the four fs . most have only heard of three. fawn, that funny fucker. its everywhere

the light of the refrigerator at night illuminates something like shame . how funny trauma is. the prey becomes the predator. it all compounds in one. your body is as confused as you are. why do you run from what you rave. did you think your silence would save you. did you think your obedience would grant you some sort of mercy

there are multiple scenes in this drawing. many places, many perspectives, clashing of color pallets. where you are doesn’t matter because you arent -really- there anyways. what is real is lost in the sauce of the mind and the body somewhere between black and white and color somewhere between the past and the present. its far beyond contaminated.what is fresh and what is residue become indistinguishable.