Notes From My Underground

Just a collection of things I think about. 27 || Any pronouns || INTJ

[nixscriptum]

less of a poem, more of a reminder. ( ఌ )

[mahoganyamore]

i look for you everywhere i go

[mahoganyamore]

love me until i love myself

[notesofmyunderground]

09.07.26

I shattered my coffee pot. The same coffee pot that he gave me for a Christmas gift, nearly eight years ago.

They say not to cry over spilled milk, but crying over the coffee I won't get to have tomorrow thanks to him should be fine...

Right?

[notesofmyunderground]

07.07.26

Love always disappears.

[undertheinfluencex1]

i crave connection but also silence and zero human interaction

[notesofmyunderground]

29.05.26

Oh, Disappointment…

I revere thee, and welcome you back through the door the same way I would an old friend, a sad and tired smile on my face that matches the sighed words “please, come in.”

I sit across from you, Disappointment, with a steaming cup of black coffee, a misshapen overpoured ring of liquid underneath and staining the pristine white tablecloth — much like your imprint on my life.

I can see a stream of toxic, green gas leaving your lips as you tell me about the life I have missed since your last visit. It taints the air I breathe and suffocates me while you ramble about partners who never met your expectations, friends who were never there, family that continues to let you down. I can barely keep track of every encounter as you spew details beyond my imagination and drift off, staring at the dark ring drying into my tablecloth.

How many tablecloths will I have changed by now? Countless visits, hour-long conversations, each of them resulting in an immovable, stubborn stain on my life. You’re very convincing, Disappointment, when you tell me to replace the tablecloth that has been stained by your dropping in, to exchange it for a new one so I can stop thinking of the old. I won’t have to spend hours scrubbing the stain from the fabric, only for it to remain a kind of pukish yellow colour no matter my efforts.

But I rather like my tablecloth. There are beautiful adornments sewed into the thread, beads that sparkle in the sunlight, lace that traces a path through the middle. I wonder to myself, if after Disappointment leaves this time, what might happen if I decide to keep the tablecloth. Maybe this time the fabric will run clear?

[academia-lucifer]

@academia-lucifer

[threeamserif]

instagram | photos are my own, reblogs fine, do not repost/reuse

[threeamserif]

instagram | photos are my own, reblogs fine, do not repost/reuse

[bitesizedpoetry]

Sylvia Plath, aged 25, from "The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath" (dated March 10, 1958)

[threeamserif]

instagram | photos are my own, reblogs fine, do not repost/reuse

[threeamserif]

instagram | photos are my own, reblogs fine, do not repost/reuse

[letsswaytogether]

“I have so much to say to you that l am afraid I shall tell you nothing.”

Fyodor Dostoevsky

[8nin]

It sucks that you have to keep yourself busy to feel okay.

[notesofmyunderground]

13.05.2026

Tell me every awful thing you have ever thought of me. It may justify these wretched feelings. It may confirm my loneliness. It may prove my lack of worth.

Confess them to me, as if I were your God. Say them with shame burning a hole into your stomach; with bile rising into your throat; and guilt crawling under your skin. Do not stop until every vile insult and twisted word has left your chapped lips.

Say what you think of me, truly, in the deepest parts of your blackened heart. Look the reflection in the eyes and spit verity against the glass. Believe it.

Because that is who you are — and I am one with them.

[fudamnshi]

”time heals all wounds” WRONG. it merely allows for infection.. it is Too late for me