slow slight tingle of the wind on my skin is the prickle of an insect bound to burrow into my skin and foster a home for its young in the mud and detritus. Really it is the breeze being swallowed whole and lost inside the fog. Trapped inside my thoughts, the trapped wind howls and grows. The trapped wind clears away my confusion with the fog, my ignorance with the mud, and my death with the detritus until I am disintegrated; eroded to nothing but a desert where a marsh once stood. Fossils act as relics and idols of empty hollow mangrove roots that made home to small fish, turtles and ferns that lay in the estuaries beneath them. All of them are gone, replaced by sand, stone, cacti, clear air, rattlesnakes and tumbleweeds. An old dead ocean died and in its place a clear desert stands inside of my mind. I wonder whatever happened to the old creatures of that called my thoughts a habitat. At times I would still rather be a mangrove than a cactus, giving home to others but the deathly smell of rotting sea makes me want to puke.


People without anxiety just have no idea what it’s like to feel so much worry for something they “think” is so small and “not a big deal”

(via haannahkay)


I’ve added a few prints to Society 6! 

Cut these babies out of my sketchbook for proper scanning. Now you can buy ‘em. Go check it out

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