Chronically ill, chill, and on a fuck ton of pills.

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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
sheepfilms
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
taylor price

titsay

shark vs the universe
cherry valley forever
art blog(derogatory)
trying on a metaphor
wallacepolsom

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Discoholic 🪩
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Jules of Nature

oozey mess

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
RMH

Kaledo Art
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seen from Croatia
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@2high-2cry
Chronically ill, chill, and on a fuck ton of pills.
My compassion is bloody.
My love, it knows not a single limit.
I have a heart, yes, but it does not beat for me.
My heart yearns to regulate anything, but itself.
Steadiness has never been a pace I’ve experienced, but rather, a distant delusion.
This tune, my body cannot fathom repeating, as it knows my heart is here to listen, but always off beat.
My compassion is bloody
Because I am covered in fire,
and a busy heart has no time to extinguish its flames,
Not while everyone else is so warm.
I like when someone tells me to “rot in hell”, or that I’m “going to hell”. Simply because they don’t know my mind, body, and soul are already there!
Ive been forced in a body,
a mind.
a life,
In constant mourning for My Life.
I’ve dissatisfied all of you,
with The Life you blatantly preferred.
Sorry.
I crave the life my body thought it was to prepare me for
I miss the genuine smiles that came easy to my young heart
My body yearns for a future it was teased at
My brain hungry for knowledge it no longer has the energy to comprehend
The feeling of freedom lingers on my now sore fingers, itching for some form of escape
But my body,
My mind,
Have been condemned to my bed, anxious with the idea of a life worth living
A life I know I will never truly experience
“I am afraid of you. In loving me you hold a knife at my throat. In loving you I tell you exactly where to cut.”
Caught you in my nets 🕸️🕸️🕸️
𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔭𝔥𝔬𝔫𝔢
sketch
how’s that house that raised you?
“Love never dies of a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness, errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds. It dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings, but never of a natural death.”
— Anais Nin