Words from the Craziest Horror Fiction Night Lady.

[depsidase]

[woodlandhomo]

I don’t like this one

[depsidase]

[woodlandhomo]

I don’t like this one

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

Help Josephine Become a Professional Code Girl, organized by Josephine Bartholoma

So there is a program called Grace Hopper, part of fullstack acade… Josephine Bartholoma needs your support for Help Josephine Become a Prof

Help my trans lesbian friend become financially independent!

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

I’m throwing away my life again.  Bright eyes, while I had them.  I can bear to see no longer I feel the serotonin in my system. I feel the wakefulness, perilous absence of sleep. It brings the crushing weight of the life I refuse to stop clinging to,  the thing I’ve lost and can never get back. 

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

a partial list of reasons to stop living

I am a treasure of nowhere and nothing;

My parents don’t understand me.

I am stuck turning over the same brain as before, the brain that feels less unique than it should be,  the abhorrent creature.

I am a font of misery that will never go dry.

I can’t flip an omelette.

I have more in common with suicides than success stories.

I can’t be allowed to keep existing.

I don’t want to exist. 

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

When the tears fall and words break free from your throat you are no longer a prisoner of heartbreak, too wounded to be at peace with your own body.

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

No more memories, please. The ones I’ve got so far show no promise.

No old memories, please. The moments I bear today cannot abide company.

No true memories, please Light falsehoods are crushed flat by their gravity.

I am stricken by my brain which has ignored these wishes, So cruelly affixed lumps of spun sugar cobwebs congealed into a mass I feel with my fingers when I type a message to myself. Wishes I fit into these crevices- Wishes for something more caustic (such as a rebirth).

There is no way to undo this kind of creation without destroying the host.

Kill my cancer in the Petri dish, no matter. I feed a single cell a rich broth of fun facts and memories

I will raise any colony from the dead. Make more sugar.

And at some point—

What if i was the one Who never differentiated,

And the cancer–in its veracity– is the one who should keep on living?

No matter once more, it’ll prevail anyway.

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

how deep how deep how deep do you goi will put my hands down your neck and feel aroundhow much is there for long fingernails to explore?i roll the skin inside your stomach between my thumb and index fingersmall ridges, small scars. i close my eyes to get a better sense of texture and minute differences between each square inch. All this information is overwhelming, but i keep touching, touchingfeeling around for something special to study.deeper, deeper. how deep do you go? There are infinities between every point But i need breathing roomi feel the floor of you, run the palms of my hands on it, leave the faintest imprint of my lifelines. the sweet vapors of your lungs fill mine as i continue I find your heart with my teeth and gently probe it with my tongue. god, you taste good. i end up swallowing it whole and meanwhile, i feel you poking around, in the dark. my heart is sweet and filling   and filled with viscous juices. swallow it nowbefore you lose yourself in my perfidious chasms.

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

Pus to make a small scar on my cheek that yearns for a kiss. 

Illness is the liquid my  heart is fixated in.  A poor conductor of heat,  a good vacuum for  affection and adoration and reassurances. 

If kisses cure illnesses then what fascination lives in human mouths?  Listen for the smooth steel among the wetness,  hollow winds howling against teeth scraped with listerine and other mint-flavored things. 

I have cut my tongue trying to  heal myself; taste my person  as I bleed onto yours. 

Let me feel the solution,  as I  reach down your throat and grip your heart to feel it beat. 

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

You are

plucked out of the crowd I am  fighting you to lose. 

You are a brave,  handsome boy,  but you are  not too noble To drive ice and ire into my heart,  break my ironclad grip

on misery. 

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

Sunk cost child,  like a flower with a horizontally cut stem. 

How are you doing? Ask me in the morning,  If I am not still too  preoccupied with keeping myself alive. 

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

in my vaginal canal,  a toxic buildup of lust.  I take it in through the pores of my skin and for a few seconds it is warm in my blood my hand is warm,  my eyes are  closed,  content letting my mind do the seeing.

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

Who are you here in my body? You grip my hands, my sleeves, my neck and I still don’t know who you are. I look in your eyes,  and I see myself in them.

Cold,  beautiful; you monster. You have nothing for me no matter how hard I 

try to take up your time. I’ll fight and I’ll fight and I’ll crack you wide open extract small pockets of sweet loving

And here it will  taste like heaven  You’re in my dreams tonight

I’ll know who you are in my body: You’re the one who makes me  shine in the high of your sunlight,  the one who always leaves me  wanting more. 

Your eyes are full of my poison My eyes are full of it too- it’s filling me.  Music in my veins I know you hear it too: I’m here for you.

Wrongness has never felt better. The wronger it is the better it feels I’ve got a set of equations Telling me how many kisses I need to feel okay. Okayness feels like a song that keeps my heart beating on time. My heart is sick.

You are here in my body You know I’m dying How could you care? I know who you are almost as well as I know the song of your nearness of joy of cancer.

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

Underground.

Is poison slick and slimy hate,  or blood-boiling rage,  swelling my tongue and punctuating my mouth with blisters? Is it within deeply a loop of the gruesome heart-cycle? (bursts up though my throat,  bloody-- into my hands,  stuffed hard back in my chest) Does it rest here, or here, or there, where it takes physical form, annoyingly so,  pulls apart my cells and spirit layer by lipid layer,  layer by lovelorn layer,  layer by lover’s layer-- does it peel me flesh from fingerbone,  does it revel in my desirous demolition? 

Is poison lusty in your mouth, my husband? Does it  rest heavy-- thick and heavy-- on your fingertips? Is it beautiful  like my eyes,  or wholesome like my mouth, or is it wanting? Will my poison kiss you deeply, strangle you in kisses, wait for your sunrise to burn you with golden lips? 

Will your poison complement my beauty? Will it lyse me, dice me, realize me?  Affixed in the processes-- formaldehyde, my elixir.  Will I be in hell  forever?

And moreover, what is a poison,  that cruelly has killed me-- burned my corpse in your sweet reality and Lucifer’s undying sunlight?

And moreover,  how can I kill you? I, who  said that I love you? How can you kill me? You,  who say that you love me? I believe, husband,  you’d love me more drunk on poison. 

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

Plough rich fields of sorrow, and never go hungry. Grow the sickness, starve the sickness, what does it matter? Eat rich meals of sorrow, and watch the fat grow in your pockets, lofty, lordsome

A sizeable arsenal accumulated

A sizeable arsenal - Thank god for your harvest, slather the ground in preparation empty your armory  

for the day you will need fat to burn, Burn in a blaze that will live forever, forever unimpeded by the murderous waters in your treacherous tears.

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

Again.

Caught inside the serpent’s mouth  the mousetrap’s jaw the black hole’s teeth,

within is closer than without and more grating with its bellows and allowances on the soul. I am here forever,  or so it seems or so i hope it merely seems,  and I must love myself because I care less about  the stagnation the decay the loss and the loss again,  than the suffering. 

Again eternal. 

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

This anger stays like painless could never, weeps long and slow into my vacant bloodstream; may I give it up for no less than joy, no less than true love and being loved truly.