Falling Slowly

I am falling. There is no stopping this descent. The sunset hours of my life are upon me. Waning and waxing. I will fall slowly as I can.

[thesunsethours]

I was ashamed of myself when I realized life was a costume party and I attended with my real face

Franz Kafka

[thesunsethours]

Are we not all just the same person over and over and over again? Filling to the corners of the world with experiences fundementally no different from your own -- our own.

Will they feel this guilt too?

[thesunsethours]

Me feverently playing dress up games in an attempt to form a stable sense of identity

[thesunsethours]

how can i ever be forgiven

[thesunsethours]

somewhere there is a cat in a jar. floating in formaldehyde. eyes never opened. see through skin and darkened spine. life is so meaningless to a kitten

[thesunsethours]

Was I groomed? Was I groomed? Was I groomed? Was I groomed? Was I groomed? why does my chest hurt like this? Why can’t I get a breath full of air? Was I groomed?

[thesunsethours]

I don’t want to consider how vast and complicated the world and people truly are. I just want to feel small -- small enough so that I can be held.

[thesunsethours]

I understand that I hurt all the time and that it will lessen and deepen with time and age. I understand that there is no true reason for the hurt I experience; for the way even my fingers ache pulling back the scalp to access my brain. I do not understand why I feel so trapped by these realities. I’m the only one who can save me, but I’m so spent existing within the cage that dreaming on grace and joy within it seems impossible.

[thesunsethours]

Belly Moss

What are the realities of mental illness? Is it really this longing for something constantly? Something missing from my body, but deep, deep from inside my body. Why do I want to eat dirt from the forest floor? Shove moss into my lungs in hopes my chest in filled with fungi and life. Why do I yearn for life when I struggle with what little I already have.

[fleur-aesthetic]

instagram | littlefarmhouseflowers

[rainie-is-seasonchange]

Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.

Boston, Massachusetts.

[thesunsethours]

from my journal

no date

I feel like...

a hermit crab retreating into it’s shell after snapping it’s claws too loudly around the gulls.

[thesunsethours]

from my journal

28.09.20

I feel like...

a cloud that cannot contain it’s rain. I am so soft and light and lovely but I am in constant downpour. I fear that when the storm ceases the white wisps of my body and brain will be expended. Blue skies will ensue in my absence.

[thesunsethours]

Waiting for Godot is only a play with a meaning without Godot. If Godot, enters the stage, the play is over and the seemingly meaninglessness of the play is truly proven meaningless. They wait. We wait. They watch. We watch. In liminal silence and anticipation for nothing. Once nothing arrives, nothing is over. Who am I to look for Godot, when meaning hangs so delicately. Fragile. Without meaning I am with meaning. To survive for no one’s sake.

[weltenwellen]

Jennifer Willough, from “The Sun Is Still A Part Of Me”, Beautiful Zero: Poems

[mournfulroses]

Samuel Beckett, from The Complete Dramatic Works; “Endgame,”

[weltenwellen]

Louise Glück, Poems 1962-2012