I think we're doomed @erikaf-94 - Tumblr Blog

1st-1

#astronaut #i want to leave

neckkiss

Rupi Kaur

(via weheartit)

#poetry #rupi kaur

Carpe Diem: “One day it will hurt less and maybe that day is exactly today.”

You can find me on Insta: @_erikaf._

poetryatmost

There are one of two reasons why they will treat you like something so fragile: they are either scared that they will break you, or they are scared that you will break them.

Poetry At Most (via poetryatmost)

#poetry

Codependency: “Life doesn’t end when somebody leaves.” The more I’ll repeat that to myself, the more I’ll believe it. Or at least I hope so.

#scrivere #poesia #poetry #writing #minimal art #hands #drawing #pensieri #parole #words #frasi #sad quotes #quotes #poesia italiana contemporanea #poesia italiana #scrittori emergenti #poem #codependency

Solitudine

#solitudine #depressione #frasi tristi #frasi #poesia #prosa poetica #poetry #poem #poesia italiana #poesia contemporanea #writing #scrivere #pensieri #riflessioni #parole #words #sadness #solitude #_erikaf._

Soffocare.

#frasi #pensieri #riflessioni #parole #words #scrivere #writing #leggere #reading #paranoie #depressione #ansia #ansia sociale #mental health #_erikaf._#poesia #micro poesia #scrittori emergenti #versi #minimal art

A monologue to piss everyone off

“You know, for most of their existence, people try to find the meaning of life. Some of them, the so called “lucky ones”, succeed. Dreamers find it in love, whether it will be friendship or family. Pragmatists find it in their jobs, in knowledge or by helping others. To me, the matter is simpler than that: there’s no meaning at all. We’re simply a bunch of atoms, which moves inside a more complex cluster, and we have the bad luck to understand it. Not entirely, of course, but just enough to realize its meaninglessness. I mean, what’s the point of being stuck in a job you hate, to benefit a spoiled, unfaithful wife and a son who barely talks to you because he’s already a tech-addict? Someone told me that it depends on me, that it’s my fault. But is it really? Maybe it’s my parents’ fault because they were too busy watching TV all Sunday long while I was cutting my arms like a maniac. Again, is it really their fault? We were taught to live this way by tradition. The same old-fashioned tradition that applauds racism, misogyny, homophobia, increasing hatred amongst people. We consider ourselves the smartest and the best developed creatures on this planet, but all I can see is a slow but relentless devastation, and very few lazy attempts to save us from total extinction. I can’t stop asking myself “Wouldn’t it better if human beings just completely disappeared?”. “What’s wrong with you? It’s such a terrible idea!”, someone would reply. Ok, fine. Let’s talk about how humanity is great, shall we? Let’s talk about the scramble for oil, weapons of mass destruction, toxic waste, dead zones, deforestation, slaughter fucking houses, because, you know, God saves us from protein deficiency and “Cow’s milk is so good for your bones”, you’re gonna literally die for it. I know, I know, everybody has the right to do what they want, to kill the animal they prefer, so they can go to bed with their belly filled. Even the Almighty God proclaimed our superiority, so it must be true. True as he is. True as his endless love for sinners, who unfortunately have to spend their supposed life after death burning in hell for eternity. But hey, he loves you! And most importantly, remember: he’s not just a product of rotten organizations which depend on your submission and money. Keep telling that to yourself until you’ll believe it. I mean, don’t you notice that everything around us is so perfect and couldn’t be created simply by case? Don’t be stupid, evolution is just a theory! So now, play nice, take this imaginary, reassuring, father-like figure, big pill and swallow it down with no questions. Fine, you’re annoyed. Religion pisses me off too. Uhm, what? Am I the one who’s annoying you? To be honest, I couldn’t care less about your opinion. I was already called cynic, depressed, nihilist, or in the worst case satanic scum. It’s not important what you think about me, because you know, it’s not about me, it’s about your narrow-minded insight of the world. I’m not crazy, angry, or sad. I’m just tired. Tired of bullshits. Tired of living this goddamn lie. Maybe we all should take our own life, cause everywhere we go there’s always the same thing: ignorance and profound emptiness. There’s a deeply rooted illness that it’s eating us all, chewing us with its sharp, smelly teeth, and laughing while we scream. Actually, I never screamed, I’ve always collected silences, so traumatized by what I’ve seen. Sometimes I dream to fall down an infinite vortex and take everyone with me. Our arrogance would deserve such pain. Nonetheless, I immediately realize I prefer let things flow, and see what happen. Am I coward for this? Am I an idiot? Am I even real? Who am I? And who are you? Have I really understood everything, or anything at all? Don’t bother answering me, my time is over.”

eirener-deactivated20180925

erikaf-94

Fuck rules.

