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Literature Text
Usually it's easy to live without you. I wake up with my baby nephew shaking and hugging and poking me because he wants to play with me and I have to comply because he's too adorable. Mum's bacon sandwich always makes me happy because come on, it's bacon.
But not today. Today feels like asphalt dust just blows up on my face when I speed to town. Today feels like the gears on clocks stop working and my eyes are thunderstorms and lightnings. I couldn't see or feel, but they are overflowing with the madness of static movement. I think I'm going to crash, and I'm terrified because I don't think I mind it so much.
Maybe I'm not someone to be noticed.
I don't know why my spine is curved into the shape of a wilted rose, or why my books seem to trigger me into another parallel universe, or maybe I am transported to Pluto because everything feels like a blizzard storm but if I peek outside it's autumn and Halloween season. I don't think I'll play pretend this year because I feel too naked right now. My skin is peeling bare, and my eyes are cracking a daybreak silhouette and I'm too fragile to carry another identity because I think I'm heavy enough.
I wrote you a message yesterday:
"I need a vodka right now. Or a whiskey. Or whatever that is strong enough to poison my mind into hallucination and ecstasy. I need a hideaway. Our hideaway. I need something to help me cry and break down and crumble. I need something to help me feel vulnerable and stop telling everyone that I am strong and I will always be. I need something to help me disappear. But the thing is, I don't drink. Help?"
I don't think you'll ever receive that or you'll ever send me help because I tried calling and the lady told me you were gone, which I initially thought you were playing a prank because you always did, but too bad not this time.
I'm trembling and crying and my voice is a terrible mess now.
Help.
But not today. Today feels like asphalt dust just blows up on my face when I speed to town. Today feels like the gears on clocks stop working and my eyes are thunderstorms and lightnings. I couldn't see or feel, but they are overflowing with the madness of static movement. I think I'm going to crash, and I'm terrified because I don't think I mind it so much.
Maybe I'm not someone to be noticed.
I don't know why my spine is curved into the shape of a wilted rose, or why my books seem to trigger me into another parallel universe, or maybe I am transported to Pluto because everything feels like a blizzard storm but if I peek outside it's autumn and Halloween season. I don't think I'll play pretend this year because I feel too naked right now. My skin is peeling bare, and my eyes are cracking a daybreak silhouette and I'm too fragile to carry another identity because I think I'm heavy enough.
I wrote you a message yesterday:
"I need a vodka right now. Or a whiskey. Or whatever that is strong enough to poison my mind into hallucination and ecstasy. I need a hideaway. Our hideaway. I need something to help me cry and break down and crumble. I need something to help me feel vulnerable and stop telling everyone that I am strong and I will always be. I need something to help me disappear. But the thing is, I don't drink. Help?"
I don't think you'll ever receive that or you'll ever send me help because I tried calling and the lady told me you were gone, which I initially thought you were playing a prank because you always did, but too bad not this time.
I'm trembling and crying and my voice is a terrible mess now.
Help.
(G.L)
-To the days where books couldn't heal
-To the days where books couldn't heal
Literature
True Story
I once read a book
called How to Offend; it had
just one word: "exist."
Literature
Spoiler Alert
When we meet, I’ll be nineteen and you’ll be twenty. You’ll try to get to know me, and I won’t say much, but you’re persistent. And eventually, we’ll become friends.
You’ll be in the dorm lounge one day, playing video games with your roommates, and they’ll all laugh at you because I’ll beat you. But you just smile along, because you know I’d beat all of them too.
On a Friday, you’ll ask me out for the first time. I won’t know what to say, so I’ll just accept, not thinking much of it. Then later that night after we’ve eaten ice cream and are sitting on
Literature
homesick
this house eats you, sucks
the flesh from your bones
then uses them for broth.
this house inhales the soul
from in between your ribs,
leaves you
hollowed,
turns you into one of its
hallways
( welcome home )
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I'm really stressed up these few days, so I'll probably be posting less because I don't want to flood your deviation stack and my gallery with rants. 
This is basically a splurge of emotions I wrote down when I was feeling overly anxious and overwhelmed.
Thank you so much for browsing, feel free to leave comments (that would be nice), and have a lovely day!
This is basically a splurge of emotions I wrote down when I was feeling overly anxious and overwhelmed.
Thank you so much for browsing, feel free to leave comments (that would be nice), and have a lovely day!
© 2014 - 2024 Milk-and-Pie
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