Hollow

Adult Female. Lost. Not always doom & gloom, nor rainbows. My Blog. My Solace. Don't like it - hit 'Unfollow'

[mgreywood-deactivated20200524]

The difference between us? I don’t hold grudges. Never could. Never will. Maybe that makes me crazy, maybe that makes me weak, but it doesn’t make me better than you. It just makes us different.

Simply put- ~Michael Greywood~ (via mgreywood)

[mgreywood-deactivated20200524]

We were old flames. I nurtured yours and you let mine burn out.

What now?- ~Michael Greywood~ (via mgreywood)

[shatteredremnantsofnothing-blog]

Untitled

I’m put in a shopping cart with pride, wrapped with care and unwrapped with abandon. In the beginning I’m shiny and new, the most in demand toy on the market.   The smile as they touch me for the first time, and exclaim how much they love me seems genuine, and as if it’ll never end. But then it slowly starts to happen. My shininess begins to dull. They see my defects. Their eyes that used to gleam when they laid them upon me have suddenly lost their sparkle. And then…I’m tossed in a corner, along with all of their other discarded toys who have long ago lost their magic. They’ve found another toy. Shinier. Newer. More technologically advanced. More in demand. Seemingly without flaws. But eventually they’ll come back to me for comfort, when the new toy breaks or is dysfunctional – as they so often do. I usually take them back and fulfill their momentary needs, until they find yet another new toy and I’m once again obsolete. Until they cross that invisible line in the sand with me and I disappear. Into the void. Without a word uttered.

[wrists-of-a-broken-girl]

It’s a lot of weight carrying the load of two people. That’s why I’m doing it instead of him. He’s on the verge of snapping. I already got through shit. I can make it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt so fucking much making it there

I’m already broken it’s fine (via wrists-of-a-broken-girl)

[wnq-writers]

She’s a dangerous.. a very dangerous soul; she can fill your mind with sinful desires and rip your heart with her loud silence.

Maram Rimawi  (via crisolyn-uendelig)

[intensetexts]

[therelatableimages]

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[shatteredremnantsofnothing-blog]

Conundrum

Sin and delicacy all rolled into one package.

Addictive.

Before you know what hits you, you're caught in a torrential downpour of rain and darkness that doesn't allow you to see your hand in front of your face, or give you sure footing.

Down you fall... deeper and deeper ... into an abyss ...

Pleasure.

Pain.

Euphoria.

Agony.

Gratitude.

Regret.

Shower after shower pelting you with something new, something more than you think you can take yet you try to hold on because it has to be worth it in the end, right?

Nothing good comes easy.

The sun eventually has to shine ... doesn't it?

Doesn't matter anymore, anyway - you're addicted to a feeling you can only get from this, from them, from both the fire that consumes you and the frost that runs rampant through your veins.

A feeling only they can give you.

You tell yourself:

Just One More Taste

But it lingers on your tongue, makes your mouth water, and you continuously need - Just ... one ... more... Until all that's left is this beautiful disaster of a fixation.

Heaven and Hell rolled into one - neither of which you're willing to leave, needing one as desperately as the other.

It's too late to quit.

[shatteredremnantsofnothing-blog]

“If One Should Drink Much from a Bottle Marked Poison”

...it's surely to disagree with one sooner...or later."

Truer words are seldom spoken. Poison doesn't have to be fast acting, it doesn't have to have an unpleasant taste, odor or even be considered an actual toxic substance to alter you irreversibly, or to affect you in a way that you may never come back from.

[shatteredremnantsofnothing-blog]

I Wish it Didn’t Have to Be this way

I hate facing each day and knowing that you won't be in it.

I'm not okay - and I'm tired of pretending that I am 99% of the time.

We had a weird, and complicated friendship but by-god it worked somehow.

We fought - but always made up.

We spewed venom - but sucked it out before it spread.

We were protective as hell over the other.

We laughed together, we cried together, we got drunk and watched countless hours of Eddie Izzard and listened to ICP and and and ...

