red like my open heart
Here lie my desires; consider yourself warned.

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  • C: It's okay to miss her, B. I mean as hard as it is to be sad about it, don't you think maybe it's harder not to be?
  • B: You don't understand. I can't. It hurts too much.
  • T: I know.
  • B: No, you don't know! You just want to feel good, and happy, and alive!
  • B: Because if I feel alive, it doesn't seem like she's dead.

for the first time in my life, i’m convinced i can feel every cell in my body because they have each been individualized by pain. i’m experiencing the autonomy of every screaming atom; i’m being dragged towards certain death by my intolerance for how alive this agony reminds me i still helplessly and certainly am. help me. help me. help me. there’s nothing i can do, there’s nothing anyone can do, and for the first time in my life, i am more afraid of what i will be capable of doing (or more accurately not capable of not doing) to myself if left alone than i am of asking my loved ones to save me - even though i’ve saddled them with an impossible task.

i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i don’t want to fail you. but i can’t float or tread water and i’m run out of strength to swim.

the OG prompt: Spanish poet Antonio Machado wrote, “Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.” Give us your guess.

i had a moment between being fully, painfully conscious and falling unconscious yesterday where i wondered/half-dreamt about what would happen if i found out i was dying. you were the first person i thought of. the first person i’d ask for. the first person whose face i saw, whose name i gasped, whose face i craved between my open palms, whose eyes i wanted to see in my last moments on the earth i love so much i didn’t even let you jade me into leaving it

and then i asked myself why - for a person who believes that i should live every day as if i’m dying - i’m not trying to call you back. and the answer is that i can’t forgive you. i can’t forgive you, i can’t live without you, so there is only this intermittent period of agonized and protracted survival that feels like half-life and half-death and nothing all at once

"While I’m doing it, it’s definitely taking its toll on me. Sometimes it’s a fresh topic or a fresh feeling. While I’m writing the song I really have to understand what I’m feeling. I’ll put myself through it just to express it. Literally and physically, I’ll be tired; I’ll feel like I just ran a marathon because I’m puttin’ myself through it just to make one three-minute song. For the most part, when the song is completed, and I’ll listen back to it and reflect, it’s like a healing process. A lot of times it means that I was able to come to terms with whatever I was going through. This album is a “if I make it out alive” type of thing. Each song is a piece of me, and I don’t know if I’m gonna get any of those pieces back."
- Jhené Aiko via rapgenius, on songwriting

phase a:

i want to be strong again. i want to be insane again. i want to know what it means to feel again. this is college - the spiral downwards is so doable it’s practically a flock of sirens. 

phase b:

i can’t breathe i can’t breathe i can’t breathe i can’t breathe

phase c:

there are walls closing in on the walls closing in. i know the world is still out there but i cannot reach it, i cannot break them, these are not defenses they are oppressions and i did not erect them but i can hear them

phase d:

i want to cause trouble. i want to cause so much trouble it sets me on fire, and within the pyre of flames i may finally be able to draw breath

phase e:

don’t let me sleep. and if you do, don’t let me wake. not yet. not ever - at least, not our (4)ever.

phase e:

p.s. 4 stands for death

13,317 notes - reblog - posted 4 days ago

i cannot write. i am afraid. i have never been more afraid. putting this into words is the only thing that can save me. this time, more than any other time, i cannot get the lyrics to my story wrong.

so i will be silent. i will be quiet. i will focus on breathing as normally as i can, because i can see the fear accelerating in the eyes of my loved ones with every tempo change in my gasps for air. i will focus on putting one foot in front of the other because while my friends can help me sleep, they cannot help me walk (the only person who can is long, long dead). i will focus on remembering to eat. remembering to smile. remembering to count. remembering to read. remembering to sing. remembering to run. remembering not how to live, but how to survive; because summer is coming and when it does, i want my blood to be in my veins.

too young to die, too broken to live. but i will learn (again). i will. i must.

1 note - reblog - posted 1 week ago

you inched towards me. i was a trembling baby bird with molten feathers - but you handled me, you loved me, you ran yourself over me like an antidote to the universe. it took shudder after shudder but i fell apart, an open book with pages spilling out the spine, safe within the binding of your heart. you were (and always are) so beautiful - with every inch of skin i covered in the shower i wanted to sob. my nerves were screaming, but your fingertips reinforced your mouth. under your caresses i was perfect; underneath the running water blurring the lines between our limbs i was clean. so i quieted. i gave in, i gave up, and i was freed. even if just for a night.

reality was a morning sledgehammer that had only to tap at my wounds for it to become obvious that i hadn’t healed. i begged you for safety. it is too late to pretend to you that i am perfect. i have only honesty to offer. it’s… not a good look.

i needed you. i needed you. i needed you. soon it won’t matter.

Dear person,

This is a cloud of my thoughts - written by a girl on a hill in the preview of a summer with her body pressed to the grass and the wind streaming through her hair. This is a cloud that has gone into my mouth, through my lungs, and out to my mind. This is a cloud I wish to share with you because you let me see just how lovely it is to be in a space together by ourselves.

This is the beginnings of the corners of my heart.

I don’t know why or how we started, nor why it was so hard to stop. I don’t know what to make of the way we have spun and the myriad of chances it took, both bad and good, to have brought us to here. How could I not regret our moments when they only occurred after hours of your pain (and in some ways, mine)? How could I savor every minute, every note, when our souls still hurt from the wounds of others?

Yet how could I? How could I ever? How could I regret the heat of your skin and the hint of your lips? How could I regret the details of your touch, like feathers of winds but yet insistent, real? I like to get lost in the sensuously senseless poetry of our time, the improbability of our escape. I feel freed from the rules of the world because I never believed we would be permitted to break them. Spring quarter first year was informed by the ache of you - spring quarter second year, I think I might break of you. But the latter is a fate that I chased. The latter is a meltdown of an entirely different nature.

I don’t know how to let go of our hurt and I don’t know whether I would zero the clock on ours if it meant I could return you to the perfect joy of hers. If I had the right, I certainly can’t promise I wouldn’t. I still think of her often, not even a fragment of how often you must, but enough to doubt. Sometimes I wonder if she’ll show up on your doorstep. Sometimes I see a flash of memory in your eyes and I wish to god she would, just to spare you whatever agony is left.
I do know that since there’s not a damn thing I can do I am not sorry that I see the gold blue of the sun and the sea on your face. I do know that two puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit can still be beautiful. I do know that when words from your fingers send me flying somewhere far above the earth, I am high enough to see the sky in your eyes. I do know that we may not be meant for shit but even if what was intended to become eternal happiness can’t quite be patched up by the mere timelessness of moments, I am more than okay with the fact that we’re free to keep trying.

0 notes - reblog - posted 2 weeks ago
0 notes - reblog - posted 2 weeks ago