rereading all this shit made me feel 10x worse and 10x less hopeful and i can’t even reblog myself anymore because the extension isn’t working so rereading the pieces i read was all for fucking nothing
i’m taking another break. maybe coming back when i get really sick again. yeah. because it’s hard not to think about suicide when you’re writing a suicide note lol.
sorry
May 2013
170 posts
i fucking hate my relationship with food
please don’t reblog this
i just needed to tell smeone
scar
you are untouchable:
dirty outsides,
dirty, dirty insides, can you bleed
like human beings? or do you break
[your bones] like monsters? hanged
by mobs of disembodied voices, robbers
who have robbed you of your human soul—
your veins are filigree of old
old worlds, screams, and passion
and in the fashion of the night, in the way
of inky dark
you touch your scars to violent whispers
because you can’t be touched, you can’t be touched
but on you,
a person
always
leaves their mark
“they bring me to my knees,” she said
kneeling by their broken beds
and she believed
in nothing and in no one
and on darkness she had fed,she fed on
christmas roses and had ulcers in her mouth,
her voice churned noise inside her and she
used her body then instead —
peeling petals from a poisoned flower
on dirty sheets
where her soul
where her wrists
and where her knees had bled
Why thank you! I just wanted a compliment from you because I admire the way you write!
Aw thank you <3
Crying, confused, clarity. I won't be a victim written in capitals, traced heavily in black, and underlined numerous times. My unconscious wanted me to be strong. But my body is weak, so, so weak from being clumsy, being artistic, being intellectual, being medicated by pills, oils, and creams. Compromised, yes that's the word. *Done!*
I’m not sure what you want me to do with this, so I’ll briefly comment and say you have strong flow, and I like the word choice. Articulate.
Ha, ha ha. The laugh - cold, cruel, forever echoing and ringing in my ears. The thief disguised himself as familiarity and came to me late at nights. And in the day, he would be hidden in plain sight wearing an impenetrable mask of feigned innocence while he teased and drilled away at my psyche. Never find the right words to describe the wrong. Broken, victim, dirty. Ha, ha ha. There's that laugh reminding me that my naivety was and always will be my downfall. Crying, confused, clarity. *contd*
i was scared to see you fall, because i bleed too, i bleed i bleed i bleed
the typewriter bleeds
absinthe, crying ink;
leaping off the desk, he smells
of chronic despair, alcohol,
and cigarette[burn]s. he draws
murder down his bones,
hard realizations,toomuchregret
tell us
do you believe in time as poetry
? that a canto is a year and a
lifetime is an epic,we have lived
a quarter — twenty years too long
tattooing lines into our skin,
digging memories beneath it
we try to scratch the wool inside us
the fabric of our time here,if
the world ends tomorrow
we’ll have wasted twenty years
More apocalypse.
sorry i haven’t been writing
i’ve been busy not killing myself
or am i just imagining i haven’t been writing
IT’S ONLY WEDNESDAY AND IT’S BEEN A LONG WEEK FUCK
Do you have a bucket list? And if so, what's on it?
I used to have a bucket list of 400+ things. I sent pieces off to a person and shredded the rest, but I remember among the adventures I had planned were: “kiss a stranger on St. Vincent Street in Paris,” “hop a freight train,” and “start a revolution.”
I don’t believe now I’ll do any of those things, but then I also feel I’ll never read comfortably again or get to a healthy weight, and I know both are possible with some commitment and effort.
That being said, I still probably won’t do those three aforementioned feats because I’ve never truly been ambitious, adventurous, or daring. I’m in reality just a coward with poor impulse control and a penchant for dreaming of things that never were and never could be.
Right now however — this week — I am working on and planning on:
- finding a will to live
- becoming financially independent
- forgiving others & myself and loving myself
- building a darkroom someday
It’s all very cheesy but I need to ease this pain and if that means working against my illnesses, so be it. They took my life when I took my first breath. I really need to commit to building a new life then, a better one than they forced on me.
I talked about them as if they’re sentient, but sometimes I truly think they are.
I’m in an upswing, please don’t get excited or happy for me (not yet.)
all that matters is that you're kept alive
you rasp
in
and out
the hours lapse, they
could not find your mind
inside the maze
but
they found your suit of skin
with (tired) vitals,
presumed the whole of you alive
and walked triumphantly
away
my writing has been suffering more than i have lately.
i don’t know what’s worse.
I think sometimes the reason I panic when I breathe deeply is because I’m terrified to remember my heart is still pumping.
The funny thing is, is that all the fiction I write I remember as if it’s a memory.
"I threw myself into people’s laps for a long time. I compromised myself. I’ve never enjoyed sexual contact but I put myself in those situations to relive the abuse." For me, it wasn't sexual abuse that I was trying to relive but the emotional abuse. I don't know maybe I just like being hurt or something.
It’s 5AM so this might be a little sloppy BUT
I think reliving the abuse — emotional, sexual, physical, verbal, etc — isn’t a matter of liking pain, it’s a matter of feeling accustomed to it in a way, like you think it’s all you deserve and so it’s easy to think that means it’s all you want when it’s not at all. Maybe you’re scared of wanting something better for yourself. I don’t know, I don’t know you or your situation so I can’t really make these assumptions. Either way, I like the past tense here and hope that means you’ve triumphed over the pursuit of reliving it all.
Much love x
the heretic
when the sons and seers of absent fathers
broke
convention,
they rewrote it;
their deserts starved our mothers;
bled our sisters;
sent our brothers off to war—
I just wrote something and I think it’s really offensive but I think I’m going to post it soon anyway.