#thoughts #writing #micro poetry #quot #fuck rules #poetry #aphorisms #reading #readers #life #death #existence #existentialism

neckkiss

via weheartit

erikaf-94

change is good.

#writing #e.grin #change #changing #thoughts #words

Inertia: “Slow steps towards the unknown, only location I can adjust to into the world.”

That old pair of glasses: “ Everywhere I go Everywhere I look I find an entire world Resembling you. A narcisistic smothering cold world just like you. Then I remember I’ve put that old pair of glasses on withouth even realizing it.”

Ateismo e altri disagi.

#ateismo #atheism #death #morte #aldilà #riflessioni #esistenzialismo #leggere #scrivere #writing #reading #lettura #poesia in prosa #poesia #poetry #skeleton #minimal art #black and white #pensieri

Qui Dentro

Un mattino qualunque al risveglio, mentre mi volto verso il muro di fronte al mio letto, intravedo una figura in movimento nello specchio. Faccio un passo avanti, incontrando lo sguardo di una ragazza che mi osserva con esitazione. Non ci riconosciamo proprio all’istante, infatti da tempo immemore nessuna di noi sembra capacitarsi della nostra somiglianza. Ad un occhio esterno sarebbe evidente, eppure noi ci sentiamo quasi due estranee. Noto due segni viola sotto i suoi occhi, le sue guance sono un po’ infossate e la sua figura esile è coperta da un pigiama blu e bianco che le sta largo. I suoi capelli chiari sono ingarbugliati in alcuni punti, perciò, presa da un senso di pena, le do una mano ad aggiustarli con le mie mani meglio che posso. Più ci guardiamo, meno ci piace ciò che vediamo. Perché la tua bocca si piega in giù in quel modo? Non potevi nascere con un naso più fine? Il colore dei tuoi capelli è così banale, perché non provi a cambiarlo? Non ti rendi conto che la genetica non ha avuto alcuna pietà con te ed è per questo che nessuno ti vuole? Sono solo alcune delle domande che sappiamo passarci per la mente, così concordiamo entrambe in silenzio che è meglio continuare a lavorare sul groviglio senza fissarci in faccia un secondo di più. Quando abbiamo finito, ci giriamo verso il letto all’unisono e io mi dirigo a sistemarlo. Dopodiché, apro la finestra, accogliendo l’aria gelida dell’inverno. Contemplo per un attimo il grigiore all’esterno e so già che pure oggi dovrò trascinarmi per le strade come un fantasma, ignorato dal mondo e alla costante ricerca di una pace inesistente. Vado quindi al bagno e di nuovo si ripresenta la ragazza mentre mi lavo la faccia, ma lei pare non prestarmi troppa attenzione. La osservo intanto che s’infila il mio morbido maglione rosso e vorrei dirle che oggi non le sta poi così bene. Non che gli altri giorni le doni di più. Ad ogni modo lei sembra far finta di niente, ormai conosce la mia opinione su qualsiasi indumento che indossi. Sa che il problema non è il vestiario, ma lei. Se solo avesse un seno più sodo e grande. Se solo avesse dei fianchi meno larghi. Se solo…fosse diversa. Sopportiamo entrambe la frustrazione che ci scorre sotto pelle in silenzio. Dopo una rapida colazione, incontro la ragazza dall’espressione apatica un’ultima volta, scoprendo quanto fastidio si celi infondo alle sue iridi nel rivedermi. «Sai, nemmeno io sono così entusiasta, ma dobbiamo truccarci. A meno che tu non voglia uscire come uno zombie.» Lei non batte ciglio, so che mi comprende perfettamente, quando vuole. Appena abbiamo finito di coprirci ogni punto rossastro e i cerchi scuri sotto gli occhi, disegniamo una linea scura e sottile su entrambe le palpebre con dell’eyeliner. Alla fine ci guardiamo meno disgustate di prima, ma non così soddisfatte da continuare a scrutarci. Prima, però, che possa muovere un solo passo, con gli occhi puntati sui miei stivali, la sento dire «Finirà prima o poi questo odio insensato?» La guardo e mi accorgo dei suoi occhi leggermente arrossati. Io non ti odio, è solo che non voglio essere te, vorrei dirle, ma preferisco andarmene, evitando come solito di affrontarla. Esco in fretta di casa, con la consolante consapevolezza che quello che mi aspetta lì fuori, per quanto incredibilmente insopportabile, è sempre meglio di quello che mi aspetta qui dentro.

