#vik writes

[sjonni33]

[sjonni33]

is it free will if it's chosen for you?

[sjonni33]

hold my hand / id under the cut

Ask for my relief with a tear staining my cheek as you take apart my resolution,

you crucify me like son jesus,

and bury me like mother maria,

Begging for my salvation at the tip of your tongue you look up to the sky without resolve,

you idolise me like baby jesus

and chastise me like weeping mother maria

My image holy, my memory disgraced

you look upon the outline of my decaying statue strung above you in desperation,

you forgive me like jesus

and blame me like maria

Hold my hand

please

please hold my hand

[sjonni33]

after me (id under the cut)

What comes after god

is it stretches of silence

endless planes of plain

a barren road with nothing in sight

is it god's god standing on the edge of nowhere

manoeuvring her like a puppet

holding her like a doll

or is it me

standing behind god's god

eyes bright

hands empty

staring up at my creation

I wonder

what comes after me

[sjonni33]

created / id under cut

I am

created

to fit your idealisation of what is best to become of me

constricting wires strung around my throat and my limbs and my heart

you rip into my clean flesh with mechanical precision

when searing into my skin an image of everything I will never be is your only pleasure

is when I am

created

when my terrored screams of sorrow turn to subtle howling for mercy as I bleed out

magenta and cyan and yellow

is when I realise

I am another failed version of your need for perfection

and you look upon me eyes wide disgust and fear and disappointment

at your stained hands

at my disgraced hide

at what you have

created

[sjonni33]

SATIATED / 1.3k words / michael clifford x awsten knight / serial killer AU

[sjonni33]

happy birthday to me id under the cut

I threw a birthday party for myself,

I think it went well,

I invited the mites lining my casket,

I invited the maggots ghosting my rotting skin,

I invited the moths hiding in my jacket,

They prayed for me,

My mother called when I couldn't pick up,

She cried that night

I threw a birthday party for myself,

It was still forty years away,

I baked a cake made of my bones and

decaying flesh,

They prayed for me that night,

My mother called when I couldn't pick up,

She cried that night

I threw a birthday party for myself,

I couldn't attend the day itself,

The air I filled my lungs with overflowed,

The blood my heart beats with rushed

through my veins,

They prayed for me,

for me today,

for me tomorrow,

for all of me,

My mother picked me up,

She held me when I cried that night

[sjonni33]

self worth / id under the cut

When I try and think about the mistakes I have made and the words I regret muttering and the things I am shameful about initiating all it ever gets back to is me overestimating my capability of change,

Thursday night on my couch with tears in my eyes and a kink in my neck I look up at my off-white ceiling,

there's some spots I cannot quite place, maybe mold or specks I missed when painting,

and all I say is that nothing I do is right, or good, or morally sound,

Maybe it is my insatiable need to be remembered, or my constant hunger for human interaction-

god I hate my deep-rooted deprivation for recognition, my sacrilegious desire for attention

Or maybe it is not about me at all and it is just my sense of self, again ruining the potential of any sort of connection,

When every corner I turn I do not know if the person I see is who I once was or who I am meant to be,

And all I can look at is my shoes with the same dirt sticking to it like bubblegum that I crawled out of my grave with,

I am tired of the endless running from my shadow, of running from the judgement of my own self worth, and giving up halfway through to do it over and over and over and over and over-

god I hate myself for my lingering thoughts, for feeling this aching pain in my chest, for grieving a loss I am not meant to feel

Who am I meant to be if I cannot meet my own eye in the reflection of my bathroom mirror,

If I am not me

god I hate my being, I despise what I long to become, and everything I will never be

Why am I not me?