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Today's Document
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Mike Driver
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cherry valley forever
Love Begins
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
The Stonewall Inn
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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Andulka
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@lingering-words
I am enough. Maybe sometimes I have to remind myself, and I have to scream it into my pillow. I have to force it down my throat and swallow back the vomit that my loathsome self fights back with… But I am enough. I may not ever be better than that but I sure as hell will never be less, and that is enough for me.
(via moonstone-crescent)
Living is a challenge that I readily accept every morning. To fight these voices that control me is my only option, for death means a cheap escape to a lonely place, a place much lonelier than here. So cut the lines and set me free, these thoughts won’t drown me.
I'm so stupid like that, I do everything so hastily and whole heartily, so determined and strong that I am never quite certain that I am present in the decision. I'm a dreamer, and I can dream a whole life from one interaction. I immerse myself in this unfounded life and I am completely and utterly lost upon returning to reality. I cannot comprehend or grasp the fact that my dreams are not my life. That it's all in my head. I think that makes me crazy.
That has always been the underlying problem about myself, I have always clung so tightly to any pierce of love that I have ever received that it would eventually suffocate and die. Feeling like someone may love me sent me into a state of panic, where my mind dwelled in chaotic thoughts and my heart constantly worried about the outcome. I subconsciously choose one of two options: to let the love in and be absolutely and pathetically consumed in it, drowning in it. Or, to build a fortress to which absolutely nothing could penetrate, nil, blank... Numb. Feeling absolutely nothing and empty. And honestly, till this day, I cannot tell you which is more detrimental. I do not know which one has hurt me more.
can i be your cigarette
so you can pull me out of a black dark box
so you can light me up when i’m cold
so you can keep me on your lips
so you can inhale me even though you know how toxic i am
but you don’t really care cause you love that feeling in your lungs
Oh Lover
'Oh lover,' I heard my heart pine. 'Oh lover, lover come back to me' and right in that moment I felt a deep sense of regret for the unlovable person I had allowed myself to become. I had done it in order to cope - a mechanism to protect my vulnerability - yet all it had done was cage myself... and I felt ever so miserable. I did not laugh anymore, did not smile, did not dream, did not love... anymore. I was out, out of love and ultimately, out of life. I felt a pang of guilt; for I could not promise my poor heart that this drought would end. I feared it would only get worse; drying up my heart, then slowly draining my veins and piercing a hole in my lungs, killing me.
I felt the pressure of the soil against my dead body, giving me more comfort than I had ever felt above the surface.I felt loved by the flowers and I knew I had never been loved by a human. Reasonable as I was, I have always been ambitious; and maybe my beauty never seeped onto my skin, and you did not get lost in my eyes. One was never be mesmerised by my legs... yet deep within was a secret garden. Well tended it was, and incredibly beautiful. Somewhere that you would desire to spend every day of your life inhabiting. Who had come searching though? No one. Whilst I knew too well that my garden had gone misused, I did try to often to forget.
My beautiful heart, withered too young. And me? Well, I spent the mornings in my garden, my soul, the evenings? Well they were spent in my mind, my constant prison, my personal hell. Each day, as I was deprived more and more of love... my garden fell ill and it didn't seem to matter much where I spent my time. Dead, alive - heaven, hell, it all became the same to me.
And you missed it didn't you? That true contentment in your heart. That feeling that everything will be okay and everything is again okay. Of being lost and being found, of being buried and now unearthed, breathing air when you've resisted so long. There is no heaviness in your heart, no weight of the 'what if' everything is coloured, alive and real. And you know it might not last, don't you? You're almost counting on it ending. That thought of falling into a slumber, waking up to that horrible emptiness once more. But my dear, it's not a dream anymore. This is not the fantasy you live in your head, this is real life. The truth does rein here; and the progression of this story moves with the realities of life, the constant assurance of unpredictability. It may, it may not... Ah, but maybe it will.
I wish I wrote the way I thought; Obsessively, Incessantly, With maddening hunger. I’d write to the point of suffocation. I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns, Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing. And I’d write about you a lot more than I should.
Benedict Smith, I Wish I Wrote The Way I Thought (via fuckingcamilla)
(x)
[intro] Welcome to my generation, the boys and girls with crimson red wrists; and necklaces of woven rope. In an effort to be ‘normal’ to fit in to be loved we destroy the foundation for a future a future who does not care for who you were at age 16
[depression] Welcome to my...
I always wonder if I was dead, what you would do? Would you read the letters I wrote you and weep about the words I never told you. Would you place a flower on my grave and whisper that you loved me. Or would you not care at all? Hear the word of my death in passing, give a small frown and a slight smile for the times we had? Would you go on living your life forgetting I ever existed. Or would it haunt your sleep, making you wish you had never wasted single second of our time. Regretting that you did.
I sat there and I remembered how you had once loved me; how you had sat beside me in silence and ran your fingers down my spine. You don’t do that anymore, you probably never will again; because you don’t know me and you pretend that you never did. But I loved you; and even though you act like...
A lingering pair of Farrier's
Fire and water, a pair of complete opposites. Two individual entities that both belong to a group of elements, both contradicting and trying each other each day. Just like my pair of Farrier's, being nothing alike apart from the fact that they shared a last name and most importantly, that I loved them. One being for the fact that he was nothing like me, that he made me feel daring and adventurous; that no matter how hard I tried; I knew he would never really love me back. The second being that he made me feel so comfortable in my own skin, that he allowed me to feel worthy of inhabiting the earth, that I felt safe and at home inside his arms.
Knowing myself quite well, having the advantage of knowing all my flaws and attributes, I am quite aware of my nature to romanticise memories quite differently to how they were first perceived. Things that once made me cry now make me smile, things that once broke my heart seem to warm it, and the feeling of wanting to escape soon turned into one of wanting back in. For years it has killed me from the inside out, for I cant seem to walk away from my past. I like to dwell in it all day; and soon those days turned into weeks, which turned into months and slowly; without me even knowing; years went by. Years in which people were forming and creating lives and I was stuck, stuck in a past that didn't want me and entrapped in a memory that seemed so determined to resist my possession any further.
I blame myself mostly, for those ignorant enough to believe in forever are those who suffer the most. Those who dream up eternal life and imagine themselves old and grey are the biggest fools of all. Life is not something that is promised to the human race it is something that is given; forever is very much contradicting of life as it is something that seems to be promised too often but is ever so rarely given. For; forever is one of the cruelest words known to the English speaking language, it is a word that evokes hope and envisions future. However if this promised eternity is short lived, those who so heartedly counted on it are left to dwell in the nothingness that is reality. They are left with the present, which although seconds away from the future is centuries from forever. To promise a forever is cruel and worse yet, to believe in one is pure stupidity.
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Vines do intertwine around my spine Flowers do bloom within my bones Birds set perch upon my rib cage Butterfly's flutter freely throughout me Beauty lies under my skin It is always found deep within With wrinkled skin With silver whiskered hair What matters always grows within
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The fact that you never loved me, why I think it made me love you more.