Everything’s Dark

When I open my eyes, everything's dark. I try to turn to one side, but for some reason my right leg hits a hard surface. I release a groan of pain, and I realize immediately that I’m not lying on a mattress, my back is supported on a sort of rigid table. Therefore, I'm not in my bed. I instinctively bring my hands forward, finding out that the space around me is surrounded by close walls. I start to move, touching everywhere, grasping second after second to be confined from every possible angle. The material under my fingers is irregular, fibrous. It must definitely be wood. «This can’t be real», I say aloud, fearing what I'm starting to believe. I force myself to remember everything I can of the past few hours. I had been with Nick, my new boyfriend for five months now, and we were drinking at the local club. It was roughly a quarter to eleven. Maybe almost eleven. I can't say for sure. We were talking about this and that, about our working day, and how nice it would be to organize a holiday in London for August. We were having fun, even though at some point I started to feel a little sick. From then on I don't remember anything. Only a vague sense of nausea lingers to torture my stomach. I must have had too much to drink, and fallen asleep. So where the hell am I now? To my great relief, I still wear the evening's clothes, a fancy black tank top and a pair of light jeans. On my feet I can feel my boots. Maybe it hasn't been long since I've been here, wherever here is. I decide to put my hand in my jeans pocket, where I usually keep the phone. Fortunately, that's where I find it. As soon as I unlock the screen, I instantly check out the time: it’s midnight sharp. After that, I take a look around, glowing everything with a soft, blue light. What I see is the worst nightmare of my life: I'm locked up in a fucking coffin. An old wooden coffin. My heart starts to accelerate, and with each beat the breath gets shorter. I drop the phone near my head and start screaming at the top of my lungs «HEEEEEELP!» My fists beat against the light wooden lid above me. «HEEELOOO? CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME? SOMEONE HELP ME, PLEEEASE! NIIIIICK! NIIICK, DO YOU HEAR ME? HEEEELP!» Even my feet start to kick violently against the immovable wood. I stop for a moment and stretch my ear against the surface. I don't hear any sound. No one answers. It's all useless. There is no one who can hear me. Warm tears run slowly down my cheeks, while my chest twists in despair. How is this possible? How on earth is this possible? I'm screwed. I gasp for the already little air that is in here. And now what should I do? What the hell am I supposed to do? There must be something I can do, besides tearing my vocal cords and scraping my hands. So I remember the phone. I pick it up and carry it in front of my face. Rapidly I unlock it and try to illuminate the bottom of the coffin, where I glimpse my bag in the corner with surprise. It seems to have been thrown away without regard, because it’s upside down. I want to take it, cause maybe I can find a clue inside, or anything else that allows me to remember some useful detail. I drag myself with my legs towards my goal, and I succed to grab it with my feet, so I push it higher, close to my thigh. I place it on my chest and take a look inside by lifting my head: there are my house and car keys, a notepad with a small pen, two protein bars, paper handkerchiefs, a mirror and a couple of cents tucked into a pocket. Not a shadow of the wallet. «What the fuck...» I murmur, sinking into total confusion. Who could have taken my wallet? Have I and Nick been robbed? What if the robber thought of locking us up in two separate coffins, maybe to get more money with a ransom, or something? What if Nick’s situation was worst than mine? If he was hurt, or even... No, I don't wanna think about it a minute longer. The phone lighting goes out. I unlock it again and check the battery level: six percent. «It ain’t real, it ain’t real, it ain’t real... It's just a bad dream, just a fucking bad dream.» I press with my thumb the address book, and without further thinking I choose Nick’s number. I have to wait a long time before an answer. «Nick? Nick, are you okay?» I blurt out without giving him time to say a word. «Nadia?» His voice is practically flat, although I notice a hint of disbelief. «Yeah, it’s me! Where are you, Nick? Are you okay?» «Oh, I'm doing great. Aren’t you supposed to be dead already?» A shot in the chest, that's how his words feel like. I can't come to terms with what I’ve just heard. «Was it... was it you who put me here?» "Who else, you filthy bitch? Jesus