146 i wish i had a single thought the least bit legitimate enough
to open up my mouth and say anything i mean, i don't mean anything
i like to collage because words alone fail me sometimes
sometimes i close my eyes and i see a pale girl with long messy wavy hair tangled around her (bony) shoulders, there are dark circles under her eyes like she hasn't slept in days and she's gaunt, she's so gaunt but she's so lovely, like a small sculpture of ivory clay, only the artist didn't have enough clay so he decided to make her as big around as the pen he used to draw two lovers sitting on a park bench with their fingers laced together as perfect as the laces on your favorite old sneakers
she's peeling polish off her fingernails and her lips are cracked and dry and she's sitting almost naked on the floor in her bathroom and she knows she's the only one in the house but she's careful not to make a sound. and always she's thinking, thoughts are racing around in her mind so fast and loud that soon they have to come out, but they only come out as a whisper
and when she hears the words it's as if somebody else has spoken them. they startle her, interrupt the stark white silence of her empty little world and stain it deep red
"i will always be here"
and it's a promise that's dangerous and horrible but it's a promise all the same and that's all she's ever wanted, all she ever wanted was somebody to promise they would always be there after he left
this kind of demon was so much more reliable than a person, hate was so much more reliable than love
can you even imagine letting that go? i'm struggling right now, i can already feel it coating my mouth thick and dull and terrible and i know what the morning will bring
original photo
alexithymia (a⋅lex⋅i⋅thy⋅mi⋅a) (n.)
difficulty in experiencing, expressing, and describing emotional responses.
i like to collage because words alone fail me sometimes
sometimes i close my eyes and i see a pale girl with long messy wavy hair tangled around her (bony) shoulders, there are dark circles under her eyes like she hasn't slept in days and she's gaunt, she's so gaunt but she's so lovely, like a small sculpture of ivory clay, only the artist didn't have enough clay so he decided to make her as big around as the pen he used to draw two lovers sitting on a park bench with their fingers laced together as perfect as the laces on your favorite old sneakers
she's peeling polish off her fingernails and her lips are cracked and dry and she's sitting almost naked on the floor in her bathroom and she knows she's the only one in the house but she's careful not to make a sound. and always she's thinking, thoughts are racing around in her mind so fast and loud that soon they have to come out, but they only come out as a whisper
and when she hears the words it's as if somebody else has spoken them. they startle her, interrupt the stark white silence of her empty little world and stain it deep red
"i will always be here"
and it's a promise that's dangerous and horrible but it's a promise all the same and that's all she's ever wanted, all she ever wanted was somebody to promise they would always be there after he left
this kind of demon was so much more reliable than a person, hate was so much more reliable than love
can you even imagine letting that go? i'm struggling right now, i can already feel it coating my mouth thick and dull and terrible and i know what the morning will bring
original photo
alexithymia (a⋅lex⋅i⋅thy⋅mi⋅a) (n.)
difficulty in experiencing, expressing, and describing emotional responses.
