ABJECT CATHARSIS

lover, loser, always finding wounds.

[ainavisa]

early birthday gift

[weltenwellen]

Buttercream Joy Sullivan

[heartgutvision]

I think almost anything can move me to tears if my heart is open. Like it’s actually insane what can make me cry

[entombedinyou]

I never miss this feeling when it's gone and yet it always returns.

Sickening, how the things we want the least come back to us more easily than the things we actually desire.

I wonder if sometimes, I am the former.

[mementomoriiv]

Jenny Holzer - The Living series, 1980-82

[entombedinyou]

The grey rain went just as sudden as it came and-

Past it's graceless exit, still, my body trembled with weep.

All this time unconsciously waiting for the polluted sky's permission, it said

Unravel.

So unravel, I did.

[sevaria]

I wait for you like a loyal dog

[entombedinyou]

You make your choices.

I'll choose to live with them.

[priestessofmissouri]

2026

[entombedinyou]

Something lurks under the skin of june, as restlessness seeps past mine.

I find myself replaying old wounds and my highest highs, all entwined in the same time.

This bubbling targets all my content and tells me something hides.

[entombedinyou]

When can I stop running in this race?

I never asked to place, only to feel safe.

Yet that damned catastrophy still gives me chase.

Knees buckle, egg on my face.

[punk-]

[entombedinyou]

It still feels new when I talk to you, I feel reborn when the sun gets warm

I get scared you'll leave me soon even though we call each other every afternoon

I'm not bored at all, you can call me when you wanna call

[entombedinyou]

Unprompted, you unsheathe black pins, unleash my tensed hair.

Between soft pets, I find the gentlest acts of care.

[fragrantblossoms]

Joseph Cornell. Series of Jeanne Eagels, 1963. Collage.

[gallowhill]

Gran Fury, Kissing doesn’t Kill, 1989 [details]

“Corporate greed, government inaction, and public indifference make AIDS a political crisis.”

[entombedinyou]

Sensitive to smell, where bark and tree fell, a curse becomes a blessing. Nature's bourbon, their death and growth ferment among thin bodies in the brush. Gusts animate their scent around us and I'm stopped mid-sentence, washed away in sweet decay, herbaceous rush.

This, is a reason to keep breathing. To have something delightful prick my nose like a hound. Pushing myself, past trembling muscle and hapless lungs.