bring roses to my grave @crying-under-streetlamps - Tumblr Blog

ak-nm

firsttimeuser

Flower Shop, Paris, 1950s by Victor Meeussen

My heart aches for fluid it cannot digest.

Maybe behind my will to die

is the yearning for this type of love

that can be sent but never received.

— 11:51 p.m.

#quotes #poetry #writing #spilled ink #depressing quotes #death #love #heartbreak #sadness #notes app poetry #poets on tumblr #mental illness #depression

furiousgoldfish

People who are starved out of conversation will approach it as if it was sacred, people who are starved out of touch experience any touch given to them as the highest form of intimacy, people starved out of gentleness will react to it as if it’s an invasion, an attempt to break them down, and people starved out of a community will approach it as if it was a minefield.

positivelyqueer

one of the most relatable and useful things someone once said to me is that what saved her from her own ideation was the knowledge that suicide is always an option.

And this runs counter to what is very often told, and I’m certainly not saying that that narrative is wrong. There are people that absolutely need to hear that suicide is Never an option.

But when you’ve been in those particular trenches for so long, the old sayings start to wear thin.

So what this person talked about was, the knowledge that she could theoretically always kill herself made it easier to postpone. Sure she could have killed herself this morning, but then she wouldn’t be out getting coffee with her friend. And she can always do it tonight.

But maybe tonight doesn’t work either because what she wants more than to be dead is to be warm in bed. So she’ll sleep on it. Maybe next week after seeing her friend’s musical.

And maybe that musical gives her the strength she needs to hold out for a bit longer, to scrape just a bit more joy from the world.

And maybe in two months it comes back, and she can’t do it anymore. But well, two months ago wasn’t the only time, she can always do it next month. Might as well wait for spring, the flowers are only just starting to come out.

So hey, maybe you could kill yourself. But you’re a long time dead with not a lot to do, so might as well scrape some more joy and excitement and interest and disappointment and music and grief and community and warmth from this world while you’re in it.

There’s always the possibility of something around the corner. Be curious and stay safe loves <3 (love heart.)

mothwood

Edmond Jabès, A Foreigner Carrying in the Crook of His Arm a Tiny Book p. 17

mooninagust

binnie yesterday

I wish my depression were a black hole,

but it is a star.

A dying star.

And you know how bright it looks like

to run out of hydrogen.

My eyes choose to reflect light instead of pain.

My laughter lights up the air like fireflies.

They cherish my light but not me

and hold it close,

as they should.

May they keep my light forever.

There's no world in which

I die consumed by darkness.

— 7:15 p.m.

#quotes #poetry #writing #spilled ink #personal #poets on tumblr #dark #dark academia #excerpt from a book i'll never write #writing community #depression #depressive #mental illness #mental health #sadness #death #notes app poetry

condemnedbody

Sometimes killing myself doesn't feel like enough. Sometimes I think I need to be erased from history

I don't know, I think I've lost my faith in butterflies, grown up a little.

You barely see them alive these days.

Meadows have turned into cemeteries of torn, paper thin wings and broken antlers.

Fragile little wings, once held together by faith in afterlife, are now crumpled after the void showed its finality.

The birds are next. Their fluttering wings struggle to fly under the empty night sky.

You never wrote me back. You never wrote us back. Nature is running out of innocence.

I miss the moon and stars. You took them all with you when you left, along with the butterflies. Even the birds want to follow you now. I can't blame them.

I've decided to bury us all when it's time. My bones cannot wait to find your ashes in the tiny hearts of worms and beetles.

— 4:30 p.m.

quinnrants

the feeling when you just wanna be alone and push everyone away so you could quietly kill yourself vrs the feeling of never wanting to be alone and just wanting to be held and told itll be okay even when it wont.