Mountain Cats Will Come To Drag Away The Bones

she/her. bi. 30s. lean mean champagne drinking machine.

[oddbatss]

👻

because my theme went wonky, here’s a link to my tagged original content/original posts 

& here is where i’m living mentally most of the time

[oddbatss]

Maybe she’s born with it; maybe it’s the bisexual lighting of the bathroom

[ravenclairee]

DAREDEVIL — 2.05 “Kinbaku”

[moss-777]

dream of freedom, ivana źivić, oil on canvas

[heavensghost]

sorry for acting batshit crazy I was feeling a little unwanted

[vintage-tigre]

“But maybe that’s the point…”

[centre-cannot-hold]

Louisiana Cypress Swamps

Bill Swindaman Photography

[everythingstarstuff]

Andreea Dumuta

[sammy-bryant]

tryquinn Someone call a doctor. We have an armergency.

[sillysymphonys]

Silly Symphony - King Neptune directed by Burt Gillett, 1932

[spectralwanderer]

This is me. Just a stressed out bi boy who needs an outlet but loves what he loves, but wants to be seen, and also wants everything in between. Does that make sense? No?? Agreed.

[goth-queen]

[mmleepmlorp]

My five year plan is to just see what happens

[grincholass]

I don’t have rizz I’m just nice and weird

[oddbatss]

*

on a night i had a home but couldn't find home, i walked the halls of the Driskill hotel looking for ghosts in the mirrors & the reflections in cocktail glasses but only found myself

i was my own haunting; my own dilapidated house that i couldn't escape. every door lead to a closed hallway, every window i jumped from landed me on the basement floor

the hotel guests, both living and dead, seemed to notice the 'no vacancy' sign lit up behind my eyes--indicating no space, there's no comfort to be held inside this framework

instead i sank into the depths of a cowhide sofa; i kicked my shoes off, tucked my bare feet under my legs & felt guilty when i sat my sweating coupe glass on the real wooden side table. it felt like a tiny act of violence, and the room responded by irritating my skin against the cow hair covered cushion

[oddbatss]

*

What do you take off when no one’s looking?

Is it your skin? Your hair? Do you retreat out of the bones your mother gave you and hide in a dark forest?

I lean on Camille, my accidental best friend. A fictional shadow of myself that holds me tight and reveals the darkness and softness that I both long for and try to ignore.

The Anatomy of Self Destruction.

I turn the phrase over in my head a few times, trying to visualize and digest the options and their meanings.

Is my destruction small and familiar? Is it starving myself to feel both less and more, like I did as a teenager? Does disappearing parts of my body make me holy, or just full of holes? Will my suffering make feeling love for me an insatiable craving?

Is it knocking my shins, knees, and forearms against the floor or door frames so I can produce the deep purple bruising that's been a comfort to me in the past?

Do I take up smoking, now, in my late 30s?

[oddbatss]

i’m getting greedy with this private hell, i’ll go it alone but that’s just as well

[oddbatss]

happy dylan thomas day to all the poets out there