fucking Christ? You had no friends or relatives who cared about you. In your stupid meaningless life you only had me. What a pathetic waste of space.» Its tone, warm and welcoming until a few hours ago, now it gives me goosebumps. I realize that he has just used the past tense to speak to me. I start to cry, like I've never cried in my whole life. «Why did you do this to me? I thought we were in love!» I say between sobs, feeling extremely nauseous. «Well, you just need to know that I never loved you. And now, sweet dreams, baby. For good.» He hangs up on me. «NO, FUUUUCK!» I scream, hitting the lid once more and sticking a splinter in one of my knuckle. A trickle of blood slides down the back of the hand, so I bite my lower lip in pain and hold my breath, trying to remove the splinter from my flesh carefully. Then I grab a handkerchief from the bag, and press on it for a few moments. I cannot understand. Why would Nick do this to me? I've always been good with him. I don't deserve to die this way. I don't deserve any of this! And yet, instantly, I realize that I actually got screwed from the start. Nick never took me to his house. Nor did he tell me too much about his parents, or his friends and acquaintances. In fact, he never introduced me to anyone who was part of his life. Maybe he even lied to me about his job. He is right, my life has been insignificant for a very long time. When we met, I believed that he was the meaning of my existence. Loving him was my life purpose. What a fool I was! Maybe this is the perfect ending that a person like me deserves. I’m gonna die exactly as I lived: alone, helpless and far from the world. Suddenly the phone vibrates and distracts me from my depressing thoughts. The caller is unknown. «Hello?» I say, wondering who might call me this late. «Hi, is Nadia Putman speaking?» «Yes, it’s me. Who is it?» «I’m Natalie Holland, a secretary of the local police station. Ten minutes ago a woman brought us a lost wallet, which happens to be yours. Have you noticed a missing wallet on your bag, miss?» «Yes, I have. My boyfriend, or should I say ex-boyfriend, stole it from me and decided to put me in a coffin.» «I’m sorry, miss, what have you just said? He put you in where?» «In a fucking coffin, goddammit! Could you help me, please?» «Oh, okay, sorry to hear that. I’ll put you through with the deparment chief, Oliver Finch. Hold on a minute, please.» «I don’t have a min» I try to say, but she’s already gone. Seconds pass by, while I’m waiting on the line. I check the battery: three percent. Panic is making my heart race a little faster. I don’t wanna be delusional, but as they say, hope dies last. «Oliver Finch speaking. Miss Putnam, are you still there?» «Hi... yes, I’m here.» «Good. I was informed of your current situation, miss, and I want you to know that we’re going to make everything in our capacity to get you out of there, but first I need you to answer a few questions for me.» «I’m running out of time, sir! My battery is three percent, and I’m very claustrophobic. I don’t know how much air remains in here. I don’t even know where I am.» «Please, I need you to calm down. Take some deep breath, okay? We’re already trying to track down your phone’s signal. Now, to facilitate our job, you have to tell me what is the last thing you remember before finding yourself in there.» «I was at a club near the city, it’s called “The Joint”. I was there with my ex-boyfriend, Nick Allen, around eleven o’clock. We were drinking, I think he put something inside my glass, because I felt dizzy. Then, nothing more. Now I’m not even sure Nick is his real name.» «Okay, miss, you’re doing fine. We’ve just found a Nick Allen on our archives. He’s been in jail several times for theft, rape and attemped murder. He’s real name is George Frederick Clark.» «Fucking George, or Nick, or whatever! That piece of shit has just ruined my life. I can’t believe he fooled me that way. I was so stupid... so stupid!» I keep on sobbing, and I don’t care to wipe the water away from my face with my hands. «Nadia, I need you to focus. Do you know where he lives? It could be crucial for...» The phone is dead. I scream in frustration with all my strenght one last time. It was all in vain. Great. Perfect. I let out a sigh of resignation. Tears run copiously down my face, as I realise that this is over. That’s it. I’m gonna die here, unless the police has localized my GPS by some miracle. At least I’ve tried. At least I’ve lived more than certain people. Now, the only thing I can do is to wait. I’m not sure what for, the police or death. Either way, it’s okay. I’m gonna be okay. I’m okay. Then, I close my eyes, and everything’s dark.