kardiodaitos

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Trista Mateer, from The Dogs I Have Kissed; ‘Little Matchstick Girl’

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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

– Robert Frost writing to Louis Untermeyer in 1916 1

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“in your moonlit unconsciousness pleading for a different life.”

— Alice Notley, from Certain Magical Acts; Voices

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“I am quiet, I bury no one, blood is drying beneath my nails. I do not know which me it belongs to.”

— — Julian Randall, from “On the Night I Consider Coming Out to My Parents,” The Breakbeat Poets Vol. 4: LatiNext

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JUN ☾ HIGHER

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Kay Nielsen, The Chasm, from The Book Of Death, 1911

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Enemies to “I found you while hurt and had to take care of you and in your vulnerable state I saw a side of you I’ve never seen before” to lovers

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sunan​:

“I did love you, and all those moments together meant everything to me. You helped me through so much, Zuzu, so much. You helped me through everything. I know that you did. I never forgot any of that. Don’t say it like that,” his breath trips over another breath, skewers inside like a cork and rips out something that leaks. 

“Don’t say it like I’m just saying something to you. I’m not doing anything.”

the kindness sunan offers hazuki haunts him.

a wailing echo of nightmares suffered through alone, of memories decaying and rotting. a spirit that never got rest, wishing, wanting, craving, starving. scratching on the windows, howling in his ears, knocking on locked doors.

it was all hazuki had ever wanted, once upon a time. if he were being honest, it still creeps up in the dead of night — like an illness, terminal. feverish in his need. history loves company, and there’s none better than loneliness to hold hands with. 

perhaps more apt, it feels like a wound that’s been infected when sunan touches him. his cheek, again, reminiscent of desk lamps and affection exchanged like it’s some sort of secret. it eats away at him, the feeling of what should be familiar leaving behind nothing but a trail of ice fusing to his skin. and they say you should freeze off some injuries, burn them, anything to escape the creeping infestation, but it’s not like there was anything left of hazuki to destroy. anything that was, hazuki made sure to amputate as soon as he saw sunan, looking just the same and just as different — the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one hurting his only solace.

he knew what sunan wanted, would always know what sunan wanted; more, a supernova in his name, the birth and death of stars meant to pull everything into their orbit. and hazuki could offer what he had, but it wasn’t much — or, rather, it was nothing, such an intense amount of nothing that it consumed whatever little he might have been able to offer once upon a time.and yet, he’s still thinking of what sunan did earlier, what he said when they met eyes. what he had said in the years before that, the silence reverberating louder than the music around them. what he himself had done in the interlude, how he might have crawled for forgiveness just a couple years ago.

now? where hands were once shaking with remorse, they steeled with anger once again. almost unable to process his own emotions in their flightiness, shaking sunan with the fingers curling into his clothing. it was dissonant where it harmonized with the softness of sunan’s voice, stuck in the cold spot, egging on a solar flare. anything that actually had meaning.

“trust me, sunan, we all know you’re not doing shit.” hazuki says, nearly spitting with the force the words fight out of his lungs. “if you cared so much, why is it only when you corner me in person when you say this? if you cared at fucking all, why don’t you care beyond getting closure for your own fucking sake? you asked me why i wasn’t there for you — despite that being a lie for your own fucking convenience — but it’s not like you were there when my parents left me.” 

he regrets the words as soon as they tumble out of his mouth, his clumsiness a far cry from the hazuki of years ago who turned words around his head over and over until they were perfect. crazed in comparison to his craven nature. “if you fucking know i was there —” hazuki had to pause to catch his breath, volume rising in pitch, intensity. like a monster that’s finally broken chains that left him raw and bloody for years, silenced. “then why did you greet me with lies! why did you try and pin everything on me?! i know you were suffering! that’s why i was there! and i know what i did made everything worse, do you think i just forgot that?” 

despite the drugs leaving most everything a haze, despite the apathy leaving little worthy enough to be remembered, hazuki never forgot. sick when he looks at hansol still. “i hate myself so fucking much for it, sunan, so don’t say it like i haven’t been regretting it for years. like i haven’t dreamed about telling you how fucking sorry i was, like i could ever put it into words. and i wish i could tell you i’ve gotten smarter, but i’m sick and tired of the lies, and to be honest, this farce of yours is a little too late to get what you want.” 

if he was smart, he would walk away now.

if he was smart, he wouldn’t still harbor what-ifs in his heart, painting pictures of the sun and the moon and the stars in between, bright and beloved by all. 

but he’s not, practically snarling where he stands. fight or flight, and in the end, fight wins out. his teeth are grit so hard it hurts trying to keep everything inside, the one thing he claims he’s good at these days, and yet the fight rages within himself even moreso; if sunan wants him to be the villain, this is the last favor he’ll do him. he tries to sound apathetic, but there’s a tinge of something too intense to be labelled to his words.

