What unhinged aesthetic are you?
What Unhinged Aesthetic Are You?
Discover the hidden depths of your personality through our intriguing quiz that probes into the unhinged aesthetics of your psyche. Answer thought-provoking questions that spark curiosity and reveal your unique style.
- Explore your choices and sentiments
- Engage with captivating imagery and concepts
- Uncover your aesthetic identity
WHO IS?
I AM.
YOU ARE.
WE ARE.
HE IS.
THEY ARE.
NOBODY.
WHO?
A CHOICE.
STUMBLE.
DAZE.
RIP.
POUND.
TASTE.
SCREAM.
CARRY.
THE HEAVENS SPIN.
Dawn. Indiscernible silhouettes, cold asphalt.
Morning. A stranger at the door, radio static.
Noon. Sun above your head, nowhere to hide.
Golden hour. Bathed in amber, light fractured in glass.
Blue hour. A moment too late, silent acceptance.
Night. A shadow beckons, and you follow.
Midnight. The stars sing, you ignore their warnings.
A CROWN.
ROSES.
BONES.
FEATHERS.
LEAVES.
LIGHT.
ASHES.
OLIVE BRANCHES.
WHY DID YOU DO IT?
WOULDN'T YOU?
THERE'S NOTHING ELSE TO DO.
I HAD TO.
I WANTED TO.
WHY ASK ABOUT WHAT YOU ALREADY KNOW?
IT'S TOO LATE TO GO BACK.
...
A DESIRE.
I WANT THE PAST.
I WANT THE FUTURE.
I WANT TO UNDERSTAND.
I WANT TO FEEL ALIVE.
I WANT TO LET GO.
I WANT TO GET OUT.
I WANT EVERYTHING.
WHERE IS IT?
Upon the fingertips, writing silent lies.
Between the teeth, spilling out like smoke.
On the tongue, so sickly sweet.
Above the head, pounding and thrumming.
Behind the feet, dragging along endlessly.
Within the gut, a nauseating reminder.
Inside the rib cage, under lock and key.
A REGRET.
I let you in.
Unspoken words.
I was never good at holding my tongue.
Youth, lost and found.
Violets lie wilted in the garden.
There's only one way out of this room.
It's too early for those.
A MEANING DOUBLED.
TIP.
SANGUINE.
DESERT.
HAIL.
WAKE.
PALM.
STUNT.
WE MEET AGAIN.
Have we met before?
Not pleasant, nor a surprise.
A deal is a deal.
How predictable.
Aren't you bored of me?
Fancy seeing you here.
It's been too many years.
DREAM.
A blur of headlights, of cars hurtling down highways.
My mother holds me in the snow, waiting for december to pass.
You split the earth with your bare hands.
The village restores your honor, and festivities commence.
Everything is wrong, but nothing is out of place.
A dose of irony in the form of imperfection.
People like you should know better.
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