"I'm just so fucking sorry for all the things I've done."
4:37 am // a.c.
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@bye-starlight
"I'm just so fucking sorry for all the things I've done."
4:37 am // a.c.
it hurts to drive past your apartment. the little teal building on 14th street where we spent so many nights getting high because nothing mattered except pretending our pain didn’t exist. my heart drops whenever it flashes in the corner of my eye. it’s almost instinct to look for you and then i catch myself searching and it breaks me in a way i don’t think i’ll ever have the words for. i guess everything fell apart so fast i didn’t notice the loose threads. i didn’t notice the rips in the seams. i didn’t notice that we had been unraveling until one day you called me and i no longer recognized your voice. i was talking to a stranger, a stranger who would never be able to love more than she could hate. and just like that, the last stitch was pulled out. so i guess what i’m saying is you were fucked up and maybe i was too, but a piece of my heart is still sewn into that goddamn apartment and i don’t think i will ever get it back.
“I love him. More than I’ve loved anyone before. But sometimes I feel like that isn’t enough.
All I want to be is soft candles flickering in a house built from love. A glimmering hearth that beats along with his heart. A warm embrace that thaws the sadness lingering behind our words.
But here I am, the wild fire. The incontrollable flame that scorches everything in its path. I am the gasoline and the lighter, hovering inches apart, waiting for the inevitable burns to crawl along my skin.
I wish I could turn off the electricity in my brain. It fuels the unsettling heat I have trapped in my soul, the crackling static that scores every scene of my life. I don’t want to be volatile and angry and grieving; I want to do beautiful things and say beautiful things. I want to be beautiful.”
- burn out // a.c.
“I heard someone say they were irreversibly sad and it fucked me up so badly because I never knew how to put in words that the daily pills are both too much and not enough all at once. It’s like I’m fine until December comes and suddenly I realize that I never really felt warm again after you left. And it’s been four fucking years but I still cry when I pass the train tracks because it takes me right back to when we were 17. Fuck, I remember screaming matches and slamming car doors and holding my body so stiff that my parents didn’t even notice the shaking wasn’t from the cold. You made me this way. You sewed my heart into my sleeve but never closed the gaping hole in my chest. So, I swallow my blues and cut the stitches you left and hope the pills will love me in the way you never could.”
- excerpt from my life #62 // a.c.
“I’m sorry that all I ever write about is sadness. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel anything else. There are no days anymore. Just hours that tangle themselves together in endless loops. Time is a relative construct. I know it is not yesterday because of the vague familiarity ringing in my ears, but, otherwise, I cannot be bothered with the moments I’ve wasted. My serotonin is released as shocks of anger. Screaming in my empty car. Reckless driving long after the highway is vacated. Smashing liquor bottles on the pavement. I’m almost begging for God to put me back together, relenting my atheism in moments of desperation because I am crumbling at my own mercy. I’m trying to separate love and desperation, but as far as I’m concerned, there never was a difference.”
- sadness and anger are not so estranged anymore // a.c.
“I feel like an understudy to my own life.”
- and I wish I hadn’t been cast // a.c.
“how do i get home on an empty tank and fumes? i’m trying to make ends meet, but i’m broke off this love. we’re just a vessel with TV static and tarot cards and clocks that don’t tick because we’re fresh out of anything strong enough to soften reality. i keep shuffling the thoughts in my brain while the phone rings, but then the machine beeps and all i feel is angry. angry that it’s been 3 years and you still haven’t set up your fucking voice mail box. angry that all my fingers can do is dial your number by heart. angry that october is already here when my body is still healing from june. but i guess feeling angry is better than feeling empty.”
- falling again // a.c.
@nosebleedclub : october prompts
“There are things we only say to each other in the violet hours of the night when we’re too high to realize the reality of our words.
“I’m afraid I’ve already felt all the things I’m ever gonna feel.”
Silence. And it’s like I’m watching myself from across the room in the most existential way I possibly could. Her eyes are blue. So are my pills. It’s not anything profound, but when she stares at me, I feel like I overdosed.
“Can I take another hit?”
I nod, but we both know I’m not really here. My body is just another satellite in her orbit.
“Make sure I end up with the stars,” I say.
She knows exactly what I mean.”
