an open book

Enter the library. CAUTION: Content may contain triggers and is unadvisable for persons with a history of self-injury or hatred.

[moltobellissima]

my love

I predicted your death but I didn’t know what it meant. My musings, my heartache, my pain - all of this I felt, mourning your loss before you’d really gone, preparing myself for the reality of absolution. How no one could truly live until you faded away, strokes of once vibrant paint chipping, flaking off with the kiss of each breeze. I miss the beauty of your soul but without your loss, I never would have continued to trudge up this mountain. I find you when I least expect it. I find you in happier ways than we left each other. I find you living in others. It’s not as distinct as you alone but I hope you are happier now. Sometimes, we don’t have enough love, even when we try.

[moltobellissima]

I don’t know what to do. I cannot talk to anyone about you. You’re my deepest secret. Everyone that knows pretends you don’t exist. They pretend you’re a thing of my past, that I’m better now, and that you’re just a distant memory. You are yesterday. You are last year. You are five years ago. You are today. You are tomorrow. 

Every time I take a bite, you rile your angry head. You don’t like being disturbed and you punish me for it. If I tell anyone about you, they, too, punish me. I am stuck here in this endless cycle. I cannot win against you and them. 

I remember the fable - if you try to please everyone, you end up pleasing no one. Well, fuck. I am never happy. They are never happy. Do they even matter? You are never happy. You will never be happy until I am starved thin and just a shadow of my potential. Why cannot I choose me? I want to be happy. I want to eat and smile and not give a fuck about the scale. I want to eat and smile and not count calories or macros or healthy fats or saturated fats. I want to eat and smile and eat pizza without dabbing off the grease first. I want to smile. I want to eat.

I am afraid that at the end of my life, it will be only me and you. No one else can survive while we are at war. Will we ever make peace?

[moltobellissima]

I still hate that you’re gone. Not that I ever expect to not hate it. I hate that every day passes and I think of you and something to tell you and I remember your phone number by heart but I know you won’t pick up. I’ll never forget when I called your phone number, a year after - finally - and heard the operator. You don’t exist anymore. You’re a memory. You’re a memory I love and I wish I could hold but you’re ashes in a box in a wall and it’s been years and it still hurts like yesterday. I keep asking myself, “why did you leave?” but I know it’s not something you intended. I guess I don’t know, but I’m hoping. I don’t think you’d do that. I miss you so much. I wish I had someone or something to be angry at. I don’t. It’s just you. I wish I’d known you’d be gone soon. I would have tried to remember more. To commit every detail to memory. I remember soggy burrito bowls and the cans of Sprite. Things that are inconsequential in the grand scheme but things that were so you. I remember your red drum set and your black bed sheets. I always thought black was an odd choice but it was so you. I hate using past tense when referring to you. You’re so alive in my memory but only in my memory. I hate that you didn’t like to take pictures. I hate that the pictures we took together are lost and deleted because I respected that you didn’t like pictures. I can see the picture in my mind. But I’m scared you’re slipping away. I am so scared to lose you. I am scared that one day I won’t remember your face or your laugh or your smile (rare though it was) or you saying, “No,” when I’m getting a little bit ridiculous. I hate going to your grave because each visit drills deeper in me the awful reality that you are G-O-N-E forever. I’ve always known death will happen and I will welcome it some day, but not now…I don’t welcome it now. I feel betrayed by the promise of youth. I thought we’d have a lifetime. Now, we only have yesterday.

[moltobellissima]

I dreamt you didn't love me. I dreamt I lost you. One day, I opened my eyes and it was true.

[moltobellissima]

The paintbrush vigorously sweeps across the canvas. Paint splatters onto my arms and drips onto my fingers. What am I doing? I pause and stare at the formerly blank space in front of me. There is nothing here. I have done so much but it was meaningless. I paint, I paint, I paint and I search for something true, something alive. I have not found it yet. But, I am closer knowing that I am far away.

[moltobellissima]

I dreamt you didn't love me. You wanted a better life and you couldn't do that with me still dragging you down. I woke with tears streaming down my face, this internal river I never knew I had. My subconscious has caused me so much pain. This is the second dream about losing you this week. My mind is torturing me. I love you and I understand that I will never have you but I am content with what we have now. I am happy to be your friend and nothing more, your rock when you need it, and your savior when the time calls. I am there for you in any capacity you need but my mind is trying to turn me against you. Why? I am reaching the end of my tether. Soon, I will be dangling over the deep crevice to oblivion. I cannot stay together when my seams have been ripped, swiftly without notice, painfully without regret.

[moltobellissima]

I feel all the pain I've ever felt and I don't know what to do.

[quotethat]

Remember yourself as a little girl, she is counting on you to protect her.

Olivia Penpraze (via stay-ocean-minded)

[moltobellissima]

My life - contorted, seamless yet stitched together. My sin is soot that I cannot rinse off. There is no end or beginning. I will always be in this cycle - looking forward, looking back. I try to avoid the same mistakes but the Devil rears his head over and over, never repeating the same disguise. Is there salvation?

[moltobellissima]

Truth

My life is and always will be incomplete. I am someone incapable of actually being and breathing and tasting fresh air. I am a burnt cigarette, smoldering, nearly down to the filter. Tossed from the driver’s side of beat up Buick and quickly flattened by the onslaught of traffic. When life is finished, what does it mean? I did my job, now what happens to me?

I am afraid of the end. I hope the light leaves my eyes swiftly and painlessly. My pristine white body is beaten and bruised.

