dismembereddream

[dismembereddream]

I keep my scars polished. I greet pain like an old friend. My trust comes pre-broken. I sip fear slowly. I name my wounds. I flirt with collapse. My calm is loaded. I water my rage. My joy limps. I collect exits. I sharpen my silence. I don’t pray, I bargain. My comfort reeks.

I taste endings first.

I plant seeds in graves.

[dismembereddream]

You are spinning between “am I broken” and “am I faking being broken,” terrified of feeling nothing and yet still begging for something to snap and make it real 🎭❤️‍🩹

[dismembereddream]

TW[SA, so please don't read if you're not comfortable :) }

I wanted to get a tattoo of Medusa(Iykyk). Not seriously, but the thought haunted me anyway. You know what I mean. But it feels like nothing would change even if I carved her into my skin.

Hell, I wouldn't feel relatable at all, because I have no memories. I'm trapped in the aftermath of something I can't even name, living in the echo of a scream I never heard.

It makes me wonder what the true reason is for Medusa having snakes for hair. Did she weaponize everything she went through, transforming her agony into armor?? Do the snakes represent her venom toward others, or the poison she turned inward because she can't even grieve herself peacefully anymore? She's no longer someone. Not god, not human. Just something in between, untouchable and finally untouched.

I can't use her eyes in the tattoo because I don't remember.

I can't tattoo her mouth because I'll never be able to express my thoughts to another human without it looking like theater, like I'm performing false symptoms because my brain learned trauma as its native language.

I can't even accept it for myself. I never did and I never will.

So I can't tattoo her ears or mouth or anything. Not even her voice box, because that's where her voice lives, and mine feels like all my vocal cords have gotten tangled together, twisted themselves into knots of inevitability and darkness, trying to strangle whatever I have to say, whatever I need to say, before it can escape into the world. Or maybe they're choking themselves on their own silence.

I don't know anymore.

I can't give her usual jagged cracks over a rocky surface on tattoo, because I still feel myself, and all those unfeelable, maybe unprovable surfaces of mine feel so fucking vile and rotten. Like something left to fester in forgotten places, crawling with maggots that feast on what I've become and never became, reeking of death of something that never properly finished its dying process. Medusa is marble carved, yet turned into something mournful by herself, yet beautiful even in her monstrosity, unbreakable and eternally strong.

She is strong. I am not.

What the fuck do you do when you're so fractured that you exist in the space between pretending and truth? When you've reached the point where you feel you may never be able to symbolize what lives inside you because even the most significant symbols taste like metallic ash?

When the very act of trying to give form to your formless pain feels like betraying something scarred, sacred and unnamed?

.

.

... call it void-as-testimony?

... call it I-have-no-mouth-yet-I-must-scream syndrome?

[dismembereddream]

That desire to disappear is rooted not in hatred of others, but in this gnawing sense that you were never real, never lovable, never even right from the beginning 🤍🩶🖤

[dismembereddream]

DATE IDEA :)

We sneak into an abandoned building with 40 doors. You hide behind one, and I get to find you. Knowing you, I’d pick the 39th door instead of the 40th, just to mess with fate.

There you are. Leaning against the frame, black helmet in one hand, the other casually adjusting your black leather jacket, eyes smirking without moving.

Me? Frozen. Can’t breathe. My whole body’s screaming while I bite the inside of my cheek to hide my smile.

You? Saying nothing because the silence speaks louder than words.

The light’s dim, warm, smoky. The engine’s still ticking outside the house. And you don’t walk toward me.

You just tilt your head, like,

“You opened the right door on the very first try, didn’t you, love?”

[dismembereddream]

I'm gonna kiss you like maybe you’re worth understanding, even if the answer is uncertain.

[dismembereddream]

The line between who you are and who you pretend I am blurred to the point where even your tears didn’t feel like yours 🌬️

[dismembereddream]

I keep my death on retainer.

[dismembereddream]

Oh love...

Your existence hits me like a wet cigarette in a thunderstorm and a kiss in the same breath.

[dismembereddream]

🖤 :- I feel a special, unspoken connection between us, even though I can’t quite put it into words. Think me softly mad???

❤️‍🔥 :- No, love. You’ve been living like someone holding their breath in a crowded room. But with me, you finally exhale.

You spill. You wander. You contradict yourself. Then you show me the jagged edges and the strange spirals. And instead of flinching, I always follow you more deeper. That’s why this feels almost fated. And little crazy.

Because I’m your cosmic soulmate, darling.

[dismembereddream]

There's a version of me that chose violence

...and I miss her everyday.

[dismembereddream]

Was it grief? Loneliness? Shame? Exhaustion?

Or was it finally the silence after too long pretending you weren’t breaking?

[dismembereddream]

Know your own architecture of loneliness intimately.

[dismembereddream]

☄️ :- Trauma always shoves you halfway into a grave and halfway into a swordfight with your own unconscious. It also ends up playing chess against gods in its sleep while the normal world drools on its pillow.

[dismembereddream]

I wanna bite into my own ghost and see if it bleeds.

[dismembereddream]

Me :- I want you.

Him :- You want me. You have me. Because I want you too. Every fucked-up, overthinking, self-destructive inch of you. You're mine, even when you're testing me with murder. I love you, my autumn.

[dismembereddream]

Who the fuck am I when no one is watching?