“Autumn Shows Us How Beautiful It Is To Let Things Go.”

I Never Could

With a shy smile and a dusty guitar

You sing me a song about rainy afternoons

You close your eyes and get lost in the lines

Leaving me envious

Of the words that left your lips

And those strings under your fingertips

I want to reach out, hold your hand

Instead, I hold myself back

Try not to break the spell

But you pull me close, hold me tight

Between now and then, I give up the fright.

It's not a fireworks-and-butterflies kiss.

Instead, it feels more like a sea breeze

And coming home

I peek a glance to see that your eyes

Are closed the way you do when you sing your lines.

Your arms wrap me from behind,

Your head on my shoulder, breath on my neck.

You hum a song

That we claimed as ours, like a wind in my ears.

This time around, it's your guitar that's left envious.

I kiss your freckles, scars, and moles.

And wonder how the songs could leave your lips

Because I never could.

Surpassing mess

Something's haunting me from within

With teeth, claws, and an evil grin.

Unlike what the movies show

Mine doesn't mess with lights and photos.

I don't live in a haunted house,

Nor do I own the dybbuk box.

So why am I troubled when I try to sleep?

Why is my sanity so hard to keep?

Do you know what's even peculiar?

It's how much all this feels familiar!

They've been living within me all this while

Things I shoved down and never reconciled.

My brain can be a surpassing mess

Make the entire horror genre seem witless.

Because I don't live in a haunted house

Nor do I own the dybbuk box

But do you hear a girl constantly weep?

Until I finally fall asleep.

“I like the idea of a motto,“ she goes on. “I think an inspirational quote can get you through hard times.” “Like what?” asks Gat. Mirren pauses. Then she says: “Be a little kinder than you have to.” We are all silenced by that. It seems impossible to argue with. Then Johnny says, “Never eat anything bigger than your ass.” “You ate something bigger than your ass?” I ask. He nods, solemn.

Never felt more seen.

"Dark academic?" More like "someone please help me holy shit I can't continue living like this and the only thing keeping me from falling off my rocker is literature."

did someone say "hay"? 👀

endearments in letters to véra

My Body: A Crime Scene

I was told the body is a temple. I was taught to treat my body like a temple. Sacred, Holy, somewhere God resides, somewhere a person can be at peace. But with time, the sacrality has begun to fade. It has become a realm of my internal demons, something sinister.

My body is now more of a crime scene than a temple.

I've put up barricade tapes around me. Of bright "when life gives you lemon" yellow and black. A cautionary measure for the lighthearted.

Some understand and stay away.

Others push right through like the case now belongs to them.

They say they've seen this before.

They say no amount of gore can keep them away.

They say they'll take care of it.

Only to realize it's bloodier than they could've imagined.

Multiple fingerprints, Multiple footprints: An evidence marker placed for every person I let walk all over me, and for every person, I gave my heart only for them to poke my wounds.

Blood: Numerous splatters, but all mine.

Weapons: Some sticks and stones, knives that I willingly handed over hoping they'd protect me, now covered in my blood and, a pen.

Many witnesses: Either dumb or hostile.

Signs of arson: Ashes of everything I burnt down. Pictures, letters, broken promises, false hopes, unfulfilled dreams.

And now, all that's left of me is a chalk outline. Everything else faded, picked apart or withered away.

My body is not a temple anymore. It isn't sacred or pure.

It's not a place I can stand barefoot.

It's now a place where I need a hazmat suit and gloves.

⭐ Helene × Avitas ⭐

if there's anything tumblr has taught me it's that this guy named franz kafka was in agony 365 days a year

*looking at a post i made like minutes ago*

"what the fuck was i on how did i write it like that"