What the hell did I just write?

Quietly oozing, it slinks and slides over the window sill; translucent, neon pink tendrils glowing softly in the darkness. Burbling, bubbling, silently foaming as it pours itself in. Undulating slowly to an unheard and horrifying rhythm, it creeps in past the drapes and down the wall. Its form expands and contracts, coalescing in mentally scarring shapes, fracturing reality in its hideous transitions. Paint corrodes and screams in the wake of the unearthly, slimy trail. A dog, ever the loyal companion, seeing the mind-wrenching thing, foams and shrivels up like a slug under salt, writhing in horrid contractions. A pool of midnight, ebony madness boils furtively where once stood the proud beast. Onward moves the pearlescent abomination, carving swaths of nightmare in the once beautiful floor. The very fabric of reality seems to squirm in an attempt to avoid its eyeless gaze, straining and creaking, warping as it slides, probes, and gushes forth.