This is Axiom.

We are all born to be casualties.

fenestelluhhh:

Thought these all up while tripping this morning. Say them out loud, because they are very satisfying and fun to say. 

• Barbaetous.
• Hercleanic.
• Titanlaeic
• Byntrite
• Tineclaic Barbaetous Byntrite
• Highclite.
• Barbaeteranimoustintrunk.
• Herclean-anclidose.
• Jazzmasmoothed
• Ferbanterum
• Bintrose

remember that one time I made up my own words when I was high on 2c-i?

…if it existed.

I would give everything including myself to watch you awake in the morning and fall asleep next to you in the night.

It torments me, this pain we feel.

That you shouldn’t have to feel.

Common, cool, collected so don’t stop to put on

that painted face for me.

I am a witness to this cruel seductor, a play thing.

Raggedy Anne-xed

Soft and threadbare, I feel bulletproof.

Off of your shining peaks, I viewed paradise-

an unwavering anxiety

flooded my lungs and stomach pumps

iron.

I sit with goosebumped flesh, 

for a simple glimpse

of Real.

fenestelluhhh:

Confusion is the food of infirm minds. We feed and live off of it. It fuels our already insecure hearts wit some new experience that is constantly longed for. On that topic, I’m not just “simply” confused, I am insanely lost. The things that live in my mind, the monsters and the mighty and the weak have never been unleashed. No matter how much I open my mouth or touch my pen to sweet scented paper, I have never touched these things. They are still fighting to get out and fighting every matter and thought in my head. They are my fears, every lat one that demands to be spoken of. I think maybe if I did talk about them, they would consume me. A broken, crazy little girl, still beautiful on the outside, but marred on the in. Mascara bleeding eyes. But I will speak regardless.

One: Amoeba. Is it possible that I am so desperate for accompaniment, that I don’t  realize that I am actually petrified of intimacy? I love sex. I can admit it, but with someone I love, I have no idea. I don’t know because I have never had that. I have no idea how it feels to share myself exclusively with someone on that level. Like an amoeba, who is asexual, could I be asking myself if I am as such? I’m so scared of being alone forever that in my mad scramble in fear I have closed myself off to such things. My fear lies in the fact that I could not want anyone or no one could ever want me. Especially for anything more than touch. 

Two: Tortoise. There is someone out there for everyone. I’ll admit I am aware of the theory, but it is just that: a theory. People go through life completely alone with no one ever. They spend days alone on the couch, petting cats, longing for someone, but doing nothing about it. I have someone who wants me, who wants to hold my hand and kiss my cheek and sing me to sleep. It could have worked before. Before he clammed up and was fearful of ruining our friendship. He wants to try again. I can’t see him that way any more. He could be perfect and as much as I want to leap into open air and hope to fly, I stick my neck and head back into my shell. Behind a wall. In a vault. Tortoises can’t fly, you know? There is more fear that I cant even give myself to someone who wants me so badly. The closer he gets, the more I want to make sanctuary of my shell. 

Three: Photograph. Black, white, serene. Landscape, portrait. Photographs defy physics. Everything must change, right? I see whats wrong with myself. I have the desire to change, but I don’t. I never take the key step to actual change. I stay, watching everything I love change without me. Fear is cropping up again. Maybe if I change I don’t like who I am when I do, I can’t go back. Changing is learning and you can’t unlearn. The only way to control change is to limit it within myself and in my life. Because as much as Autumn is beautiful, I can’t keep it forever and the frost of winter quickly approaches. Should I let myself fall, approaching madness to find change? When I try to change something about myself, I am seen as self destructive, but being human, I am only trying to trigger a change within myself, and I am running out of options. A never ending rut. Neck deep and growing deeper. Black, white, anything but serene. A photograph of a six foot deep hole. A future. A past. 

Fear is consuming me. Is a life worth living with every word scared to be said? Every step scared to be taken? My monsters are loose now. Shackles broken, teeth wild. My mind isn’t fear yet, but it is a fearful step taken. I have no desire to play hide and seek with my demons so I will not run after them or from them. I will not be consumed, for they are all free. And freedom may not be happiness (quite the opposite, actually), but it is knowing and me taking a step towards mental stability. Finally, I can live without without the insanity bubbling to my temple and out of my eyes. I can be okay. Demons, just you try and catch me now. 

take it all out on me.

there is nothing i want more.

i want to be the envy of the masochists.

i want to be your black sheep.

i want to be your scape goat.

take it out on me, darling.

there is nothing i want more.

(Source: fenestelluhhh)

Do you remember wanting to be older? Sitting in your bedroom, legos strewn on the floor and Gargoyles playing on the TV. Mom calling from the kitchen, fueled with urgency. Do you remember looking forward to the future when you were suddenly a famous artist and had the whole world figured out and splayed at your feet? Skipping those 15 odd years in daydreamers paradise to the moment you opened your mansion door after stepping out of your car to see the love of your life’s face smiling at you.

Before you realized it wasn’t that easy or simple. Before nostalgia would slap you in the face. Before you yearned for the simplicity that you had so quickly tried to escape.

I had never imagined how this all would be. I had never imagined the amount of immense pain that came with promise of another day to add to the box of numbers that sits stinking like a trashcan in your kitchen of broken dreams and sad stories. Had my hope evaporated so quickly in the sunshine of another day wasted?

I have never so badly wanted to turn around. To stop and complete a 180. But then, I remember. I remember the fear. I imagine that turn and looking back at all this hardship. All this bullshit. And then turning again and seeing the white and unknown that is the next day. I think of the crowded and chaotic mess of memories that hurt to remember.

I want a way out.

I want my imagination of what the future was to Amelia of age 8 to implode and lead me there.

I want a way to cut deeper and see the stars in my blood and the galaxies in my heart.

I want more.

There is no crystal ball, no mystical answer, no all knowing master of time. Just me and this endless wanting, fingers outstretched to the light I do not know and eyes blind to the infinite chance.

Do you remember? Wanting more? Reaching for the stars, like they told you in third grade? I don’t think they realized the importance of that wish. I don’t think they knew that the little redhead sitting front row would have become the drug addict. The college dropout. The lonely. The living from paycheck to paycheck. The wanting. I’m still reaching for those stars, but all I get is handfuls of dirt and blood.

Is this all I am? All I’ll ever be? Or is this just another stupid girl trying reach another understanding soul through words? Just another stupid girl.

Silly, wanting girl.

I snuffed out her life as her wings beat frantic.

The wing queen slept after I granted her a goddess’ mercy.

I could hear her cries as she tried to lift herself from the ground to no avail.

The lit cigarette I threw almost to waste- in an attempt tolet go…

Became her savior.

And I murdered once again.

I cried for her,

I cried for the pain I knew she felt.

I felt it too.

Stacked years of endless pain.

No savior has come to my aid.

No secret has saved me.

So I sit here wishing I knew what real mercy was and what the beauty of death   could be.

But I could not ask.

Never were the words so hard to expel from my lungs.

From my own lofty breath.

A stranger will save me one day.

But that day is not today.

This, the day of the wing queen’s death