Frankie goes to Hollywood

[vhsacrilege84]

[vhsacrilege84]

No matter how beautiful the world is

Or the music sounds

The seasons change

The pain stays the same

The loneliness stays the same.

If after all the kindness and love I tried to spread

This pain and hurt remains

Then what was the point of it all?

What use is there in staying alive?

After having fought so hard to prove my worth

Prove I deserve to live

What was it all for

If in the end

This is what remains

This pain?

This sorrow?

Death would be kinder.

If only I had the courage to summon her.

Perhaps tonight I might.

[ether--net]

[unfxded]

⠀

[eqbomqpo]

[vhsacrilege84]

In this far-off distant, white earth,

My voice, persistently crying out, reaches no one.

One day, sleeping together with the sky’s kindness,

I will be embraced by the earth’s warmth.

[vhsacrilege84]

These were better times. We just didn't know it then. Maybe those times will come again- and we won't know it then either.

[vhsacrilege84]

The storm is coming. I knew it already. I felt the weather change. I saw it before anyone else did. Did you see it?

[vangoghcore]

by jonathan.mllr

[vhsacrilege84]

Sometimes, I'd look up to the sky and see Dream Clouds. They'd look oddly specific and faint. They'd look like the clouds in the horror movies I used to watch on VHS in the dead of night. The ones I grew up with and watched peering from under my blanket, both frightened yet fascinated.

I wonder what it would feel like to be that young again. To smell petrichor and feel the faint comfort it gave me as a child. I feel it from time to time. I feel it deep in my heart. Familiarity.

Sometimes, when I look up and see those dream clouds, I can almost pretend I'm there again. Young, at the start of it all, still surrounded by those I love. Everyone is still there. I never noticed how different things have become since they left.

Sometimes, I still see Dream Clouds, muddled up by the normal, boring clouds in front of them. It's a bit like that, isn't it? Everything's become a bit muddled up. Memories, longing, dreams, life. They're behind the normal boring clouds, too , I bet.

[vhsacrilege84]

Sometimes I wonder if my tongue was meant for anything less than whispers and words bent out of shape and out of meaning. Despite my attempt to speak kindly,- I even tried to speak without contempt,- my words hold no real beauty. My words have become a belt wrapped tightly around my throat. I'm sure you've ever felt that sensation before, when the anger is so hot, it can melt all of the kindness in you away until it's gone. Have you dealt with that emptiness that lingers afterwards? How you tiredly attempt to piece it all back together, but no words, not even yours, can mend what is now gone. You tried your best, but you can no longer pretend that your tongue was meant for anything but words that were bent.

So I held my tongue, even in the end when I knew it was wrong. For what use has a tongue that cannot even speak for itself?

[phlegmaphoto]

[ives57]

[runawayandhide]

[lastgirlonearth999]

[bebs-art-gallery]

Ghosts on a Tree (1933)

— by Franz Sedlacek

[hwang-inho-132]

[zadeemae]