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[bluecait]

scar tissue || s.o.

[bluecait]

i. wait for it. his face is like a ticking clock – all hands and no dimension, all tension and no relief in striking the hour. he looks up and he says the rain is coming. he says when it gets here peaches will bloom from the palms of his hands and we will feast sticky-sweet.

ii. i can’t wait. he has a mind like an etch-a-sketch – he forgets. it never rains here and the only things he blooms are thorns. still, i want his tumbleweed mouth on my soft places in the worst way: blood on the concrete, turning to gold as it seeps into the cracks. but gold’s expensive and i don’t think he can pay the price.

iii. wait for it. it is not a drought unless you’re used to rain; it is not a timebomb if you only choose to see the clock. this he maintains with nectar on his tongue. the clouds are heavy.

iv. i can’t wait. this desert is out of sweet things. this clock is coming unwound.

- what to do when the clocks are stopped and it’s raining // abby, day 296

[bluecait]

(1) wait for the wolf. he’ll come in the dark dressed like bloodred heartthrob; dressed like the first soft thing your skin has belonged to. (2) he’s going to tell you that he’ll stay. (3) believe him. (4) when he melts back into the woods, believe that he loves you; that he’ll come back; that he’ll  swallow the throb that’s giving birth in your chest; that he didn’t swallow you. (5) wait for him. (6) wait for him. (7) wait for him. (8) the places he kissed, you will find teeth-marks there. realize you’ve been bleeding to death; realize you don’t care. (9) lick yourself clean. (10) wait for him. (11) wait for him. (12) tear the wounds back open just to have something that reminds you of him. (13) tear the wounds back open just to see what he tasted when he bit down. (14) bleed while you wait for him. (15) bleed and wait for him. (16) never stop.

how to become the aftermath || d.d (via whenstarsgodim)

[bluecait]

nobody knows // mansionz

[bluecait]

we used to talk about never leaving like we were honest. like we weren’t depressed and drunk and swerving at on the wrong side of the road sometime past midnight. it’s a little past midnight now, too. late. i’m tired but our memories are the things that make my heart hit my ribcage. (i wake up with bruises and think of you.) we’re still talking but it’s about the weather and schoolwork and how we hate that chickfila is closed on sundays. we’re still talking, but i’m alone now. jesus christ, i am so alone now

it’s all because i dreamt of you and woke up alone (catherine w // sempiternalwriting)

[bluecait]

WE'RE ALREADY GONE SO WHAT'S THE POINT

in the back of class me and gillian pinch our wrists and talk about how beautiful

we used to be. i ask what could have happened and she says maybe

god got bored with us and the same bad ending he left stuck on repeat. i say

i’m bored of it too. i say i want to leave too. i say isn’t it my turn now? don’t i get

to get out of here one day? gillian says no, this is just what happens when

you leave your body before it is finished being a body, you have to stick around

and watch it fall apart.

[bluecait]

(bake me up) bake me up a pie / (one-third cup) of flour for our pie

[bluecait]

[bluecait]

i. i’m empty. not on enough medicine or maybe on too little but whatever they’re doing isn’t working and i can’t feel anything. hold me a little tighter, baby, leave bruises, don’t apologize ii. record players are overused cliches but for good reason and god, i am spinning in circles i am getting nowhere i am only around for the nostalgia iii. i miss being able to love. iv. tell me you are okay with holding a body, even if it is bruised. tell me i can still be loved

23:53 and i am aching (catherine w // sempiternalwriting)

[bluecait]

literally passing over see you in sj

[bluecait]

a tale as old as time. her eyes are brown like mine.

beauty, with your soft voice and your pretty cheeks: does he kiss your bruises after he’s finished screaming? belle, princess of patience, lady who simply loved until he came around to it - can you teach me how to tame him? how to make him never raise a hand to me again?

true love changes him. which love do i give him, bella. in the morning when i am up early to make him breakfast and silent when he yells at me, is this the music that soothes the savage beast? in the black of night, when my eyes are closed and he is panting at my neck, is this the love that put him to sleep? when he turns twenty-one the spell will be forever. the last petal. he will remain a horror forever. you must shape him into a better man by then, beauty. must carve out your own heart and feed it to him gently. must spoon him your own bones until he stops being hungry. 

youthful indiscretions are forgot. you cover up the scars from his claws. it is not the man, it is the curse he lives under. you are his one. his only chance. i come back like you, belle. i return to the castle no matter how battered i become. i think i see the man you saw once, bella. i think i see the man i fell in love with. 

we, que linda, are strong girls. my nose, yours, bella, we keep ours in books. i too am the strange girl, running until her feet tire. i too am lost in the woods. we ran from our houses and found monsters, or maybe we were always fated to. we love a challenge. we have hearts that are mountains.

beauty. i kiss him but the spell never breaks, i sit myself in pretty dresses at fancy tables with meals i made just for him. even the grey stuff is delicious. he still throws the dishes. 

later when he is apologizing i feel your ghost hope in me - did we at last get through to him. did we reverse the curse. this time, does he mean it. if i am better will he open up. if i am better will he stop. if i am better could i beat him. if i am better can i leave him. 

belle: how do i save him. how do i save myself.

