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Tuscany.i. a woman shakes a colourful sheet from her balcony,Tuscany. by ~chesscakes
shaded hands, bright sun. body poised, arms flexing water
sharding from fibres, she shakes
the sheet from a white balcony. bent
at the waist, rainbow streaming from fingers.
sun beats hard, soft light. white light,
caught in fabric crevasses, dark hair
thrown haphazard over bare shoulders. colour
spills reflections onto the ground.
ii. aerosol cans work magic, calloused fingers;
crowds of foreign tongues. ten euros a painting,
cans spray; newspaper swipes. layers of paint
fluted onto white card. crouched magician, he
conquers brilliance in the dusty street. minutes
yield beauty, circle
i am not a personi am not a person. i am ai am not a person by ~chesscakes
shade, black and white on canvas, on parchment.
i am the books that my best friend binds weekly,
when she’s brave enough to go to her class.
i am the makings
of a person. i am not a person.
i move, sentient, yes. i think, still sentient – yes.
i laugh; talk; cry. this does not make me a person. this
makes me a character. ‘such a character, aren’t you!’
i think about the books she binds. clean pages,
never written on. i can see comparisons there as well.
might have the hips, might have the face, the witty remarks.
might be i have the style; the finesse – that does not mean
i am reala wise man once told me,i am real by ~chesscakes
sobriety is climbing a mountain and knowing
the view you see before you is yours.
not artifice, no suspended reality.
just yours, caught in the sky;
framed in the ribbons of clouds.
i did not know what he meant.
wise man, wise man; won't you teach me
further? 'no', he rumbled,
fingers picking threads from the earth.
i must find it myself.
i climbed that mountain. tears and sweat,
blood swarming ants down the gutter. i
cried, wise man, i cried; won't you help me?
'no', he stormed, clouds raging in my mind;
the truth is worth the earth, isolated
i shall find. 'no', he told me, and i felt
empty.
i climbed tha
i cannot live in my mindi cannot live in my mind, i cannot livei cannot live in my mind by ~chesscakes
in my body. my mind prickles,
porcupine spikes bleeding nonsense in
calligraphy down my spine,
sweet poetry. better out than in. body
weeps, white stretched skin bleeding fresh
bleeding past, bruised legs, internally external.
my body weeps. i cannot live here.
my hands do not belong to me. they move,
pale spiders, ma vie, it is not my own. my hands
do not feel to be my own. head spins,
no drug. no drink. just consciousness. head
spins, spins, spins. i think too much. thoughts
are fleeting, memories are scars like those on
my thighs, white thighs. songs written for my
thighs, scars on my thighs;
shhhwe are lurking too close to jesus,shhh by ~winterkate
on the empty edge of a lightless stage,
curved nails digging into the skin of our pale palms.
he asks as an afterthought
do you believe in something holy? and i think yes,
i think this is what i believe in.
Getting Over Youyou see that self respect you have?Getting Over You by ~lunadoodle
all those thoughts and feelings that made you feel beautiful, unique, interesting , worth anyones time?
Disgard them.
Take every single one, and extract them from your mind, your brain, your soul, and throw them away.
You see the gaping pit left over in that pathetic bland thing you call a personality?
It needs to be filled.
Fill it with hatred, if not for the one who broke your heart, then for your feelings for them.
Even hatred for yourself will do.
Now, deep within the poison you have poured into your soul in sickening treacle thick waves, bury your heart.
Coat it in the hardening slime, and tak
dear alaina.dear alaina,dear alaina. by *ohsostarryeyed
i am not being passive-aggressive. i am not avoiding confrontation or arguments or sensitive subjects so that i won't get upset: i'm writing a letter that i can't imagine you'll see, explaining to you everything that i need you to know.
i'm sorry i'm not better. i'm sorry that i'm not trying. i'm sorry, but i can't, not now. i wish you could understand, without any fear or worry, that i need to destroy myself before i can get better. it's like i'm a phoenix, needing to catch fire and turn to ash before i can be reborn. i need to be the biggest source of pain and misery in my life; i can't let anyone else have the power to
Sta.sh
