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What Remains.
-
Of all things,
I wish you could understand the anger.
Understand the way it started as excitement,
A bubbling joy unable to be contained.
We are told there is strength
In remaining kind,
Told to keep our hearts bleeding-
For what?
I have carried guilt enough for several lifetimes,
Saw the light in a million endings,
Snatched and drug out those
Who could not stand-
Yet as soon as the joy began,
It was ignored.
Ridiculed.
There is a different kind of pain,
A slippery sense of rage
In going from a place of warmth
To a hollowed grave.
Especially at the hands of those,
Who swore they loved you-
The moment they saw
Your spark.
x
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If it doesn't show you a world where you don't exist, or make you speak in riddles, or with a little luck turn you into one or more birds, what's even the point?
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The face I made seeing its another sprint weekend.
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Should I even bother queuing up some posts? Does anyone actually care?
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using the regular Bel flag because she can't protest for obv reasons AND because people don't pay as much attention when he doesn't have that flag...
//
Belarus loves old western movies !
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“It was then that his nerves broke down. Thereafter, lounging exhaustedly about in a dressing-gown, he did little but stare from his west window, shiver at the threat of thunder, and make wild entries in his diary.”
—H. P. Lovecraft, The Haunter of the Dark
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"Wayward, Reckless and Curated For Your Protection" - A Series of Questionable Attempts That Should Never Have Escaped - But Did.
Original Digital Art ©2024 Bug Barians Ltd., LLC
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fuck amazon, rip a league of their own.
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But what did it matter anyway? It only took a couple of generations for you to be no more than an entry on Ancestry.com, a withered twig on the family tree.
Kate Atkinson, from Death at the Sign of the Rook
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"You Seem Quiet."
-
I have spoken into the silence more often than I care to admit;
Into a void in which my words are lost.
It gets tiring, you know.
Being the one who speaks with no reply.
If I am not happy for me,
Or rather,
Even if I am,
It acts as a vacuum;
It acts as a brush of shame.
Painting my eyes a different color than intended,
Stumbling over my words until I trail off.
Nobody has ever asked me
What I am thinking.
It is assumed I should like to share it.
Yet some thoughts are delicate,
Handspun glass,
Curving to the sun,
Writhing for anybody to take hold and
See me.
Ask me
What I think.
Shattering when trying to hold attention long enough,
For anybody to actually particularly care
About what is said.
x
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Why the fuck do I even bother? Just when I think it’s safe to come out of my shell these mother fuckers just make me go straight back in. Why bother? I’ll never find what I want. I’ll never get what I’m looking for. So why? Just why? Fuck this shit.
Pretty Little Psycho ✨
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Don't care anymore 😭
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Oh, how I miss to be blissfully miserable. How I miss it. My ignorance.
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