[bluecait]

soft palms good suit, realtor buy-the-house-after-one-room smile, he chuckles, “yeah, but,” sniffs in like he’s inhaling a sedative, “where do you hide the bodies in a place like this,” says: a place like this, let me tell you about a place like this because under the trees and fresh paint and cars they get detailed with a toothbrush and windows that they cover with soap just to make sure ‘the cleaning people fully do their job’ (ha, ha, ha), let me tell you where they hide the bodies let me tell you what their kids smell like, or maybe not, maybe your stomach isn’t strong enough. in our last week of junior year bella breaks down in the hallway and says, “i’m bulimic,” and i want to say, “no, you’re bella,” but instead i say, “why, why, why? you’re beautiful as it is,” bella’s history says: this is why, this is toddler in tiara turned young girl in tiara, turned teenager with too much baby fat on her to get anything but kicked out of beauty pageants (she hated them, she hated them, but what her mama wanted, her mama was gonna get), this is girl-on-cheer-squad looking down at her hands and thinking, “would i get a crown if they saw me today” and no, and no, and no, her body floats in a toilet bowl let me tell you the body of justin with his chattering teeth who got straight-A’s but never stopped trembling with what we thought was caffeine: one day I caught him crying in a back room, he said, “please don’t tell, please don’t tell,” he said: anxiety. he said: self-harm. he said: been pushing myself too hard for too long and now it feels like everything is crawling down my throat and setting up camp on my vocal chords and sending little spiders through my bloodstream, now it feels like no matter what i do, i can’t feel anything. he said: look for my body next to the dean’s list, i have to make it, i have to make it. where do they hide the bodies here? in senior year the captain of the football team killed himself when he didn’t get into the college his parents had pushed him for. randi’s stomach turned purple with the bruises her father gave her. david never got out of drugs after they made him drop art as his main subject. alex just wanted to be a boy in peace but his mother’s contempt refuses to acknowledge the “he” part of “she,” was struck down and suffocated by dresses and makeup. everybody wanted to be the best but only one person could be, which meant the rest of them were left upstream with nothing but fingers they rotted through while trying to catch their parent’s dreams. oh, trust me, they murder plenty here, but they dress up the corpse and keep it running. wouldn’t want to ruin a long-term investment. wouldn’t want the neighbors to notice something bad is stinking up their jewel-green lawns, their soapy windows, their garden-by-the-pond. nothing different lives here, not for long. either you are one of their button-ups or you were made all wrong. in a place like this, you got nothing but bodies. the houses are all too clean and the mothers drink too much and are overly friendly and the fathers don’t come home until way after their shifts are over. oh, sure, the kitchen floor is stunning and you gotta love the failing school system and you gotta love the community and you gotta love everything, just gotta, just gotta. a place like this. a place like this. a place full of emptiness.

suburb kid // r.i.d (via inkskinned)

[bluecait]

SOFTER WITH U || s.o.

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I want you to know that - i. It doesn’t matter that we ended. Life moves on. People forget. Friends become strangers. The ones that you love(d) change. ii. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. I did. In my own convoluted, messy way. I did. iii. I’m sorry I couldn’t heal the wounds in your chest, I tried. I’m sorry for creating them. I never knew that I was capable of hurting anyone like that until I hurt you. iv. But… I know that war is never one sided. Sometimes, sometimes I feel like I lost a limb in that battle too. v. When it comes down to it, I’m grateful for our moments of silence, our moments of peace, interspersed with laughter. I’m grateful for your kindness. vi. Maybe I’ll never stop writing about you.   vii. But you should probably stop reading what I write. viii. The truth is that some nights I still feel unbearable. But I’m getting there, I’m getting there. Most days now, I feel alright.

Sue Zhao // A Letter (via blossomfully)

[bluecait]

people are allowed to leave you. people are allowed to break up with you. people are allowed to love you but not want to be with you. people are allowed to not want to talk to you. people are allowed to put their happiness before yours and do what makes them happy even if it does not include you. people are allowed to move on from you. people are allowed to fall in love with someone else. people are allowed to not want you in their life. people are allowed to do whatever they want to better themselves and become the version of themselves they are trying so hard to love. don’t be bitter towards someone who is only trying to be happy.

[bluecait]

scar tissue || s.o.

[bluecait]

what a mess || s.o.