CHECK OUT THIS CHECK IN
I have checked in on the present state of my estate. The haunted mansions in the midst of an equally haunted graveyard make up my soul. I force myself to be comfortable amongst the ghosts of ancient victims of my crimes and spirits of loves long dead. My heart is a haunted house. It’s such a dreaded task, checking in here. Certainly, I can find some poor peasant with low self-esteem to hire for the dirty work of maintaining this abandoned lot. Where creeping vines and tall dead grasses hinder my ability to survey the wasteland. If I meditate, I can barely make out distant, lovely night sounds: nocturnal echo locating howling of wild winds, and bereft beasts. Check in on myself, indeed! Ha! You go in there. If you have the heart for it. My soul is midnight every hour of everyday. I am not going in there. I bury bodies and summon demons from this place. From inside this place evil has become pregnant and nightmares have been born. Every imaginable vileness is to be found within me and I am absolutely fine, yet I do think it unwise for myself or any human to visit my depths. Wisest is to remain aloof and ignorant to the doings of hell. On vacation from myself the ghosts remain and decay flourishes. | YC