One does not need a dick to give off Big Dick Energy.
Problem is, I don’t have a dick or Big Dick Energy.
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power
People do anything to feel powerful,
in control.
Some people scream.
Fight.
Hold a knife.
Carve into skin.
Bleed.
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That fact that I don’t have a bathtub to dramatically lay in when I’m depressed, is honestly sad.
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I’ve got a lot of blood on my hands but most of it is my own.
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I’m so terrified of carving past skin, but at the same time I long to open someone’s chest and hold their heart.
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Holy Blood
I’m a sinner who’s been having it rough.
I keep punishing, punishing myself
Praying that my blood will be just enough.
A man’s loving calls sound so corrupt,
And I cannot stand my own ‘nature,’
Because nature just feels so fucked up.
I’m a sinner who’s been having it rough.
I keep punishing, punishing myself
Praying that the blood will be just enough.
I’m a woman who’s found a lover
In someone the church calls a sister,
And I cannot bear to not love her.
I’m a sinner who’s been having it rough.
I keep punishing, punishing myself
Praying that my blood will be just enough.
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What are we, but flesh tricked into dreaming.
the brain is just a sad bag of squishy shit
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High
And I stumble
across the floor
tiles cool against my feet
high on my own
adrenaline
I stagger through the doorways
laughing softly under my breath
as I do so
I’m high
floating high above
the clouds, high as a kite, but
I’m grounded
I can feel the blood in my chest, in my hands, in my body
I feel alive
I can feel the blood on my chest, on my hands, on my body
and I feel alive
I’m high
on my own pain
I’m shaking
shuddering
like pleasure in sex
quivering
as I stumble
into the warmth of my bed
I can’t stop shaking
my heart thundering under my ribs
but I have never felt so stable
Real
The hands on my body
are my own
the thoughts in my mind
are my own
I’m shaking and
shaking but god
I can finally breathe
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Terrified of terror. Terrified of falling into the abyss I keep throwing myself into.
Paranoid of becoming paranoid. Paranoid of the voices around me, in me, and the thunderous thuds around me.
Scared of the fear gripping my heart, quivering as the fear ensnares my lungs and asks whose arms I’ll be running to today.
Blurry reflections in the too-dull blade, echoed by my kin in the mirror. Voices dripping from white lifelines, promising safety. Words on a page, taunting the darkness in my head.
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Embrace Me Tenderly
Embrace me tenderly,
for I am made of crooked glass
and stained smiles.
Embrace me tenderly,
for I am made of sharp edges
and bloody grins.
Embrace me tenderly,
for if you are not careful,
the jagged curves of my body
may cut too deep.
Embrace me tenderly,
for if you are not careful,
my teeth will drag too roughly
across your lips as we kiss.
Embrace me tenderly,
for if you are not careful,
you’ll break too soon
and become just like me.
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frankenstein
I do not exist.
This body is empty, a husk,
there is no soul in its bosom.
A creature made of flesh and a canvas of scars,
like Frankenstein’s morbid creation.
My maker did not give me a soul when they brought me to life,
only the weight of flesh in my hands and the sting of air in my lungs.
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Sometimes you have to hold yourself tenderly and rock back and forth, trying to give yourself a sense of gentle love that no one else gives you.
loneliness in this fUCKING pandemic
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soul
Where does my soul go, when it leaves this body?
Does it wander to heaven and converse with the angels,
or does it visit hell and laugh with the devils?
Perhaps it stays with me, but sitting across from me
instead of inside the body I am.
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Cover my body in violent kisses borne of my own hands and blades, let me suffer in my own agony.
my dramatic ass having a meltdown
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touch
Touch me, I plead.
Love me, I beg.
Run your fingers through my hair and
Kiss the hills of my ribs and
Whisper sweet nothings into the
Valleys of my body.
Will you hesitate when fingertips find the scars
Sitting patiently atop my thighs?
Or will you press gentle kisses
Into the raised white lines of my skin?
Would you rush boldly through
The plains of scars and old skin
Decorating my back
Clawing into the meadows of bloody flowers?
Kiss me, I whisper. Remind me that I am yours,
Muzzle my lips with ownership,
Collar my throat with purple kisses,
Shackle me with your worshiping palms.
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There are expectations to live up to but I don’t know what those expectations are and who they are for.
oooooh a superiority complex and an inferiority complex
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achilles
i am not achilles.
i never will be
achilles.
i am not made
of sun-kissed skin and
the grace of holy waters.
i am no young god.
instead, i fancy myself patroclus.
i am hopelessly mortal.
i am soft, pliant, and
my mind runs rampid
with all of the anxieties
of love.
i have not achilles’ confidence
and bravery
and all of the things which make
a tragic hero.
instead i am viciously
in love with the hero
and feel all of his pains
without ever setting foot
on his battlefield.
all I can do is love
my achilles
and pray that I will never
mourn him
as patroclus did.
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