M4N1C_M3RM41D

Mentally I’m a mermaid 18

[m4n1c-m3rm41d]

I sit on the cold bathroom floor, where you stand over me like a god.

Your skin grazes mine ever so gently despite your intent.

Your gaze roams my body whole, bare and vulnerable in front of you.

The undone and uncut version of me.

The way you touch me feels like a prayer but the way your hand tangles in my hair feels like you see me as nothing but a sin.

You bite and claw like I’m the last thing in this world you want to hold.

But the way you feel me is like something more than love, and you treat me as something untainted.

You make me cry in the most depraved and ungodly ways.

And I’m usually good with words but you dumb me down to incoherence.

And after, you leave me on this cold bathroom floor, im stuck with the thought of how I could be so impure.

[magicdragonnamedpuff]

"Man, this edible ain't shi-"

[m4n1c-m3rm41d]

We sit under the lamppost, it’s the only light around.

The moon peaks in fragments past the clouds and I watch you pick a cigarette off the ground.

You place it to your lips not minding where it’s been.

Because right now it’s just you and me.

You light it. Inhale, exhale. The usual rhythm.

And your lips part hesitantly.

I can feel the weight of your words before they reach me.

Your voice breaks, spilling from your shaking body.

You tell me about your mother, how you sobbed on your knees on her kitchen floor.

How you confessed to her everything you’d done to yourself, how you’d butchered your body, how you’d pleaded for it to stop.

How she cried too.

The light from the lamppost reflects off the tears that begged to fall. And I look at you.

You don’t mention your father, you don’t need to. You are your father’s child. And that’s what your mother hates about you.

[nbabybellsource]

13 years of Ode To Dawn Wiener: Embarrassing Love Songs ꨄ︎

[luh4en]

[m4n1c-m3rm41d]

Carnal conversations where you try to keep your tongue behind your lips, like my heart isn’t racing for it.

Stuck in this same temperament, it’s violent, heated, sacred in ways I can’t placate.

Speaking in tongues between my thighs, pretending i understand it, translate it, try to say it.

Cannibalistic urges played out in real time.

Try to justify the corruption on your fingers,

As it drips down your hands onto the earth—as if the gravitational pull knows anything about how this feels.

How we feel combined.

-Idk if I’m done with this yet but I haven’t posted in a sec

[frankie-teardropppp]

Katie Jane Garside

[clickrtrained-deactivated202512]

an alarming number of you have forgotten that girls rule and boys drool

[zinesbycee]

i love sluts i love perverts i love dykes i love faggots i love aromantics i love freaks i love librarians i love ibuprofen

[m4n1c-m3rm41d]

She is paralian and words drip from her lips like sea tainted spit.

Her veins spill out in blue, bursting out like they were waiting for the current.

Her touch is rough and hot, in the same way that sand gets caught in the wind and scratches your skin.

She tastes like salt and feels like drowning, but despite it all she looks calm.

And waves always look lovely until you’re underneath them.

[pnglove]

[jeante13]

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[leafdoggy]

I'm thinking about it, and like.

The floor is where we stand. We kinda take it for granted but without it we'd just be fucked, we couldn't get anywhere, we'd just be stuck on tables and shit.

So honestly?

It's really fucked up to make it lava.

[m4n1c-m3rm41d]

Do they know? Do they know the way you kneel? gravel digging into skin in your desperation. Temptation as a leading cause to your begging. Aftercare an afterthought of your deprivation. Unwanted attention, your affection is just affliction. You gurgle and boil with selfish desire and let the guilt of it build up as bile in the back of your throat. Get it out. You’re not just sick, you are disease.

[theweight]

i cld never shave bush not just bc im morally opposed to it but also bc what would i play with when im lying in bed thinking…a bush is the beard of the modern day philosopher

[rocknrollangelsblog]

[m4n1c-m3rm41d]

To love is to die, and death has stopped by my place very many times, it’s knocked on my front door and waited patiently to be let in, and I oblige, accept that death is here, I open the door and step aside, allow her to enter. She doesn’t do much, she sits at my table and doesn’t speak, I sit across from her, watching, waiting. But all she does is sip on her tea, then she leaves, and she doesn’t say goodbye, she doesn’t say anything at all. I am still here, I am alive, and my heart still beats, full of love and acceptance. Maybe to love isn’t to die, maybe death comes to check on me from time to time, to see if my love will overwhelm me, to see when I’ll stop opening my door for her.