‧˚꒰🍷꒱༘‧— sal

⊹ ࣪ ˖ just an aspiring writer trying to improve <3

[4viridiann4]

New Book Start!

I've finally started some concepts for the book I'm wanting to write! As much as I didn't want to write entirely about myself in it, it'll be just that as I feel its what I know best. And the thought of working on a project right now in this state of mind where it's all fictional is not going to work out. So here's the main descriptor I wrote down for it. "Maybe I Don't Want To, A collection of short stories and poems trying to understand and explain the complex feelings of coping with chronic illness, life long mental health issues, self sabotage, and ill intent, all while trying to understand how and why giving up was never considered an option, or one that was carried out." I wanted to go with this theme as when I take a step back and look into the last few years of my life, all I can wonder is 'how have I not given up?' and it's that feeling I want to explore more, as well as the others I'm already dealing with. The art is something I just made and was inspired by this kind of style of drawing and I feel as though it would fit the dark tones of the book in general. Anyways I've found a passion in this so hopefully I can write quickly! lmk what you think! :3

[4viridiann4]

Spoons

Wool were stuffed into holes in the walls, and spoons cupped eyes to catch the sadness, some leaking through it's fingers. Tea was sitting there isolated, shivering against the plate. Red wool tied to the handle, the same spilling from the walls. It whispers a silent plead. Spoons peeled back it's fingers over the tea. Piping hot, scalding and ripping through tea's flesh. It bubbled. It bubbled and danced through the cold. Old and new, hot, and cold, black and white, sniffeling in mediocrity

[4viridiann4]

Dwindled

So I haven't really written anything since the last time I posted. Seasonal depression really took a grip on me, so for the time currently I will be posting any tidbits of writing that I could think of during this time. I often try to shun my feelings away at this time as they often make things worse, but maybe I should change that a bit moving forward. Maybe just a bit. This will also be incredibly lazy but I still managed to write something, so I'm proud. And with the nature of how I feel right now, this will get quite depressing and deep into my mind, so there could be things that would affect people. Do be careful, you matter a lot more than this combination of sentences strung together.

I feel as though I may not exist. Or like I was sent from a different planet to find a purpose on earth. Parents have always joked I was swapped at birth, but those hands that clamp the blood from my head and reached inside my stomach may of made me think otherwise as I saw that fear bundled up for the cold lay lifeless on that same hand. I poked and prodded; nothing. No warmth and no sound. I feel like that is me as I intergrain myself with the blankets and slowly rot away into the steady ground below; waiting patiently with open arms.

Cried over lunch on my own in the dark. I needed it, really, but all my brain thought about was maybe some comfort. A light rub on the shoulders, a sweetened kiss of a hug, something. But my body does not yearn for that as I was never given it. I don't know what it tastes like. People describe it as sweet as the sap of trees, but for all I know it could be bitter and shrouded in lies. At least that's the taste I knew from being a child. A taste I was only fed when people were visitors.

I wish as though things would get easier, but the stairs I climb seem steeper than normal. Maybe because it's December, or maybe a father, but all I know is that I am not me. I don't feel right, I don't feel real. At least I'm not bedridden again, I guess.

[4viridiann4]

28.11 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ I Forgot You Loved Me Back

5am. I wake up, slicing fingernails through a well rested lash line. I'm glad you weren't there to hear their cries and see the cleanup, as the last time you saw it I'm certain it changed your view of me. I continue to heave myself by only the pinky out of bed, face already drenched and sunken. A feeling that would drag me back into that trench if I were any weaker. But only because of you, I see and greet the sun with purpose. Or as much as I may muster. As for I was not taught to greet the sun.

You aren't here again; a shame. The cats pranced their hello's and blinked with their well fed eyes as I churned the sluggish and worn living room door to an 'Open!' state. It was a Friday; the most important day for business, as you always said when you wanted to say a goodbye in the morning. The chime of a kitten's bell. A constant in that place. A soft jingle to tell me to not let go just yet.

I don't know where you run off to during the day, as I know those hours of yours have never been awake like I have. You took them on the second that offer waved its flag to dock. I'm surprised, honestly, as you had promised me to stay at that cafe with you as it 'found your purpose'. But I guess I and it never did.

Soooo I got to this point and kind of didn't know what to do with this. Got too many ideas that I want to explore... so I'm gonna leave it at that before I kinda like, get too far into this rabbit hole and complicate things for me and anyone else :P

[4viridiann4]

27.11 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Good Idea On Paper

Pages filled with words in blood red, white fibres soak it for supper. They stain themselves like snowflakes, every branch turns to vein. The valleys of cursive course through the page, thick enough to hold all of the freshness of the ink without any escaping; escaping to a mouth much hungrier than it. The hot breath only slightly escapes between the seal tight mould of their bodies.

The cursive banks of the rivers uttered sentences of incohesion. No river should bend in ways that this one has dared to follow. Following your heart is treacherous: rock surfaces may slip off, currents that are shoving another, turns that can slice and stab. But it soothes to recover, and it makes you lay your head at night. "I did what was right for me."

For you, the world shall not turn: it shall not turn the clock, turn its face, turn the calendar. For me, it will not either. Time is cruel. And so is Mother. You should know this by now. And I should, too. But we sit here today, face to face, pages upon pages of veins intertwined to thoughts.

It should have been left on our nightstands.

[4viridiann4]

26.11 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Heavy Traffic

Stopping always makes me think more. Less to do, more to think about. And to myself in the back I would speak, but my words would not be only for my ears. If those topics were to lay soundly in their ears, the sealed air shall fold cold and dry. Dryness that slices the film on your eyes and palm strikes the nose to bleed. My thoughts are sacred; the same thoughts that keep me up all night, weaving tears back down my throat to line it a third night this week.

Soon as I would be lost in thought, my head would freeze tightly and gracefully to the window as my eyes would lead me wherever. They were not in use, therefore free to wander. The ice shards from the window would braid itself with my hair; a rather warming feeling of being wanted. I let her hold me there and decided to race the droplets on the window. I knew since little I wasn't the only one. She would like to imagine that others from those further along would join in at the same time as her. And she was probably right.

But to her, it reminded her of what she wanted to be. She always to be that carefree; no matter how imperfect the line was, it was always beautiful to see which path it would take, even if it would bend in unruly ways. At least she found it beautiful. And I'm glad she did. As now do I.