Feels Like Every Few Weeks I Have To Relearn How To Exist, That I Do Need To Sit In The Sun And Move

Happy Imbolc!

Snowdrops in the snow.

Like a Darkness

Stitching wounds with words

the pain remains but we smile

and pretend the blood was always there,

.

Singing dirges forged from dogma

my breath is a stranger standing

on the back porch with screen door open

torn between the sunset and the silence

that waits in the shadows in the front room

because the trick is to learn how not to

hear feel hurt dream hope sing want need

the trick is to tell yourself that all of this

was what we wanted from the very start,

.

We live in a derelict wonderland

empty streets abandoned houses

cars rusting next to single wide trailers

boarded up stores the old school crumbling

more people but not here no not here

where rusted barbed wire remembers

but we don't

Ain't it strange?

TV antennas like ancient talismans

that failed their only task which was

to let the world in three channels at a time

and keep us all from losing ourselves

inside of someone else's dreams

in artificial worlds that fade

as soon as nobody watches,

.

Your favorite song is playing forever

a transmission eternally out of reach

turn your eyes up to the stars

they aren't there but aren't they beautiful?

If we're lucky someday somebody

will say the same of us

hey man I found a piece of your soul stuck in the text messages of old friends you don’t speak to anymore. do you want it back

Death Anxiety, or Memento Mori

Is this not all our lives? We spend this moment in the sunlight being afraid, and trying not to be, and trying to make up for the fear when it never leaves. I scramble, try to scratch my name in the Earth before She takes me back. Remember, remember. One day, my name will be spoken for the last time. If I am lucky, it will be by someone who never knew me. ‘Til then, I know what will happen when I die. The ones who loved me will miss me. They will speak my name. Tears will wet their eyes as they do, and some will blink them away like acid rain. I know. Silently they will scream, and rasp against the ache in their throat and the pit in their gut. No matter how ready the dead were to die. No platitudes will dull the scraping of our souls into raw piles of nerves. Nor should it. Remember, remember. Cry. Cry past the ache in your throat. Knees in the dirt; face in the sun and remember. Let your body shake. Let the hurt flow past the scars in your soul. Let it sting. Hold fast to the Earth, lest the grief swallow you whole. Anchored while you weather the storm. And when you emerge, sail on - and ever remember your death.

Vintage wlw will forever own my heart. We have been here for ages, and we won’t leave.

Alphabet of pretty words

Ambivalent, Brine, Crone, Delinquent, Ever, Fervent, Gallant, Hollow, Iridescent, Jagged, Kalimba, Loom, Mosaic, Null, Opal, Petrichor, Quasi, Rescind, Solve, Timber, Undulate, Verdant, Wind, Xylitol, Yearn, Zonal

Santa Muerte, Our Lady of Holy Death

Eyes are for sight and for tears, and it cries at what it sees

𝘈𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 💐💙✨