Vagabond Still @vindromeda - Tumblr Blog

i’m a failure...

i’m the project that was never finished,

that always kept breaking down and falling apart,

they tried to fix over and over again...

they struggled, and they bled and they sweat and they cried...

i’m the waste left behind,

potential that could never be,

i’m a failure.

If I die, my blood will be on their hands. I pray it is the last blood those hands will see.

Why aren’t I better?

WHY CAN’T I GET BETTER!?

Rip my skin to shreds. Hoard my heart outside of my body. Hate my body as I hate my mind. Equilibrium soothes entropy and I may finally be at rest.

I want my mom

An ache grows continually in my chest. A longing to be held, cherished, looked upon again for the first time. Soft, pink, new.

I want my mothers hands to brush across my soft head and hold my little body. I want her eyes to see me as the most wonderful thing in the entire world, before I had anything to give. I want her arms to blanket me in warmth as I rest in her safety.

Next to her in the car now, I feel just as useless as an infant - nothing to give but the presence of my body, my selfish love, and a cold silence. I wish whatever she saw then I still had now.

She’s been working - long days, long nights. So tired, so restless. The decline is hard to ignore, and I’ve spent such a long time trying to.

I know home doesn’t feel like home to her anymore. It doesn’t to me either. She stays in her room, sleeping, reading, trying to distract herself from what waits outside the door; messy, entropic, cold. No more warm meals shared between our family. No more spontaneous trips to explore our new neighborhood. No more movies, no more games. Family is just a word, and the only thing that ties us together now.

I want my mother so badly. I want my uselessness to be what makes me special. I want my body to bring her joy, and my dumb, stupid little smile to be the brightest thing in her world. I want to be small and helpless and loved with so much vigor.

But now, sitting in the passenger seat as she drives me home from work, after I pleaded over text for a ride that I can’t even provide for myself, and the street lights flicker on as the air gets its nightly chill, I can only see a girl my age next to me, trying her best, but longing for her own mother to hold, cherish, and look upon her for the first time.

Self-Sabotaging

She sees the help she’s offered...

She takes it into her hands and considers it...

“It’s not enough,”

She says,

“So I won’t take it at all...”

And she doesn’t.

Pressed to my back, hands on my wrists, he taught me to prepare lamb. The poor beast's eyes looked on from the counter, severed, but not blind.

Selfcare - Drinking chamomile milk tea and wearing a vintage dress alone in the dark.

I dont want you

to like it,

I want you to notice

that theres something

wrong with me.

It happened, and I closed my eyes and allowed it to.

A crescendo of touch.

I woke up in the morning and went to school.

A restless body encompasses a tired mind. Though interests conflict, both try to harbor the others wishes. The result is muddled entropy. The body is forced to lay, the mind - to think.

Love I lost to time...

She waits to be discovered...

Patient, sleepy, calm...

I didn’t know it then...

We sat in the backyard, crying softly, murmuring comfort the best we could, surrounding you in the grass. Somewhere, children played outside, laughing and screaming to each other. Birds chirped above us and the scent of dandelions drifted through the air. A spring sun blanketed us in heavy warmth and that deep earthy smell rose from the shade. I didn’t know it then, but as we sat around you in the grass, mourning what we thought was your absence, you were already surrounding us, pressing in from all sides, a continuation of life...

Cruel Irony

I’m tired of trying, but every time I slow down, I feel disappointment crushing me into nothing.

I’m not even getting the bare minimum.

I’m keeping myself in limbo. Trying to reach self satisfaction, but unable to escape expectation.

you’re trying to be better. you want to be better. you think you’re doing better.

but it’s all the same thing... over and over again.

you’re the same

it works for the first time

i won’t lie to you

it works for the first time and the second and the third

and then somehow

you still feel like yourself the forth time

i’m killing myself slowly and unintentionally

my brain is trying so hard

to just get rid of me

telling me not to eat or over eat

keeping me up

making me sleep for ages

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