Indigo’s are deadly, didn’t they tell you of this tragedy. It grows in the smallest of portions, savoring the soil and whispering in the singed light. How gracious were you to nurse it back to health and leisure. It hadn’t bloomed, for the things you fed it were grotesque and unimaginative. Don’t allow the reverence or gleem fool you, it may be time for your eyes to be examined. They were glassy, you hadn’t emptied them for a time and a half. You picked just the correct seeds you thought, maybe this time it would be different and they wouldn’t constrict. It grew on your skin, attaching itself to your heart wrapping its vines to your throat. You panicked as your own smothered you, for it became clear that this was the last draw.
Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger
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