[metamorfaux]

Do I distract myself with insecurities? I think I must...

Therefore the internal failings become just...

This one is illogical. From a time before but yet here I spin in place with a constant vision of that face...

I’ve observed this before outside myself. And I’ve been the reassurance... now I must see the reflection.

This feeling, is why it seems easier to not connect, to discard and disregard.

The insanity of curiosity is more simply defined as obsessive. Why do I do this? What evidence am I trying to find? Am I looking for what I am not? Or what I am?

The lack of self is apparent today. The neediness, the desperation, prevents me from knowing what is real.

The want to disconnect is building with a simultaneous drive to solidify and strengthen the joy that is present.

Why do I want to run away?

[metamorfaux]

An existential dread hangs around... always at the edges, picking at the strings of my thoughts. Plucking away the pleasure of the moment. A cacophony of anxieties...

Your arms gather me up. Calm my swirling whirling. The patterned beat of the core, the hum, the balance...

I am grateful for the peace.

The peace of the piece, of you.

[metamorfaux]

I remember

I remember that time

I made you want to die.

The first time, the second, the third... I stopped counting after that.

I remember the time I “caused” your body to malfunction

And you told all the attendees of my horrid ways.

And how it was my fault, that you suffer.

I remember the time...

The times

That you didn’t want to hear me.

My words were too much, too deep, too real

I remember the impatience, the tolerance of time

Until, Sssssh Larissa. You’re too much.

The disdain that is thick

Was so apparent today.

I’m glad I showed you that I return it.

I want to forgive myself

For choosing it for so long.

And I wonder and surmise

Can I not let go?

Because there are shades again?

Being triggered, is not the fault of someone else

And today, I triggered myself.

Twice now.

It has been inferred that somehow, I exacerbate this current “condition”

Do you need thrice, Larissa?

Flags are waving, but it’s silent on the front.

Because sssssh Larissa, you’re too much.

Just laugh. Don’t look. Don’t listen. Just adapt.

Be that thing, you adaptable creature. Adjust to someone else’s ideal.

Ssssh. Just pretend.

Nobody is listening. Not really.

Nobody sees this.

But me.

But do I?

Will I change?

[metamorfaux]

What the fuck

Why

It is tearing out my heart.

Why...

[metamorfaux]

I don’t know

That flow

It goes how it goes.

Fuck you

It’s an intention that queues

Come to me.

You’re all the things.

I want them.

I want you.

All of you.

It destroys me.

[metamorfaux]

boom moon

Spin or swing

Tell me a thing

Silence tells

Step around

Oh...so... tippy...tricky...

Guts are chattering

Banging around

Listen to that sound.

Watch it go and

See it fly

Right on by...

Won’t miss a thing.

Ain’t no thing

Even if it stings.

[metamorfaux]

You will only get a minute or two.

[metamorfaux]

You make me angry.

You with your genuine professions.

I hate it.

I disbelieve it

But that damn seed.

Nurtured, growing...

Blow it up.

It’s not real.

Stop making me laugh

Stop giving me that ease.

I hate you.

I love you...that whisper, the I love you. No!

Get away.

All that I want, and reject.

You’re a liar. It’s not real...

Wrong name, wrong job, wrong everything.

But that feel.

Fuck off.

That’s regulated to the never evers.

Why do you have to be a possibility?

I’m used to being wrong.

What If this isn’t that?

I want to rip you.

And not.

I want to take care, cherish, heal...

It’s too easy.

[zodiacsociety]

👉 birthchart calculator

[metamorfaux]

Bullshit. I’m all bullshit

[metamorfaux]

Stab that.

Numb it.

The need to escape...

You can never be fully comfortable here

Restrictive flesh prisons

Grasping for transedence.

[10oclockdot]

Notable horrifying faces in art, 10 images, featuring:

Joel-Peter Witkin, Mother and Child, New Mexico, 1979 Dana Schutz, Face Eater, 2004 Fabien Claude, Portrait, 2005-06 Francis Bacon, Head VI, 1949 Cindy Sherman, Untitled, 1989 Genieve Figgis, Lady in fur, 2013 AA Bronson, Felix, June 5, 1994, 1994 [taken just hours after death] Wangechi Mutu, Ectopic Pregnancy, 2004 Erwin Blumenfeld, Hitler’s Ugly Mug, 1933 Salvador Dali, The Visage of War, 1940

[extramadness]

“You want my opinion? We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness — and call it love — true love.”

— Robert Fulghum (via quotemadness)

[metamorfaux]

Juxtaposition

The tears

The laughter

The conversation

All three, the same, but juxtaposed...

A déjà vu. Legitimately...

That dialation, the fumbling, the speechlessness... genuine in it. So endearing.

I can feel that innate tenderness, the vulnerability. The undercurrent of understanding.

I am hardened. Suspicious.

I am clearer. I see it now. For what it was. Is. It’s sickens. My choice, sickens, because I was ill in it.

Creepy crawly, sticky icky.

This won’t be that. I can’t attend to it again.

Lay back, energies supine, receptive, to whatever it’s supposed to be.

It’s a sweet taste, you leave behind. Balancing the bitterness I know so well.

I want to sample more.

I look forward to knowing you.

Again and again and again...

[extramadness]

[extramadness]

[metamorfaux]