Dirtied by the filth of doing what I’ve been told and what I thought was right. The world abused me. It used me. Nobody cares, because this is just how it is supposed to be. We are all dispensable. We like to think we are special or that we mean something but we don’t and we never will. The world moves on and we become ash, scattered and forgotten.

[moltobellissima]

[moltobellissima]

Let me lie flat here. I am unraveling at the edges because you carelessly drag your feet, but I am otherwise intact, save for some thin patches where the floor peeks through me.

I have been your rug for five years. From the first day you wiped your shoes on me, I was stuck. I didn't realize how painful and perilous it is to be a rug. I feel as though I am barely holding it together.

You constantly enter and exit and sometimes, you bring along your grimy friends. Your friends whose eyes are black with sin and glittering with greed. I let you step on me and I cannot fight you.

One day I will trip you and your head will hit the concrete. I will have no sympathy.

[moltobellissima]

I’m trying to write but I have absolutely no idea what to write. I feel like people on LSD go crazy because they attempt to approach it intelligently. They try to retain their initial sense of being while also delving deeper into who they really are. The people that “go crazy” so to speak are those that have lost touch with their former selves and can only see what they perceive as the “True” self. The True self is only prevalent in deep, unobstructed moments where one is thinking as purely as one can in the most organic manner. Every thought is relevant to the True self and all thoughts make the True self. 

When people take LSD, they are in search of their true selves. Along the journey, they find many strange things that just don’t seem to be what they expected. These things include wavy visualizations and the feeling of objects “breathing.” This visual pattern represents the organic flow of brain waves from the person under the influence.

People lose themselves here because this where they want to stay. In the True self, everything feels perfect. However, the True self is corrupt in this manner, because it has no capacity for evil. Balance does not exist within the True self. There is no wrong or dark. Everything is innocent. Pure and untouched. The True self is the child that remains nestled deep inside each being.

[moltobellissima]

I want to let the razor blade slice cleanly through my skin, starting at my ankle, running up my calf, my thigh, over my hipbone, across my ribs - paying attention to this straight line - over my shoulder, and up my neck. I stop at my skull. 

I want to see the red line ooze in small bubbles, then I'll wipe it away and watch it all rush out. My blood wants to escape. 

You're crying my name but I can't hear you. I see you through my haze of hatred, glassy eyed with tears falling so fast down your cheeks.

Then, I do it and the world falls silent. I am alone with myself. I see my blood and I am alive. I feel dead, but I know that I am alive.

You are nowhere to be found. I've pushed you behind open doors and slammed them in your face. I locked them. I threw away the key so that you will never find me.

This red line looks so fresh and so bright. As the blood gushes out, it darkens quickly. It flows so well in long tendrils down my side. I need more.

[moltobellissima]

I let you twist inside of me and though my soul is writhing and screaming, my mouth stays shut and I can't do anything but think about you and the pain and everything you've done to me and I've let happen and everything just keeps on going and going and you're still twisting.

Time for a breath.

I close my eyes. I try to clean the slate in my mind. Little chalk powder won't stop clinging like a child to his mother. Mother. Mother. Mother save me.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

You're still twisting but now you are just a dull pain. I am body and mind. Separately. In my head, I fly away. I am by the sea, wading in the water, reaching my hand towards heaven. Our Father.

Breaths are slower, gasping, dying.

Save me. 

[moltobellissima]

 I'm writing things and I'm dreaming. The words and thoughts are spilling out of me and though I want to contain them, I can't. I haven't been this exposed since the day I first met you. That day, when I lost all barriers, all sense of me without you.  I try to keep quiet. I know you want to live and you don't think I will let you live. I cannot live and I'm ashamed of it. You are the pinpoint of my universe. So small, yet everything will collapse without you.    I don't want to feel these things. I've felt them before, long ago, and since then, I've taught myself to stifle feeling and become a stone. I've tried to crush my humanity and my capacity for love and when you were gone, I succeeded. But as you worked your way back into my life, my thick walls to live were flicked down like a thin sheet of paper. There isn't a barrier I can put up to keep you out.    You see me. You know me and you have explored every part of my being. Nothing is a secret from you. I have tried to be someone else, someone that you want me to be. You deny the way I feel about you and because I love you, I try to be anything you want. I think you hate me, sometimes, because though you see that I try, you see through that mask I have erected. I sculpted it so tediously with the intention of getting every detail flawless and seamless so that only I will know. You saw it immediately. The hairline cracks in my exterior that I tried to blend with my painter's brush looked like deep trenches to you. You couldn't miss them.    When the sky turns dark and I shut my eyes from reality, you are there in my dreams. I've never been able to keep you away from here, even when you were absent. My mind loves to think about you, even when you are not around or when I don't think of you consciously. As my body falls into dream state, it dredges up memories pod you and I, against my will, relive us and all the things I try to suppress.    Today, I woke up feeling unrested because my dreams of you turned sour - to nightmares I never want to live. In these involuntary dreams, I lived apart from you, in a different place and you did not think of me. I could see you from behind an electrified fence. So close to see, too far to touch you. I was a memory deep in the recesses of your mind and you were happy now. I was left to a lifetime of torture, left to watch from a distance where trying to reach you led to death. Instead of death, I experienced a lifetime of pain, a living death of sorts.    My dreams keep you alive but my exterior tries to keep you a secret. I want you to live, no matter the cost to me. When you are present in my thoughts, I am so vulnerable and so fragile. My dreams and pen will continue. I will live an alternate life behind closed eyes and write volumes for you. I will keep secret the truth from all but paper. I will never speak truth again because people might hear the pain in my voice and wonder what broke me. I will be silent and I will love you. My secret pain. 

[moltobellissima]

I miss you and I don't even know who you are.