I was all shaken up.By the fake, pink church with a large circular top window and boxed-up children inside the attic.
I tried to help out the gloomy girl from the bar—
by writing up pretty postcards of encouragement but her soul was blacker than the nicotine stashed in her lungs.
I tried to bypass the ballerina but her moves and twirls had the nail driven right above my head—literally. Each laced up flat that came undone was oppression wrapped tight around my throat.
Soon enough we were making a pact of sorts but the difficulty thing with dancers is that they know a trick or two —and the general public is their pawn.
Though immortalized youth was granted, the putrefaction of the body was not—and like dust we swirled around the ballerina’s many turns and twist —with no longer a body to call our own.
What’s it like on the other side of the looking-glass? Are pictures distorted? Is your smile full of cracks? Are your eyes two empty vacant holes, too? Just once I’d like to see it— The world beyond the looking-glass.—©catloverr
You are beginning to annoy me.
Nothing but a complex and tedious puzzle.
I regret handing over a piece of myself to someone as discombobulated as you.
Your unpredictability is maddening — a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces and a half scratched out scenery.
You embody my fears and you reflect pure loathing.
Meeting you was a mistake but at the beginning it seemed tempting, a challenge. What a laugh!
You are nothing but a jigsaw puzzle, missing pieces of yourself but I’m complete.
I don’t need your ideals to mess me up.
There’s this ice seeping into my bones and veins
crawling into every nook of my body
and leaving me in silent agony.
He is sitting on his throne, I am looking at the dirt.
I’m gnawing at his feet, he is talking to his buddies.
I’m halfway through the bone, he is still making some jokes.
There’s nothing funny about blood and skin dripping down your throat.
His flesh and bones are nothing but acidic poison.
Yet I want more.
Addicted to this taste, I’m drowning in a sea of red and suddenly I’m by myself.
Addicted to this taste, I want nothing more than to asphyxiate in amber, white and red.
Cinders burn black
When heaven is raining down
Faces are distorted and emotive, seeking each other.
Corruption. Copulation of Ether.
Mystery marks the star that will wipe red to black and fill the oceans with obsidian.
Pity is like that bitter and ugly aftertaste of a great time.
The sky was melted black and blue with large yellow stars on full bloom.
They appeared so close and easy to touch but my fingertips could not reach them.
It was a fantasy from afar that gave me purpose and true happiness.
And after that, every night I dreamt of a blue starry sky I could never reach because it wasn’t real but I was content just the same.
I feel like my soul is darkening around the edges.
I’m consumed by black and fading to nothing.
There is a horrid sense of completion and desolation all at once.
Life has a choking hold on my ambitions and squeezing tight enough for desperation to pour out.
A wise person never refuses to learn new things and improve themselves. A fool believes they know it all and any new thing to be learned is silly or a waste of time.
There is darkness hidden away in the purest of hearts. The point is not to pretend to be a benevolent soul but to admit to this darkness without being consumed by it.
Sometimes by wanting to rebel, you only end up hurting yourself. It’s almost like you can’t even get high enough to touch the higher up’s arses so you end up bottling and filled with frustration. When you hurt the company just to hurt someone else, I’m sure it speaks of a great resentment and though one tries to remain positive and upbeat, the ugliness of all humans has to come out at some point.