The Hardest thing is Rebuilding

fic writer on Ao3 Fire_and_Starlight

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

Just deleted youtube and reddit. I feel like they were cooking my brain.

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

What if.

It becomes clear the us is entering an era of unprecedented govenrnymebt debt

This debt pile makes a future debt spiral inevitable

Credit lenders downgrade US credit rating

US is unable to borrow money to keep the government working

The whole fucking thing falls apart

The trump administration takes such a massive L they take down transphobia and racism with them.

All is well in the world. Except of course for the climate crisis, ongoing global genocides, the 5 headwinds economic crisis, global population collapse, phone addiction, mass incarceration, ongoing global conflict, state led violence against minorities, police brutality and the pollution crisis

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

My new ship obsession

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

So in time the man went into the valleys and the hills and he came upon a clearing in the forest. Inside this clearing was a baby on an altar of dark stone. 

A sacrifice. It  was made wrong. Sacrificed inside ritual circles of standing stones on the dark altars. Left to the Ravens, the Crows of the Morrigan. The ritual sacrifice was for two things. To sanctify the violence, and to seperate it from the community.

Death and deformation, sick things are left to rot on an altar and picked apart by crows, but it was a sacred altar and thusly sacred violence. It bound up the dark feelings and urges of the traumas of everyday life and put them in a magic circle.

The horror is and was mystified and abstracted through doctrine and rituals, recasting the darkness as an ordinary cog in the grand scheme of the universe- be It Karma or the Christian Gods last judement. Or the glorrious halls of the threefold goddess of Corvids who pick apart your dead on a ritual altar that functions as an observatory for tracking the passsage of time believed important to the spirits of the deacesed.

This was life. This ritual savagery. A dark time. There are two kinds of human in this world. Those who feel the full force of visceral empathy still. Those who feel sorrow at every glancing blow they witness. Gasp and cry at another's tears. 

Then there are those who are suppressed completely, could kill a baby so they could sleep well at night, drown them in a toilet.

Most people drift between these extremes. Flying further and further towards empathy death as they experience the traumas of the world. Its the cycles of violence, the cycles of violence. They were thrust on you and you will thrust them on your spawn as you were thrust uptown by thousts forebears. This is the shape of the wheel

Break the wheel. Reject the call of the raven. Choose love and therapy. choose work and direct action. Choose hope.

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

The tragedy of the Former gifted kid

A creative mind can spin endless yarns, of glories past, days gone by or riches round the bend. The lull of the Story can lead blindly on, to an inglorious end.  For a dreamer can rest sound upon, a stale couch or alleyway bin, so in order to reach the finer things one must safely win. The one thing one must possess is genuine conviction. It is often a contradiction by the opium of the dopamine and thus not getting shit done. No one has Ambition any more; not one.

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

Crescent Prayer

WE rest. Flying crescent shaped: arms, ankles and hands clasped. Thrust upward towards the sky. A prayer of devot devotion to release onself of negative thought. To purge the darkness of anxiety and lighten ones soul. 

INCANT:: Cresent Moon, Little spoon. Come and illu-uminate resesitate, de-agitate, clear the dark, Light and stark. Meditate Cleanse the slate, sight in faith. does bright ignite The darkmoonlight.

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61993123/chapters/158530561

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

He paints me in Red lines of agony,

I don't care, deep Drowning in ecstasy

Feels so good when he's being bad for me

In Suspension, I’m flying next ta free

lashing, the Pain heightening my pleasure

Aches of strikes long past sink to the bone

On the edge, held by your perfect measure

speaking love I am yours and yours alone

We go deeper faster harder longer

I gasp, catching your roving bliss filled eyes

Reflected in them, I’m such a goner

A Callous hand clamps down, stifling my cries

Now spent, clenching the last of the aches

released, Holding, loving, we're not mistakes

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

[myexdestroyedthelastone]

I made this poem and blazed it on my first tumblr account. I was really proud of it. My ex logged in and deleted that entire account and all of its blogs I had a cursed artifacts blog. A witch blog where I posted an anti acne spell. So much fucking poetry. And original memes and it really sucks that he deleted my account and it could’nt be reverted