The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too.
You are more than just a fragile, sad beautiful creature. You are wonderfully intelligent and deep, you are cursed with that as well. It's often the smartest of us who are the saddest. I hope you start to see the beauty in life soon. This sounds really lame, but I hope you start to love yourself, because you really do deserve to.
Thankyou. No it doesn’t sound lame. I kind of hope so too. I am so incredibly exhausted of feeling like this.
I am sorry that I am fragile. That inside i give up too easily, that i give in to the waves that sweep over me. Allow them to wash me far up the shore, then drag me back out to sea. I am so tired of feeling my empty rib cage gathering with dust. Becoming entwined and overrun with weeds.
so tired and alone
I held the rake in my hands. The sharp splinters of wood prickling into my palms. As I grip onto the handle, they bury themselves further into my fingers. Injecting themselves into my body to escape.
I am bloodied. These tiny wooden splinters cover my existence like an infection.
I am always the crash of ‘08, bleeding underneath my trackpants. Blood seeping down my legs into my socks. I am crawling across the ground toward my bike, the stones pressing themselves to my red hands.
I am shaking underneath my clothing. I am cold beneath my gloves. Regretting all of my words behind a facade of indifference. I am past drowning, i’m becoming the ocean and allowing the pain and hurt and hatred to sink beneath my skin and into my flesh. I am immersing myself and embedding myself into the bedrock at the bottom of this sea.
last night was the first time in my life/career stripping that i have actually had to run downstairs and cry
it was fucked
people always laugh about like i dunno, what if a chick starts crying on stage or with a customer or something
LEGT ALOMST HAPPENED ah my god. shits so fucked lately. i am so sad
i just bought three whole new outfits for work and i cannot wait to receive them in the mail so i can MAKE SOME MORE MONEY BECAUSE I AM BROKE AS FUCK FROM CONSTANTLY BUYING OUTFITS
(see the cycle here?)
Circe and Scylla by John Melhuish Strudwick, circa 1886.
woops didn’t see this. ahhhhh… complicated. i know it won’t be returned. he is as good as dead (literally) i know i will get hurt. i know his career is what he wants and needs, not me.
I’m skinning myself. Running a cool metallic finger beneath my skin and prying all away from my muscle and bone. Separating and segmenting each layer and callous and blister. Picking through the bones and scraping the blood away. Feeling it beneath my nails, building up and drying in all the cracks of my skin. Dragging my fingertips across it’s expanse to feel it’s silky wet turn to dried grit. This is something else, something that refuses to grow. Refuses to flourish despite the water sprinkling upon it’s leaves. It leaves me restless- sleepless. Wide eyed and haunting my own home with every step.
I’m preparing myself for all the things that I’ll never do. Organising my belongings, my mind, my will for the things I say I will achieve, but never begin. Pouring out my last words though I’ll never die, putting up all the sails though i’ll never make a maiden voyage. I am tired of being all word and thought and written sentiment. I’m tired of not having the courage or drive, tired of lacking the fire within. It burns with such intense heat, but never fuels the right decisions. I am growing and morphing into the same shape every time I step outside my mould. I place myself in boxes I know i will never fit within, and somehow expect to accomplish something worthwhile.
i just find i am always doing things that kind of affect me negatively i suppose. i do things even though i know that i won’t end up for the better. thus constantly shooting myself in the foot. i mean it figuratively, not literally hah if that’s what you were wondering.
i just fell for someone that i knew from the beginning that i shouldn’t develop feelings for.
my life is a series of events that involve me shooting myself in the foot