- a.c. // detox just to retox
when i was 17 i couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to float out to sea. now i’m 20 and the feeling hasn’t changed and i day dream about the tide pulling me under, embracing me in an impartial current stripping me of everything but my body, relieving my spine of the weights of all the broken things on my shoulders. it’s partly because i’m tired of the way things are but i also want something else to drown in besides myself. it’s like you wake up every day and suddenly you become so aware of your own skin that you can’t help but feel the relentless need to escape it and all i want is to be reminded of how small i am, how insignificant i am just one body taking up room in the universe instead of feeling like a collection of discarded things from those who never wanted me in the first place.
- goddamn august // a.c.
I AM HOMESICK
FOR YOUR BODY
“what a fucking hill to die on when the butterflies in your chest become a torrential downpour and you can’t even drink vanilla coffee anymore without it tasting just like goddamn nostalgia. and, fuck, you know you can’t take a sip without crying but you pay the cashier anyway for a drink you’ll pour down the drain like every other fucking thing in your life because old habits die hard, right? you’d rather choke down the contrived sweetness than ever admit your body is a fucking vessel for where your heart once used to be.”
- 2:09 am // a.c.
“maybe i can find myself in another realm because i sure as hell have lost myself in this one”
- drunk thoughts // a.c
“Some days, I am so painfully aware of my heart beat that I am convinced no one could ever drown out its heavy thud. Other days, I check the pulse under my jaw to make sure the beating is still there at all.
Inhale. Exhale.
Sometimes I wonder if I get enough oxygen to my brain. Because maybe that’s why I’m deteriorating right? That’s why everything feels so heavy? And maybe if I breathe just the right way, everything will stop crashing on me.
Inhale. Exhale.
Gasping is the only way I seem to breathe anymore. Head out of water, head back in water. The waves seep into my mouth and flood my lungs. Who knew panic tasted this salty?
Inhale. Exhale.
And there’s my fucking heart beat again. I can’t escape it’s echo. I am quite literally drowning and all I can think of is why the fuck is my heart beat so goddamn loud.
Inhale, and I hope to fucking God the exhale never comes.”
- how do I exist without being alive? // a.c.
half - pvris
“i am collapsing under the weight of november. i can drink another cup of coffee and pretend like im not thinking about when you leave your 3:30 pm class, but my body isn’t warmed through the heat in the mug like it used to be in your arms. i am rambling, constantly vomiting words to fill the silence, thinking that if i talk long enough, i can recreate your hands from the letters.
my dad speaks softly on the phone. he pretends like he can’t hear my choking back tears. it’s for my sake. my heart is on exhibit at the museum. everyone is critiquing the artist for too much negative space.”
- what’s the difference between poetry and a cry for help?
“How can I still be angry all these years later? I look at myself in the mirror and I am so different but still I am exactly the same. I’m losing myself into anything, just trying to hold on to a purpose somewhere, but I cannot find it. I don’t think I ever will.
I play it off as depression or anxiety or grief. But it’s anger. Raw, unfiltered anger threatening to eat me from the inside out. Threatening to infect my lungs. And I’m terrified that it’s already too late.
It’s easy to forget the things you’ve done after some distance. Hundreds of days or hundreds of miles. I’m living a different life than I was before. But tonight, it’s hitting me in waves. You’re hitting me in waves.
Everyone tells you how surreal it feels to be loved unconditionally, but they never tell you how much it hurts when you’re not. When every person in your life cannot love you in the same way. So you’re stuck in a bar with shitty friends, pretending the reason they’re leaving you out of the conversation is because of the loud music, and that you’re just slightly too far away to hear above the bass. But the truth is, you always hear. You know about the coffee shops mornings and the night parties. You blame your busy schedule, but you know your nights are as empty as the space in your ribcage.
Time and time again, you’re buried under sheets of resentment disguised as stability. You’re fine, everything’s fine.
But yet, you still wake up one day and you realize how fucking angry you are. You never believed in God but you’re angry that he didn’t fix you. You’re angry that you spiraled so far down into the aches and bruises patterned along your body that you never even noticed that your broken heart wasn’t the problem anymore.
Anger is just the residue of love. When you can’t cry into their chest anymore, it’s instinct to tear apart your own. But you can only survive for so long with open wounds.”
- red hot // a.c.