really busy with work atm (even missed yesterday) but here’s a super quick day 4 of escapril!

JVL
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styofa doing anything
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
AnasAbdin

izzy's playlists!
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almost home
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

Andulka

PR's Tumblrdome
ojovivo
dirt enthusiast

titsay
Today's Document
i don't do bad sauce passes
YOU ARE THE REASON

if i look back, i am lost
RMH

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@lessdepth
really busy with work atm (even missed yesterday) but here’s a super quick day 4 of escapril!
my take on day 2 of escapril: make sure to always google your symptoms!
day one of escapril is finally here!!!
it’s officially escapril again!!! let’s fucking go gang!!!!
»I’m not sure if I’m ripening or rotting« (am I pathetic for being lost?)
lyrics from Chloe Slater’s new song 24 hours which I’ve been obsessed with recently (click for better quality!)
so no easy salvation???
alt text under the cut
somewhat of a stream of consciousness thing to get me back into putting things out (full text under the cut)
(click for better quality!)
AND I CAN GO ANYWHERE I WANT, ANYWHERE I WANT, JUST NOT HOME
(idc what anyone says these lyrics hit)
(click image for better quality!)
text reads:
Are we doomed? Are we doomed? Are we doomed? All / my questions come back to this one. / Please kiss me one more time. Hold me. Kiss me. / Hold-Kiss. All I ask for also circles back to this. / I know it’s late. Again. Again. And again-again-again. / Me. Before and after and still me, here. Me. Asking. / Tell me. / Indulge the tedious repetition of your lover’s pleas / tonight. We’ll tackle yours in the morning.
some sort of love (poem)
neither of us acknowledging what's beating fast & bloody inside of me / no one pointing out the ugly splatter on the walls / one tender story no gory bits / no reminders of the guts churning ominously / stomaching the look in my eyes / blue green yellow anything / a tender bruise / but don't mention the red undercurrent / be silent / stop / sharpening my teeth on grand declarations / knocking into some idea of love that makes the old / marks well up / duller promises, please, to lull me in / don't say anything with teeth to it, nothing fleshed / out / I’ll just bite back & won't let go / again
radio
static on the radio for days / channels bleak & squeaky like an empty chip bag / no news to break our silence / open my mouth & more static comes out / the radio’s been broken for days already but try again will you / who’s been driving / dog barks mad at the noise / I cannot stop buzzing / you left last month & you wanted that dog / walked off after you got too buzzed to drive / please I’ll change the channel fix the radio turn it off / anything / at least feed the dog
another part from HOLY
you once told me you believed in evil, the real kind, / the old ways and tales, looking at me, your Old / Testament muse. / let's just say I wanted to give you one last thing / before it all comes crashing down. I built a chapel / for us to sacrifice your demons in and you laid me / bare on the altar. / fine. / blood to blood. your hands or mine, they all end up / around my throat sooner or later.
part of a longer piece called HOLY
re-opening the old scars to shape them in each / other’s image — no mark on my body not created by / your divine mouth or hands — later, tending to our / wounds as though gauze could make us whole / again. like enough white will turn this old body bag / into a chasuble. it’s a poor substitute for absolution, / your touch salvation nonetheless. / I want your hands in my hurts and my teeth around / your heart. swallow my pain; I don’t care what else / you take with you.
devouring wounds etc
for day 11 of escapril: SPACE BETWEEN
between here & now & then & when did you stop believing in fairytales &
what will happen now?
was it when the space between the magic in them and the beige of your bedroom walls
parents shouting next door
became too large to build a bridge across? cliché.
you right next to everyone else in this semi-circle afraid to open the study door and ask to have their childish needs met, the bruises a nuisance, the tears a disruption, the punishment an inevitability. unoriginal.
get some new material.
time for another story.
what else could happen in that house, that bedroom, to that child?
no, not that
you’ve still not gone to space either, still cannot read between the lines to save your life. back to the beige bedroom
never left.
what happens once you run out of material for your life?
stories end. children safely tucked in, book closed & put away. perhaps another day, some space between the pages.
incredibly behind on escapril and kinda out of it atm but here’s something short I wrote for day 10: DRUG OF CHOICE:
brother / eat glass / bleed / wake the sky / live less & / lie there in decay / dying of old desires unfulfilled
some kind of truism/collage for day 6 of escapril: IF I TOLD YOU, YOU’D GO MAD
even endless / possibilities / cannot make / up for your / limited / abilities