Bohemian

to be reborn, you have to die first 

[poetofthesword]

VOL II: Entry Two [Consumption of Delusion?]

I am consumed by a presence that tears and wrecks me. He follows me in every waking moment and every evening's dream. He is unescapable and dreading, yet the yearning I feel when I am reminded of his presence over and over again doesn't frighten me in the way that I believe it must.

How to control feelings that cannot be felt?

I consume, consume, consume. Every image, every connection, every comment, every like, every follow, I am understanding and developing a plan of manipulation in my mind on how to seize the opportunity to know him. To be near him. For any excuse to speak of him or connect him to the conservation. I fear it has become obvious to those who know me well. I fear it might be obvious to him in which case I am nothing better than a ragging junkie who's addicted to nothing else but him .

I hate it. I hate him.

I hate the way he made me feel the first time I saw him and his smile echoed in the silence that my mind became in that moment. The mystery of not knowing him immediately only increased the delusion that his presence brought about. I was able to create a character in my head, like I have done with so many boys before.

I hate that I want him

I hate my awareness that I shouldn't.

I hate that I want to be a good person.

I hate that I am person with consequences

I hate that this is eating my heart alive.

-F.E Bohemian

[poetofthesword]

Confessions from Catholic School vol i

Throughout my school years I was forced to endure the temptations of Catholic School. I could have picked a public high school, in hindsight it probably would have been the more sane path for my psyche. I wouldn't have this unbearable guilt that sits on my chest when I avoid the topic of God and prayer with my father. I wouldn't feel an unmeasurable sense of dread with the internal monologues of attempted convincing that all there is after death is dirt and closure. There's no pearly gates. There's no second life. There's nothing to worry about.

Yet, I find myself being drawn towards the towering cathedrals on campus and the sentiments held within. I can't help but romanticize my memory of mass or the way communion feels in my mouth. I can't help but yearn for what I know I will never believe in again.

My soul sits heavy with the fact that I don't know if I will ever believe in someone so heavily as the sins taken on by one man who suffered so that one day, when I came into being, I would be able to enter into a new plain of existence, greater than I could ever possibly understand. How do you move on from such burdens of faith with no real sight to when or how it can end?

-F.E Bohemian

[poetofthesword]

VOL II: Entry One [Deserving Melancholoy]

I've been in love with the same boy for two years now. At least I think I have. Our Anniversary is at the end of the month, yet, rather than feel a overturn of splendor for a man who I would rather call a boy - but dare never to admit such to his face - I feel tense and dim. Do I still love him? Have I ever loved him? Or has this episodic romance of my youth arrived at its end, bitter and tasteless. It stings, freezing, and unyelding to everything I have told myself to girl friends over the years.

"I would never stay in a relationship if I ever second guessed it"

"I date to marry. I don't mess around with a relationship"

"If I'm not feeling it, it's over"

How naive I was. Or is it my present self that is the naive one? I hold on to his heart hoping and pleading with the universe that all will sort itself out in the end. I will get better. Then we will get better. I need to figure this out for I cannot imagine a more understanding mind that is as gentle with my wretched soul. No one loves me like he does. No one will ever love me like he does. No one laughs like he does. No one will make me laugh like he does. No one smiles, or talks, or sings or fucks like he does. And no one will do such to me either.

I know it in my heart and soul that this is good. Great even. Still, a voice - the one that has not quieted since the sky turned grey and the firs brisk wind of the season hit - looms over me, whispering seductively of more.

Angels and Devils fight on my shoulders. Heart and Mind. Emotion and Logic. I am in a constant uphill battle with myself. Yet, I stand to myself true in the belief that this is what marriage becomes. Perhaps, we have skipped the awkward niceties and went directly to the part where we are beyond comfort with one another.

Perhaps this is true Love after all?

[weltonboys]

slaughter-house five - kurt vonnegut / orpheus and eurydice - catharine adelaide sparkes / user sawasawako / orpheus mourning the death of eurydice - ary scheffer / metamorphoses - ovid / orpheus and euridice - enrico scuri / talk - hozier / orpheus and eurydice - michel martin drolling

[eccellenze-italiane]

Reggia di Caserta 

[ashstfu]

girls don’t have a dream job, they just want a coffee shop which is also a flower shop and a bookshop combined

[tragedyfetishist]

I am about to become so annoying and God will have to fight me himself.

