acollectionofbrokenthings - Tumblr blog

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

the morbid rawness of my wounds comes from picking the scabs.

if it does not leave a scar, was it even real?

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

my sweet earth, you have humbled me.

i am so truly rotten. nothing could retrieve me back to life even if it tried.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

i am too big to be around delicate things. i pollute the air like i am smoke.

i would have mutilated the moon molten so that i could devour its pearly divinity if it guaranteed that it would make me a little less unsightly. i would have burned the world to the ground.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

they made a monster of Medusa as well.

hated how loud her trauma was.

couldn’t believe she had the audacity to not take it lying down.

they made a war ground of her body,

so she made one of theirs.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

april did give birth to me under a fruity tree, but i was born with chainsaw hands

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

I stand right beside the corpses of modern knights who tried to save me by ripping this agony out of me. bodies on the ground, fallen in the arena of my handmade melancholy.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

april regrets me like a parent does a child.

i stand for everything it does not.

i have maimed it with sadness.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

I was born in spring / there is irony in how everything i touch rots

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

please, god, be kind to me. this skin is tainted by wasted days, this youth is stolen by aching bones. please, god, i am too young to have these scars.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

i have never understood where the line is drawn between self—sacrifice and self—slaughter.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

you can romanticize me all you wish,

but a devil wrapped in silk is still the devil.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

i looked at him.

there was something there invisible to the human eye.

you could’ve called it demons of the mind — something that could never be seen.

just something compelled to destroy all.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

I will love you as patroclus loved achilles, with blood under my fingernails and venom on my lips.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

i want to talk about what happened without mentioning how much it hurt. there has to be a way to care for the wounds without reopening them. to name the pain without inviting it back into me.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

you keep fighting because you feel you need to earn permission to exist. you’re even willing to sacrifice your own life for it. no one can grant you that affirmation. no stamp certifies that you deserve to live.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

and you’re whispering, you’re begging, “save me, save me, save me,” into skin that isn’t yours —

as if there had ever been enough of anything in you to save.

[acollectionofbrokenthings]

you are the knife i turn inside myself, this is love