“you’re not doing anything. i know that. i just wish you were. i don’t even care what anymore. hurt me, hold me, it’s all the fucking same. i wasn’t the only one suffering, i’m not a fucking idiot, and my suffering was all my own fault — the drugs, the loneliness, my grades — and i’ll pay the fucking price for it on my own, but does that mean i deserve this? fucking years later?”

a laugh bubbles up, too manic to be genuine, too pained to be truthful, the most honest he’s been for as long as he can remember. his coming words are softer, again, even as his rage storms on; it’s been so long since it’s stopped.

“you won, sunan. you won. do you still have to play with your fucking food?”

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“He loves me, he loves me not, we are taught to say, as we tear the flower away from its flowerness. To arrive at love, then, is to arrive through obliteration. Eviscerate me, we mean to say, and I’ll tell you the truth.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous  (via bluebeardsbride)

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Hunter S. Thompson // Sylvia Plath // N.M. Sanchez

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by Joris Wegner

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Clarice Lispector ― The Hour of the Star

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𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄    (a  series  of  nonverbal  prompts .   mature  themes  present ,   ‘ my ’  muse  belongs  to  the  one who  posted  the  meme  -  send   “ + REVERSE ”   to  reverse  the  prompts .)

→     𝐈 .    GENERAL

❛   hush .   raise  a  finger  in  a  gesture  to  silence  my  muse . ❛   sit .   gesture  for  my  muse  to  sit  down . ❛   door .   hold  a  door  open  for  my  muse . ❛   tap .   tap  my  muse  on  the  shoulder  to  garner  their  attention . ❛   hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . ❛   cook .   present  my  muse  with  home - cooked  food . ❛   brush .   work  a  brush  /  comb  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   read .   silently  read  a  book  alongside  my  muse . ❛   hand .   hold  out  a  hand  for  my  muse  to  take . ❛   dressed .   help  my  muse  put  on  an  article  of  clothing . ❛   note .   give  my  muse  a  note  saying :   [ content ] . ❛   amplify .   turn  up  the  music  in  the  car .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    ANGST

❛   patch .   help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound . ❛   night terrors .   hold  my  muse  after  they  wake  up  from  a  nightmare . ❛   company .   silently  sit  with  my  muse  to  comfort  them. ❛   hospital .   my  muse  is  told  that  yours  is  in  the  hospital . ❛   revelation .   show  my  muse  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told . ❛   indulge .   find  my  muse  drinking  to  cope . ❛   downfall .   find  my  muse  collapsed  on  the  ground . ❛   console .   comfort  my  muse  as  they  cry . ❛   nurse .   give  my  muse  company  in  the  hospital .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    AFFECTIONATE

❛   wink .   wink  at  my  muse .  ❛   wrap .   wrap  an  arm  around  my  muse’s  [ shoulders  /  waist ] . ❛   caress .   gently  caress  my  muse’s  face . ❛   tousle .   mess  playfully  with  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   chest .   place  your  head  on  my  muse’s  chest .    ❛   comb .   comb  fingers  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   grasp .   run  to  my  muse  &  jump  into  their  arms . ❛   lean .   lean  on  my  muse’s  shoulder . ❛   tender .   kiss  my  muse  on  the  [ forehead  /  cheek  /  nose ] . ❛   abrupt .   kiss  my  muse  out  of  the  blue . ❛   chaste .   chastely  kiss  my  muse . ❛   good morning .   kiss  my  muse  the  morning  after . ❛   volumes .   gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’ .

→     𝐈𝐈𝐈 .    VIOLENT

❛   strike .   [ slap / punch ]  my muse in the face . ❛   gun .   wield  a  gun  at  my  muse . ❛   twist .   twist  my  muse’s  arm  behind  their  back . ❛   throttle .   aggressively  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   parch .   burn  my  muse  with  a  hot  object . ❛   take down .   forcefully  bring  my  muse  to  the  ground . ❛   gouge .   wield  a  sharp  object  at  my  muse . ❛  shunt .   shove  my  muse  backwards . ❛  stickup .   yell  at  my  muse  to  put  their  hands  in  the  air. ❛  shoot .   [ fatally  /  non-fatally ]   shoot  my  muse . ❛  stab .   stab  my  muse with a  [ knife / other object ].

→     𝐈𝐕 .    NSFW

❛   surprise .   send  an  unexpected  nsfw  image  to  my  muse . ❛   pin .   push  my  muse  against  a  [ wall,  table,  other ] . ❛   go down .   go  down  on  my  muse . ❛   choke .   intimately  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   belt loops .   pull  my  muse  closer  by  their  belt loops . ❛   skinny dipping .   go  skinny  dipping  with  my  muse . ❛   rip .   tear  a  piece  of  clothing  from  my  muse’s  body . ❛   mark .   leave  a  mark  on  my  muse’s  body  [ specify where ] .

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Jean-Paul Sartre, The Selected Essays

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Louise Glück, Averno

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—Jean Valentine, from Sanctuary

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all i see is static.