#asteriads

[akleia]

grace 🌠

thanks love :) (apparently you’re called Gracé now)

Gemini Feed — BANKSRed Virgin Soil — Agnes Obel Aviation High — Semi Precious WeaponsConscious — BroodsÉtude en Fa Mineur — Mendelssohn 

name playlists!

[sufferingtheologies]

I am tired of writing about the poor bastards, the sick and the broken and the ones with rotten cores. There are no more worms here. They’re all gone.   So maybe I put pesticide in my coffee. So maybe I’m a time bomb. So maybe there are three ways this will end, and maybe neither of us will make it out alive. It doesn’t matter. Close your eyes. In this world, we are good people. In this world, our bones are full. In this world, we get a gentle ending.

Belle Malone

[sufferingtheologies]

1. Kiss the dead boy on the mouth. Kiss the monster where it hurts. Kiss the angel and make him holy. 2. Dig until your hands become hands again. Dig until you find the girl you gave to the lake. Dig until her lips aren’t made of silt. 3. She doesn’t mean to rot. She doesn’t mean to rot. She doesn’t mean to rot. 4. Tell yourself that until it’s true. 5. There are rules to these things. You don't put the sweater back after you've unraveled it. You don't paint your fingernails when they're splintered and bloody. You don't love him when he kisses your neck. 6. The girl with the gasoline mouth is burning again. You cannot save her. You never could. 7. If they made your wounds, they won't lick them clean. Learn the taste of your own blood. Forge yourself in copper and iron and salt. 8. You'll get used to the taste. 9. Theirs will always taste better.

what the wolves should’ve told me, belle malone

[sufferingtheologies]

take the parts you love and make a monster/make a war/make a garden/make sin because that’s all these bones can ever hold, hollow and sickly and bitten through by winter’s early sunsets. take the parts your mother loves and make a graveyard/make a saint/make god/make yourself and know that she will never understand why  you could never settle for lips that were anything less than blood red. take the parts he loves and bury them deep/make mercy/make hatred/make lust/make what love would be if you knew its truth because you are the queen, and  they deserve to tremble.

goddess, create thyself, belle malone

[beholdingslut]

why r u so gay

who knows??? maybe it’s because i saw ur face! 

[sufferingtheologies]

i. in my dream, you were here again. you were here, and i wasn’t bleeding, and you weren’t laughing anymore

in my dream, there was a bed with three pillows, and you drowned them all and called them silly, useless things, and i started shaking again.

in my dream, you put lipstick on your fists and told me now they’ll  leave pretty kisses, and i begged you to show me.

in my dream, you did.

ii. there are ways to say i love you when you’re going away.

you write down your wedding vows for the girl you always knew you’d marry. you send them to her, and pray they get there before the obituary.

you tell your mother thank you for the cookbook, and you kiss her cheek and tell her you like her perfume.

you hug your father and pretend you both don’t know that you’re not the child he always wanted, and now you never will be.

you make sure that, when you’re found, you look sorry. 

you make sure they can see the apologies on your tongue.

iii. i had another dream.

you were there again, and your hands were smeared red. 

you were cupping my cheeks with those hands and your teeth were cold when you kissed my forehead.

you took me to the bed with no pillows, and you laid me out. you smiled at my bones and called me beautiful.

you always told me i was beautiful when i was like this. blood-smeared and holy, ophelia reimagined.

 too bad you never brought me flowers.

[beholdingslut]

☁️

“No one has imagined us. We want to live like trees,sycamores blazing through the sulfuric air,dappled with scars, still exuberantly budding,our animal passion rooted in the city.”

― Adrienne Rich

[sufferingtheologies]

COMPARE AND CONTRAST: your LOVER and GOD.

my LOVER is the thing my Sunday school teacher never taught in his lessons. my LOVER is the chiefest of sinners and smiles with blades in her teeth. SHE is the reason the angels don’t visit anymore.

GOD hasn’t spoken to me in six Sundays. GOD destroyed the world but spared one. HE is the reason men tremble.

so is SHE. SHE would destroy the world and spare none, not even me. we both know this. SHE uses my rosary as a choker and licks my sins like wounds. SHE tells me its the sweetest thing SHE’S ever tasted.

GOD forgave me for my transgressions. SHE never has. SHE never will.