[not My Photo, Creds To Photographer&editor]

WX. 

I don’t owe you 

Anything. 

Nothing at all. 

I don’t have anything else 

To offer. 

But you know that – don’t you? 

Just look at your damn sweater 

I have knit you everything I could 

It now has holes and you trip on the 

Threads. 

Perhaps you would like to tangle 

Yourself in those threads 

They didn't let you down 

You did. 

You dig, dig, and dig. 

HEARTBEAT 

She’s cold and chilling to the bone 

Hollow inside and out 

Airy and spacious 

She keeps my heart slow 

Awake I am 

But drowsy eyelids blink and blink 

I am in a poisonous trap, 

A smooth rhythm that is coming to an end. 

Harmonious, a voice so sweet to the ears. 

An unforgettable smile, diamond eyes. 

She keeps my heart warm that the sun is jealous 

Of her. 

Come on now, 

Don’t you know any better than to be messing with fate? 

Tick, tick, tick. 

Time ignores your presence, it has no hold on you. 

You don’t believe in destiny. 

Now it’s time to make the change. 

Oh ok so it turns out ive been borrowing grief from the future ! it turns out ive been preparing to lose the things i love rather than basking in the light of them while they last. Maybe i should nt do that

It’s crazy how low self-worth fucks with peoples lives

all i wanna do is be an independent writer and publish my work one chapter at a time dickens-style so i can watch ppl post abt what they think is gonna happen next and then watch them freak out when the two gays finally bone.

“Let us live for each other and for happiness; let us seek peace in our dear home, near the inland murmur of streams, and the gracious waving of trees, the beauteous vesture of earth, and sublime pageantry of the skies. Let us leave ‘life,’ that we may live.”

— Mary Shelley, “The Last Man”

Just a girl, wrapped in a blanket, with the wind whistling and the rain storming outside, doing her research for her thesis, in a paratextual friendship with twenty-years-old Mary Shelley she will never know about because we are two centuries apart

Regrets from a princess,

Or a knight

Let’s call it a night.

My heart beckons me to your every call.

It races, it leaps, frolicking in some poisonous daises.

Why doesn’t it know any better?

Each day is a lesson learned

Each day is a prayer earned.

My hatred for syrup is the same as my feelings- a sticky situation that i can’t get myself out of.

I want to cry

And i cry.

I’m angry

Again.

I’m let down

Again

reading a book is not enough i need to embroider the words on my lungs