Unspecified Longing

This is my dump of my longing, my intoxication and everything in between.

[cherrycheers2]

[cherrycheers2]

Adam and Eve were radiant and new. The forbidden fruit was never a physical entity, but a consummation of the physical flesh; of connection with each other. The radiant god was fearful that if they found faith In how perfectly they connected as one they would not need a higher power.

It did threaten him, because he realised one did not need him. But could instead find devotion in the soft curves of flesh, and prayers instead whispered into the sweating welcome skin as flesh melds into one, over and over. That ecstasy could not only be granted through worship into him, but instead into something more tangible like the willing partner above and below you.

[cherrycheers2]

I do not desire anyone, I do not desire to be seen. I beat myself over the head with these words my god.

I trace over your name in my mind with a tongue tasting of denial. The indentation in my mind too bumpy to bear, too permanent. How long ago did your name crawl into my mind and leave its brand, like a cavity resulting in a cracked- fractured tooth and my tongue can’t stop tracing over it despite the pain it brings, you make yourself aware. The infection of my infatuation is one that could travel through my bloodstream and poison my heart and mind, killing me where I stand, an abscess of love.

You told me that you don’t kiss with tongue, is it because you don’t want to trace the cracked tooth of infatuation you’ve given me?

[cds-art]

Steam key art I was commissioned for the game "METAMORPHOSIS" by Luxan! (🎵 The Herald - Comus)

Check it out! https://store.steampowered.com/app/3470140/METAMORPHOSIS/

[cherrycheers2]

Literally the most stunning art I’ve ever seen.

[cherrycheers2]

Oops just realised I haven’t been making my antidepressants — that’s probably it.

[cherrycheers2]

I do not think it is wise to trust how you think about yourself or your life in the creeping hours of the night and early morning. It is a trap to take your own life in the sadness and endless desperation you feel in the loneliness enveloping the darkness.

[cherrycheers2]

Younger than me asking for a puff of fresh air, of desperation. Empty threats encouraged by the silver lining. Do you see the greener grass through the haze of smoke? Is that your greener grass? Will I ever see that porch vacation? Melted rainbows on the corners a path to follow.

[cherrycheers2]

I just need something. I need to stop being a voyeur in watching your life; In sickeningly and foolishly imagining mine alongside yours. I need something darling, I need to stop having my mind be so entwined with the thoughts of you. I’m not even sure I could even imagine a future with you - perhaps I just like the act of longing, of desire; I am full of it.

I need to be cured.

[cherrycheers2]

A quiet resignation in knowing that you will not live past 30. A deep breath of awareness.

[cherrycheers2]

Beautiful Australia!

[cherrycheers2]

Chemical elixir of possibility’s enriching the fabric of my personification. The dreaded bitter taste of fermentation lingers upon my soul, the bitter berries proving more familiar when paired with the touch of a lover. Swirling tongues dance to the passion of pleasure. Thr combining taste of our sin mixing in ecstasy.

And when you swallow down the bitter elixir of enlightenment you understand the path of gratuity as it slides down your throat and warms your belly. Lighting the lust hidden deep deep deep within your gut, the profound feeling of the others that have come before you and the ones that will follow, the enlightenment of the human soul under the bewitchment of fermentation, leaves you feeling more than a little connected to those that have come before you and mused the same thoughts that have come out have.

The shifting vision, the carnival ride of blues seems to fade in and out conjoined with the pleasure of such disjointingness. An eclipse away from sanity any would hope they could run to such an escape.

[cherrycheers2]

HORROR HORROR HORROR.

[cherrycheers2]

Ah but it could be nothing but it could be everything all the same. We discuss how we desire an emotionally developed person, but we skirt around how we could be perfect for each other. How you have detailed how you have given up on chasing, on finding another person that suits your emotional needs but you perhaps neglect me in your considerations.

I could be the person for you.

[cherrycheers2]

Hours — moments spent when we should’ve been focused on school work in free-periods discussing our romantic histories — talking away about such depth of ourselves and humanity. Communicating intimate details about ourselves, riffing off of each over, feeding the communication. — conversations spent discussing the faults of immaturity that we had seen in our past histories and you had told me that I was “the realist person i had ever met” and how would that not inspire such affection?

We had discussed how starting a relationship with friendship was the best foundation for a successful relationship and I remember you distinctly saying something (my memory is horrid) but connecting with others with emotional depth with another has led to a romantic relationship and he awkwardly saying “except you” or some other thing. God my heart.

We were at the school cafe, and he had bought a cookie, and I had admitted how it looked sorta good and he told me to take a small bite. He held it in his hand and I leaned down and took a bite— it was intimate and perhaps I had misinterpreted what he meant but I was so nervous, so I obliged. And I had looked at him when I Leaned down, through my eyelashes.

Despite these moments we hardly communicate, moments stolen in between him being reunited with his friends that are objectively horrid. A queer woman and feminist as I am, morally object to the egotistical nature of the men he involves himself with. Years of history, with the self absorbers that he himself had admonished. But you can’t control the emotional connection with your friends, I understand.

We spent a shift once at my workplace discussing everything about the friends he has that work at the same place hours spent together — we process stock, it’s a team environment with people that I only sparsely communicate with. But this shift it was us logging away stock together, and he admitted how he seems emotionally distanced and developed beyond his friends, he hates the gossip the emotional unaccountability but stills interacts nonetheless.

So our eyes only meet occasionally in our seperate and distinctly different friend groups.

Yearning is a prison.

[cherrycheers2]

YEARNING IS A PRISON!!!!!!

You are the prison of my mind or have I willfully surrendered to how I cause your affection, your laughs? Your smile?

You literally cause me to stumble over my own tongue that I quickly blame on the amazingness of the song, can you see past my lame excuse?

I still remember that look you gave me the day I let my hair out after years of caging it within my claw clip.I had put precarious eyeliner on. It my was my debut, showing the beauty off that I knew I possessed.

I was leaning on a railing separating the upstairs part of the library from the anarchic juniors, looking down at them. I had heard your laughter so I looked your way, over my shoulder, I knew in a non-so conceited manner that I looked good. And you had looked at me and looked so taken-aback. You had been witness to my buzz-cut, my exploration into expressions past strictly femininity. I had lost a significant amount of weight, my face more illustrated than ever. And mouthed “what the fuck” and I had hoped so dearly that you were reacting to me. That you saw me in how I wanted to be seen and you were taken aback by it. And I hope so dearly that you were reacting to me but I realise it could’ve been about so many other things, but my god I hope it was me.

Back then, I did not realise the extent of how my mind gravitated towards you. How much my thoughts tailored towards seeing you react to my jokes, how our sparse communication reignited my soul.

God the what-ifs and doubts cage me.

Yearning is truly a prison.