Let's RP the World in Two

writing is proof magic exists

[indigo-types]

[sometimestuesday-deactivated202]

GREETINGS FROM NEBRASKA

I’m listening to a song I think you’d like. It’s about California and being involuntarily alive. It’s about grapes, and a mattress, and a hand touching another hand without pulling away. “EVERY MOMENT IN THE TRAJECTORY OF HUMAN HISTORY EXISTS FOREVER,” says a scientist who has the startled eyes to prove it. Which means somewhere my body is always meeting your body for the first time. Somewhere else, in the belly of the beast, I sit, always young and unrough, trapping your brain in a tin can to hear the stunning rattle of your thoughts. Somewhere else, ripe with shameful faith, you wipe the bruises from your knees and always decide prematurely that you love me. But no where, of course, do you actually love me. Which means somewhere else, I’m in a car, always moving in the opposite direction of you, writing you a postcard that says, “I miss you. I’m glad you aren’t here.”

[new-poets-society]

A Stereotypical Monday

I don’t believe in stereotypes But I do believe in wrongs Like when the good ol’ preacher’s daughter Goes to a party with a bong The straight-A student is the goth kid and The boy who sits next to her in class Is hiding his anxieties And acting very crass The smiling girl is cutting The “suicidal” boy is fine Little girls are wearing makeup And curfew is long past nine The cheerleaders aren’t cheery And the boys aren’t very strong Why did we start convincing others There is always something wrong Because the world is not a pretty place And I don’t believe in love Because I’m still sitting here wondering When we forgot how to have fun.

~~t.r.

[indigo-types]

iiii

pink

tattered lace itches, scratches, tangles, swallows me

i drown

a smothered scream, crying, torture by silence,

what words would save me, even if i could speak?

the hollow pit in my chest echoes with a voice not mine

and yet, back then,

i never knew i was real, i had a choice, a voice

i never knew

[indigo-types]

and just like how I crave

the blade, the blood

I miss you

[bunlly]

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

David Foster Wallace (via lazypacific)

[indigo-types]

My ears resonate High pitched ringing Bleeding gums Still taste of your name As I desperately pick the feathers Out from between my teeth

[nosebleedclub]

BLOOD PACT is separated into three parts to make loading/scrolling easier. Click on the links below to access each part. 

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE

[indigo-types]

s h a r d s  of the       m   i   r   r   o   r

                                , throat                       , my ‘             , up ‘  inch ‘

uoıʇ ɔǝןɟǝ ɹ  /  pǝ ɹǝ ʇuı ןd s  -  ɐ |||  a -  s pl int er ed  \  r eflec tion

       ᵃ ᵍʰᵒˢᵗ                                                  მ fΓპმκ                                 ᴀɴ ᴇᴍᴘᴛʏ ᴄᴏʀᴘsᴇ

                                                                                    a stranger                   WHO ARE YOU?                             ᶦ ᵈᵒᶰ'ᵗ ᵏᶰᵒʷ

my voice has left me NO not “my” voice                                  it has never been mine                                  not once

and when I should taste words              i only taste b̴̠̘̩̞̝̮̘̄̔̇͂͗͟ͅĺ̨̙͔͉͉͉͇̗̐̀͑͝͠o̷̡̧̢͎̗̙͖͂̇̆̍͛ò̴̧̧̙̲̭̠̣͍͚̒̓́̋̐͌͝ḓ̸̨̝͈̑̔̀̈́̄̀͆̐͢͢ͅ

.

[indigo-types]

Angelic Curse

 I learned to keep my head low don’t look up I know better than to look to the sky don’t react, don’t flinch Better to be blinded by snow don’t turn away Than to wonder, ask why don’t answer, don’t think Your blood in my veins, I knew don’t look back That I would be forever entwined don’t fight, don’t question I learnt too late that angels like you don’t doubt, don’t second guess, don’t feel, don’t confess Can leave only blood and corpses behind

(submitted to the “BLOOD PACT” project by the Nosebleed Club)

[indigo-types]

water clogged memories

how to forget certain scents, certain touches, is a power unknown to me cold feet traversing years of crumbling concrete and soiled linens the click of metal against teeth, her piercings leave indents on my lips i’ll never again taste words like hers, with cold metal punctuation old songs ring through empty halls, old stories, old wounds, still open the taste of her soul still stinging my tongue, forever salting my words,  oh darling nostalgia, lead me home, to loving arms and standstill clocks forever, i promised, and know i did not lie. truly, i’ll love her until she dies.  she suffers my sins, i howl my guilt to the merciless moon, so well deserved she haunts me

[indigo-types]

iii.ii

Dear self, Dear intangible wallflower, Dear bleeding heart, Dear shivering child, Dear pathetic sop, Dear clueless weakling, Dear broken soul, Dear closet dweller, Dear sorrowed prisoner, Dear invisible victim, Dear sheltered cretin, Dear underdog, Dear casualty, Dear hostage, Dear ghost, Dear vagrant, Dear ego, Dear soul, Who are you? Who are you to solicit happiness? Who are you to challenge your origin and fate? Who am I?

[indigo-types]

iii.i

Dear reflection, Dear taxidermy intrusion, Dear mocking mask, Dear soulless jester, Dear hideous monster, Dear nauseating caricature, Dear villainous doppelgänger, Dear personal haunting horror, Dear lying shadow, Dear ruthless jailer, Dear copycat killer, Dear ghost, Dear alien, Dear invader, Dear liar, Who are you? Who are you to stare back from my mirror? Who are you to walk in my shoes, my clothes, my body? Who am I?

[averno-averno]

Roughed up

I am stone-skinned, your words are too soft for my ears; I am deaf.  You are kind and I believe it instantly to be ingenuous.  I have been polished by rivers pushing me under. I no longer believe in a world  where one does not need to gasp for air. 

[restlesseffervescence]

Learning to Read

Squinting over a book

in the backseat of the car

my little brother

silently

sounds out the words.

They do not

flow smoothly for him

yet.

But they will

soon.

But it’s a secret too big to give away

so I just smile

watching his world open up.

[writingsforwinter]

Don't Forget to Remember Love When it Leaves

Mama asks me to define love over dinner like this is a conversation

that can be accomplished in the span of time it takes

to devour a whole roast chicken and greens with red wine

as if her brain isn’t slowly spinning itself away into shards of grey matter

like someone took a knife to Pangaea

and split it into something fragile.

This morning she threw her keys in the fridge, stored the milk in her purse

scrubbed the counter with an orange

and sliced up the washcloth into sections instead.

Maybe this is love as she sees it: forgetting itself is a form of life,

not using objects for their intended purposes

so they can witness the beauty of being something else.

My English professor declares that love is holding his wife’s hand

as she succumbs to cancer, even when he knows full well about the affair,

the homeless man lying on the sidewalk says love isn’t blind

like everyone claims, says even when he lost his sight

he could still see the first woman he ever fell for clear as day.

The doctor proclaims love is telling someone they’re going to live

for one fewer month than they really are

so they’ll get a miracle before everything ends.

And my father?

My father says love is reminding my mother of his name

every morning they wake up together.

[restlesseffervescence]

We like to think we’re safe

within the walls we build

but nature roars outside our doors

winds howling with the pain of dreams unfulfilled.

We can try to shut it out

but it will not be ignored.

We like to assume the earth

is solid beneath our feet

but we forget that layers below

she’s a sea of rock aglow,

molten with heat, bubbling and boiling

like the riot of every soul

waiting for her moment

to blow.