And I knew your death was inevitable.

I knew one day you'd have enough, and I remember the exact moment I knew. You were 17, standing out in the Taco Bell parking lot, looking at me with this infinite sadness that permeated my soul and you asked me: "Why should I stay on this Earth when I'm a sorry, no good piece of shit that nobody will ever love, the way I love them?"

In that moment, I knew you wouldn't be around until natural causes took you, because you were already irrevocably broken. Sick. And nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do, would ever save you.

I gave you words that came from the bottom of my heart and were meant with every ounce of passion in my soul, and they slapped a band-aid on the wound that had been inflicted most recently, but they didn't heal you. I didn't have that power.

Watching your agony, I had never wanted to eradicate another human being so badly in my life as I did in that moment. I wanted her to feel the pain she had caused you, because you see she didn't understand what she had done - but oh how I wanted her to.

Years later, you forgave her. I never did. I probably never will.

She created ruin with everyone she touched - and I don't care if she's changed, makes no fucks to me. She eroded parts of my friends that could never be replaced. That to me, is unforgivable, and I'll carry that burden.

And now I sit here, with you heavy on my mind, torn between missing you and wishing you were here, and knowing you're finally at peace. Something you could never get while you lived.

I fucking miss you.

[shatteredremnantsofnothing-blog]

Self Destruction

One shot of bourbon, followed by another, and then another until he finds the bottom of the bottle - but the pain is still there.

Another bottle? He decides against it. It's done all it can do anyway. Cocaine? Doesn't touch the shit anymore. Weed? It doesn't do anything for him, not like it used to. All other drugs are out of the question.

Sex. Sex and alcohol bring blissful numbness and allow him to feel something, anything besides the pain if only for a little while. Until he stumbles out of another hotel room, in another city, drunk, half dressed cigarette hanging out of his mouth, hung over and having to smile for photos and autographs as he makes his way down the hallway to the elevator.

But it's what everyone wants. To be famous. To have it all To be like him.

Inside he screams that he's dying and they're all fucking fools for believing fame and fortune can fix a broken soul, but then who would listen? Who would believe him? Who would believe that you can "have it all" and still be so goddamned empty?

And so, he smiles but it never reaches his eyes. He poses beautifully for the camera, and his life seems perfect. He performs even for his closest friends and family, that mask ever in place, not knowing who he is, or how to find himself.

Wandering. Lost And desperate to be found.

But she knows.

She knows and she can't save him. Her only option left is to watch from afar as he becomes smaller, and smaller in the distance, until she can no longer see him, until he has all but disappeared.

And her heart drops. A cold spot forms where his warmth used to be. And she mourns.

[shatteredremnantsofnothing-blog]

Anxiety and Panic are Knowledgeable Bitches

You see, they've taught me a plethora of things I wouldn't have known without them.

For example:

I can actually have a panic attack over something that is happening a year from now. I am currently in the throes of this.

I can literally be in the middle of a very happy moment and go into a panic attack that makes me feel as if I'm miserable and possibly dying.

All of those people in whatever room I'm in? Yeah, they're talking about me.

Don't walk into any place first, ever. People always stare at the first person to enter into a building - such as a restaurant.

Crowds? Why do I need crowds when I can just sit home and not wear pants and then become agoraphobic? Doesn't that sound like more fun?

Psychology may help me understand my brain better, and as such my disorders, but it doesn't actually help me fix them - and medication is a stop gap measure, things my Anxiety and Panic love to remind me of.

I've learned to feign confidence, normality and how to seem perfectly fine in the midst of gut wrenching panic.

I could go on. You see, fantastic fucking teachers.

[shatteredremnantsofnothing-blog]

My Dreams Will Be the End of Me

In reality, barely passing though intense glances, nothing but trivial conversation.

But in dreams, it plays out differently.

In dreams I reach for you for comfort and beg you not to let go. You hold me tight and promise that you've got me and nothing will harm me again.

