tansdiary

[tansdiary]

the thought of death kills me!

—june twenty five, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

i wish.

[tansdiary]

my mind is both a home and a horror house.

—january three, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

Whose life am i living? Am i living at all?

—may twenty one, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

note to self:

fascinated with the subject of astrology, i must try to learn more about it.

[tansdiary]

will escape into a book now

—may ten, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

the cold windy nights, my beloved.

—may five, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

to taste death while being alive is somewhat divine, perhaps some blissful blessing in devilish disguise.

—april twenty eight, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

loss of emotion, loss of energy, and loss of everything!

—april twenty eight, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

in solitude and secrecy, i remain.

—april twenty seven, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

i've too much to say, too much to write but for some reason, i'm not able to pour words out of my mind.

—april twenty six, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

i have been fooled... i have fooled myself!

—march two, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

thinking of forgetting rules that i laid out for myself, let's see for how long i can do that and to what extent. on a side note, i wonder if i shall call them rules or the demonic desires of perfection.

—february twenty three, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

here's me wishing again for the nights to be longer. to be all mine. in a secret play with me that the world will never know of.

—february twenty three, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

oh, how i long for the wintry winds to kiss me in the dark nights!

—february six, twenty twenty five

[tansdiary]

i carry a briefcase with me all the time a deep dark brown bag always by my side like the poor men’s garbs, its surface is ragged— the contempt of the world, it tries to withstand, the shell shields a jewel—a souvenir within— like an undisturbed resting corpse in a coffin. the jewel—i must confess—is not ruby or emerald, nor pearl or opal, neither lavish nor lustrous— for that’s not the essence of a corpse… lifeless are the dead… waiting to be reborn. the jewel—that perhaps still belongs to me— is a miserable heart… that forgot to breathe. — preserving my heart in a briefcase // @nosebleedclub february prompt

[tansdiary]

anyone else struggling to sleep? struggling to go on with their day? struggling to speak or draw or write or work? to eat and to enjoy? struggling to live, to be enough, and to take care of yourself!? because i am and it's killing me, killing me like a slow deadly painful poison. please let me know i'm not alone in this very moment. give me your hand and keep it on the palms of mine, let me feel better, at least, for a while.