I do not find peace in my melancholy.
My sadness is not serene.
I am bloodthirsty.

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@empty-lockets
I do not find peace in my melancholy.
My sadness is not serene.
I am bloodthirsty.
"Almost every woman I have ever met has a secret belief that she is just on the edge of madness, that there is some deep, crazy part within her, that she must be on guard constantly against losing control - of her temper, of her appetite, of her sexuality, of her feelings, of her ambition, of her secret fantasies, of her mind.”
Elana Dykewomon, "Notes for a Magazine," Sinister Wisdom #36 (Winter 1988/89).
I’ve been on my knees since I was 5.
In the chapel,
in a bedroom,
in an alley late at night.
Always facing an inflated
godlike
version of some guy.
But as a girl you do what you need to survive.
You open wider, take the body.
Thank your father, you’ve been naughty.
2 Hail Marys, 20 lashings.
“I’ve been sent to punish you for daring to exist.
You will never know a love as meaningful as this.”
I’ve memorized
the lines
since I was 10.
From the Bible,
from the playbook,
from the magazines for men.
If you should mess it up, you’ll start again.
But, still, they only want
the women
they condemn.
I think that I’d have too much fun in hell.
With the pagans
and the hedonists
and sapphics there as well.
Purgatory seems the better fit
I can’t stand waiting in the corner,
but I do love being hit.
There’s not a torture you can prescribe
that I wouldn’t find
a way to like.
Every single second I’m alive
I’m sharpening an axe I’d like to grind.
“I was sent to punish you
for the way I was designed.
You will never know a love
that you fear more than mine.”
- “God Fear a Woman” 2023
Everything is blue
His pills, his hands, his jeans
And now I’m covered in the colors
Pulled apart at the seams
Carnival of Souls (1962) dir. Herk Harvey
Bill Lewis
atla episodes in colors: s01e12 the storm
patreon
btw I am doing it afraid
very very evil to be a child in 2008 and an adult in 2025
propaganda i am not falling for:
always moving on. some goodbyes need to rot a little. some griefs need to be held in the mouth like a stone.
beauty defined by algorithms. beauty exists in crow feet and smile lines
pretending to be chill. i’m not chill. i care deeply and inconveniently. i read into things. i write poems about eye contact
beige apartments with no soul. give me bookshelves and incense and loud art
sneaky links and unclear intentions. i want devotion. and also clarity
treating books as decor. read them. dog-ear them. argue with them in the margins
sorry ignore me im going through something (<- guy who never stopped going through something)