[splitshadow]

I’m ambitious maybe, but not for the world, or ordinary desires by any means. I want to be adored for centuries like the gloomiest star in orion’s belt, to be looked at in awe since the beginning of the time like the moon and its crescenteric fragments. I want to be loved and cherished like a dying man’s last breath and a hypothermic man’s desperate crawl to the bonfire.

[vexheart]

[petaltexturedskies]

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter featured in Letters to Merline, 1919-1922

[mournfulroses]

Sara Torres, from her novel titled "X Is Where I Am," orginally published in March 2026

[splitshadow]

I’ve terribly misunderstood what it means to be happy atp. I didn’t know that it doesn’t come to you and that you have to ask/demand/grab happiness, and that in doing so you will be doing something so radical, something at the very extremes of the social spectrum that you’ll be constantly vilified for it.

[splitshadow]

The wind kissed my cheek so violently it felt like harassment.

[wildspringday]

[dykecinema]

there should be a jesus on the cross emoji. not for any religious reasons. just so I can use it for every slight inconvenience.

[splitshadow]

“I can fix him” girly even a lobotomy wouldn’t fix him.

[splitshadow]

All the butterflies fled-

from a gut too twisted for love, fractions of stars lay here and there like tragedy’s old veterans serving their last war, it’s either this or a dishonorable discharge.

“Captain, why do I lie?”

it is like the glossy red yet rancid candy we got as children from miserly teachers.

“Captain why did I lose my limbs?”

you crawled like narcissus did, unbearable but pretty.

“Captain what is wrong with me?”

You are a poet, your words will eventually leave you with slit wrists on the kitchen floor.

“Am I a soldier?”

As long as your boots are muddied and your mother cries everyday to create her own sea.

“Am I dying?”

At an above average pace than others.

-splitshadow

[splitshadow]

Things I wanted to forget:

the straps of my school bag often cut into my shoulder blade from the weight of loneliness, when my senior asked me how was life I should’ve been honest and told her it felt like a rollercoaster with no safety belts, that it felt like the ocean had a grudge against me, and that it was force feeding saline to me so that I’d finally stop whining about life. Vintage photographs of my ancestors started self destructing from the embarrassment that I am, they bend their knees in a grave too narrow for attaining salvation. Old lipsticks contained toxic levels of lead in them and I’d like to believe, that even if death caught those women in his rattrap, they died with rouge on their lips perfectly contrasting the brown of their coffins. Love was so demanding that it turned me into something of a vegetable in the middle of decay. It paralyzed my jaw and lured the soul out of me, by showing me a man in his white shirt looking like moons rubbed off on him.

[splitshadow]

You’re the one who’s twisting the knife into my spine, you don’t get to tell me how to dress my wound.

[splitshadow]

my birthday just feels like I’m choking on confetti

[nixscriptum]

[dr-gaytorius]

forgive me father for I have had a diva moment

[splitshadow]

Real poets look at the moon, write poetry about it and then cut off their hands for having written something so mediocre about something so ethereal.

[splitshadow]

I can’t wear pretty clothes, or nice jewelry. My existence automatically erases the beauty in anything. The fabric on my skin is so itchy it’s almost as if the fabric is rejecting my proximity to it. I can see rejection even in inanimate objects, I can see the clock judging me because I cannot track how time goes by. I never remember what date it is. I never remember what time it is. I just hope the next hour passes by without having to rock myself back and forth.