In dreams I see into your soul and you see deeply into mine, but I don't shy away, it never even enters my mind as a possibility.

You touch me, kiss me, make love to me gently, or fuck me senseless but always,always take time to hold me afterwards as we discuss Kerouac, Hemingway, Bach, Thompson -- all of the greats while we share a cigarette and sometimes take turns sipping from a bottle of Jameson or JD.

In dreams, I feel more whole than I have in ages, perhaps ever, but they're all delusions and when I awaken and I realize you are but a figment of my imagination, though an exceptionally real person, I mourn.

I mourn for "dream you", the one who is everything I have always ached for but will never, ever have.

When I see your face, that ache is intensified, and like a silly little girl I ponder only briefly, if you ever have these dreams too, but I don't linger there and allow myself to muse for long.

No, I can't.

It's easier to mourn, though I know the dreams will return, they always do and I'll never find closure from them, and I don't want to - even though I'm sure my dreams will be the end of me.

[shatteredremnantsofnothing-blog]

Seduce My Mind

Talk to me

About Beat generation writers

About the Space-time continuum

Philosophy

Alternate realities and

Parallel Universes

Tell me what makes your spirit soar

Talk to me Share with me

Show me that light in your eyes

And speak of things that make your heart dance, barely contained within your body; Of things that set you on fire with a passion so intensely hot I can’t help but be consumed by the flames.

[shatteredremnantsofnothing-blog]

Sweet Solace

To the world I’m a savior. Atlas. I carry the burdens of those I love and even those I don’t know well, but it’s who I am. The voices in my head are deafening, screaming, pounding in my mind against my skull, but clasping my hands over my ears is ridiculous, because the chaos comes from within.

The only solace to be found is in submission. Glorious, beautiful submission where I don’t have to think, just do. I don’t have to decide, just be. I don’t have to micromanage just feel. Liberation is sweet and succulent, the voices being drowned out with each command, and sting of the hand across my ass.

The weight of the world lifting with each beautiful action tinged with just enough pain to erase the numbness that holds my outside mask in place. It finally falls with a thud, leaving behind the little girl within who just needs desperately to feel something, anything, besides everyone elses afflictions.

Relief as the voices fall silent. The storm within my soul settles, and I find peace in the hands of dominance. Peaceful, wonderful bliss if only for a short while.

[shatteredremnantsofnothing-blog]

Just Breathe

Two words. Seems simple enough, does it not? Ah, don’t be fooled. Respiration is easy and effortless for most of us who are capable of doing so without machines or medications, but breathing (figuratively) is a whole other beast. I inhale and forget to exhale. The dizziness and burning in my lungs reminds me to let the air out with a violent ‘whoosh’ more often than I care to admit. Taking in a deep breath can be painful, I become hyper aware of the beating of my heart and how fragile life really is, but still I wonder what would happen if I … just … stop … breathing? Yet I already know. I’ve seen the aftermath in the wake of someone who decided to just stop, and though I would leave but a few behind that would be affected deeply, I couldn’t bear to have my Legacy be one of pain, of regret and ‘if only I would haves.’ No. I’m too damned stubborn. Too resilient. So until it becomes effortless again, I’ll do what is sometimes the most difficult thing a human being can do and just breathe.

[shatteredremnantsofnothing-blog]

Lost

Tattered. Broken. Wandering aimlessly through a darkened, never-ending but bone chilling abyss. They pass right by, those on the right path, seeing something vastly different than I and never do they reach out a hand to lead me towards my destiny. No. That journey is mine and mine alone to make, even though they seemingly walk through me in pairs and often groups. Droves of souls whose energy I absorb and feel with the intensity of a thousand white hot suns, while they are clueless that I exist. Thought of as a mere shadow. A bump in the night that’s explained away and dismissed as quickly as it was heard. I used to scream, to cry out in desperation, begging for someone, anyone to help me. No longer. I’ve accepted my fate. Flickering. Fading. Lost.

[intensetexts]

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