умирам

chelle guaranteed to blow your mind

[occult6666]

suicide fantasies

bullet to my temple, i douse the ceiling crimson gore. with liqueur as my witness, and cell death my whistleblower, two decades of rot are visible once more.

but a few souls affected, such a hefty price to pay. unless my crimes fit the sentence, then none of their lives will be left in disarray.

the first bouquet i receive will be left on my grave. tears shed by a mother, who once told me about her own crave of solitude and decay.

[imposer]

via weheartit

[soporificsedatives-deactivated2]

Georges Bataille, Guilty (tr. Bruce Boone)

[occult6666]

reflections or delusions

too easy it is to cloak your intentions, when i wear rose-tinted glasses; yearning for love, a childhood nostalgia that was never mine.

they say girls marry their fathers, and when he wraps his hands around my neck, he reminds me of my own. maybe if he breaks me, he will feel better. my therapist claims that i am to broken people what moths are to a flame. i tell her that moonlight glistens on shattered glass as i let him hammer me whole and crumble to pieces.

present to me the truth, or pretty daft words, it does not matter. i will spin it into a thread and embroider the landscape i desire.

[occult6666]

i’m not ready

i am not a person, but the sum of all of the things they wanted me to be. lifeless and beautiful, like pressed wildflowers, fierce enough to teach them about themselves, but never fierce enough to leave.

they say they love me, yet the devotion they show is for my body. i crafted it for each one of them, it does not belong to me anymore. i think of it as an amalgamation of their favorite parts of me: blue eyes, soft skin, long legs, and as one so poetically put: tight pussy.

i say it back, i love you, and we both know we don’t mean it. but somewhere along the way, they convinced me i am undeserving of unconditional love, so instead, i accept the transactional one they offer.

the more deals that are settled, the less of a person i become. i look in the mirror, and it is not myself i see staring back at me, but all of the men with affections so great, that they could change everything in the world for me, with an exception of themselves.

[occult6666]

time

time is finite.

yet, if it was not, i would learn not to quiver under your touch, seek answers hidden in the pace of your breathing or for how long your eyes linger on my face; whether they soften, or widen upon a realization of your mistake - holding me.

if time was not finite, i would create a way to lend you my eyes, only so you can see yourself through them and chase your insecurities away. or my hands, for you to feel the warmth of your skin and know for certain you are not a corpse, but breathing and alive. or my heart, for you to feel how it swells when you giggle or pull me in closer, a deluded fantasy that i make you as happy as you make me.

perhaps i would get rid of the urge to paint myself your favorite color so then i know you find me beautiful. or undressing would, with time, not feel like i am undoing the walls i’ve built around my heart brick by brick. 

if time was not finite, i would learn to unlock the door and give you a key. and with time, you might also let me in through your door, confident that all i intend to carry in is flowers - soft, fragile and beautiful.

i hope time really is not finite.

[heavensghost]

[joghourt-deactivated20181218]