[poetofthesword]

some of my favourite dark academia drinks

⦁ English Breakfast Tea

⦁ Scottish Breakfast Tea

⦁ Earl Grey

⦁ Chamomile

⦁ Chai

⦁ Herbal Teas

⦁ Green Tea

⦁ Black Tea

⦁ Dalgona Coffee

⦁ Black Coffee

⦁ Latte

⦁ Cappuccino

⦁ Espresso

⦁ Macchiato

⦁ Mocha

[poetofthesword]

let me give you some advice! (from Kurt Vonnegut)

In Kurt Vonnegut’s introduction to his short story anthology, Bagombo Snuff Box, he lists eight tips showing how to write a good short story.

Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.

Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.

Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.

Every sentence must do one of two things–reveal character or advance the action.

Start as close to the end as possible.

Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them–in order that the reader may see what they are made of.

Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.

Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

[greeksblog]

you, who opened suns in my heart,

[etherea1ity]

talking to people and collecting clues in a murder mystery kinda vibe

[poetofthesword]

Vol One: entry seven [my downfall]

I feel like I'm drowning in the absence of you. You were my light for seven years, my favourite being among the stars even if I didn't know it at the time. The day you made your declaration of love towards me I thought I was on cloud nine. I see now that it was all merely a farce. You were a ploy that Satan concocted in his cauldron of tricks. You won me over by tricking my heart into believing you understood my soul, from the book dates to the forget-me-nots, you lied to the most precious part of me. And maybe this is all in my head as things typically are. You might be suffering just as dangerously as I am. But, you have him to comfort you, to hug you tight when you feel so sick you might throw up. You have him to hold your hair back when the illness finally surfaces. As for me? You both left me stranded; in the dark after promises of light. You spoke of such loyalty only to abandon me the second you feared a challenge. What happened to the fearless girl who stood up for her beliefs? What happened to the girl who taught me not to fear what anyone else thought? Where did she go? I guess I just didn't matter as much to her as she did to me.

That's my downfall.

My trust's utter and complete downfall.

- F.E Bohemian

[poetofthesword]

Vol 1: Entry Six [bittersweet heartbreak]

You said you were taking a step back and my heart shattered to pieces. You ended things without even glancing in my direction, no more romance, no more intimacy, no more us. It's sickening how you picked me up, kissed my lips, told me how much you loved me only to throw me aside like I was nothing to you five hours later. It's a betrayal more bittersweet than most. I know you'll still be there all I need to do is reach out and you'll come running. There will be no more late-night calls where we talk until ungodly hours of the night, only falling asleep when Hypnos deems it so. I will miss your hugs and your great comfort. I'll miss your sweet honey voice as you sing soft songs out of boredom. I'll miss gaming with you every night as a distraction from our parents and life. And I miss all the things I'll never get to do with you. I'll never get to show you my writing and the endless letters and poems I've written for you, I'll never show you the portraits of your soul that fill the leather sketchbook on my shelf. I'll never get the chance to hold your hand while we dance to old jazz music in the rain. You'll still be around and that hurts just as much, the worst thing now is that when I see you, it'll never be the same.

- F.E Bohemian

[poetofthesword]

Vol 1: Entry Five [egregious education]

School has festered my mind with so much hate and anger I fear I might actually be able to fight God.

I don't miss the relentless sleep Sunday night as I prepare for the war that is the hallways of high school; my eyes withering away into nothingness.

I don't miss the buzz of my brain as caffeine burns my senses; providing me slivers of vitality that always weep into a migraine.

I don't miss the bullshit of the teachers pep as they tell us utter nonsense about our futures, lies that will never amount to anything.

It feels relentless to say but after such a summer that has just passed for myself, of magic and love it feels impossible to be returning to the Hellscape that is school.

Ten more months and I'm out.

Ten more months and I'm free.

- F.E Bohemian

[baratheonpilled]

archeology student / unpopular dark academia aesthetic 1/5

[poetofthesword]

Welome Elodie Clarke to the universe

[vida-imensa]

Andy Stark

[rudranurag]

Thinking about the casual intimacy of showing someone you love an unfinished work of art, the underlying message saying, I trust you with my unpolished heart.