A Fragmented Mind

Blog for all my midnight thoughts

[lostcap]

“Mention our ghosts, our knotted spines. The distance of our hands. We are graveyards reaching, with haunted bones. We endure.”

— Mention we loved, know it was enough to linger | p.d (via lostcap)

[pencap]

“His is not a blessed name. There is blood in his footsteps; There are ghosts in his breath. His scars chart no constellations; His voice speaks no prayers. His fingers hold guns, not caresses; His lips form screams, not kisses. But I feel sunlight in the warmth of his skin and trace mountains in the peaks of his spine. His lungs breathe my name with his winter; His bones carry my touch with his sins. And I find peace in his war. I find home in his exile. This is not a sacred love.”

— keep your angels and your heaven; I love a damned boy, and he loves me (j.p.)

[filmnoirsbian]

[vanish]

[juansendizon]

[teacup13-deactivated20200319]

regret leaves traces of

sulphur in the sky, & I

know your name left a

mark on the moon, if

only tears were flowers,

we’d have cherry blossom

promises to dress in, if only

rain was the concrete that

froze my veins, love could

touch all spaces - good

things happen all the

time, even if I’m not one

of them

[a-fragmented-mind]

To the angels of this world:

You may not seem the part

And you may not see it in yourself

But darling I can tell you

Angels don’t have to be soft or quiet

They are not meek or passive

For even if your edges are hard

And your hand are rough and calloused

You still hold the world with kindness

And love the broken pieces

[gisewaaa]

The universe is indifferent. We ought not to be.

[buy a copy of this comic here]

[cloudbeam]

if found, return (me) to the stars

[detailedart]

Van Gogh, nights and blues.

[porchbirds]

been thinking abt this a lot. A poetry professor once told me every poet has a particular emotion from which they write. It’s not what they write about, but what emerges from the writing. For instance, louise gluck posits that Richard Siken’s central emotion is panic. Even though the word is never spoken to or about, the poems are saturated with it. I think Mary Oliver can be characterized by relief. Anyway, i think having that recognizeable Emotion is a major mark of poetic voice & it’s development

[a-fragmented-mind]

The loneliness is crushing tonight

[arsuf]

“we’re all killers. we’ve all killed parts of ourselves to survive. we’ve all got blood on our hands. something somewhere had to die so we could stay alive.”

— if memories could bleed, if dreams could scream | m.a.w (via dvoyd)

[thepersonalquotes]

[greynvi]

[honnibri]

Touch. 

[a-fragmented-mind]

Relapse

It’s one of those days

When the sickness catches up.

No matter how far I run

Or how much I try to hide

It always finds me again

That’s the part that they never tell you

Because it never really goes away

You will never completely fill that hole in your chest

You will never find that perfect happy ending

You will never again be whole and untouched

Because a pain like this

Will leave scars and bruises

Because a hurt like this

Will leave you a different person

And that’s ok

We may never truly find ourselves

Or the person that we used to be

And we are not invincible

There will be times of great despair

When the darkness comes in

And you are alone

Trapped by the thoughts in your head

Where no one can hear you

And no one can see

When the pain becomes too much

And you want to give up

You will fall

We always do, don’t we?

Because that's just how we work

That’s how we progress

Because falling

Is still moving