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I was afraid of the water but I knew I would get in for you. Forget seasick, forget snakes and Nessie, forget what lives in the floor with the mud. When I'm thinking of you, there's no room for any of that. Feet first, no shoes, half naked and holding my breath -- I jump. I jump every single day that I wake up and remember you exist. I haven't regretted it once.

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I chose long sleeves on a ninety degree day, because I ran out of tissues, and my eyes still weep for the family I've lost. It doesn't seem fair to miss people who are still alive. It doesn't seem fair to lose people. I miss him to the taste of chocolate milk. To the sound of guitar strums and a cocoa powder concoction boiling on the stove. I yearn for him as a wave of petrichor and circus peanuts flows through my sinuses. The sweetness is a sickening craving. I digress.

I wonder if I will ever feel at home again.

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Tell me, once more, how you don’t want to hurt me, while you drain the blood from under my teeth. Tell me how much you’ve missed me while I memorize your heartbeat through the pulse in your hand on my neck. Tell me you are afraid of what’s under the murky water. And we will go under, together, holding our noses and each other’s hands.

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stupid shit I wrote when I hurt

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Lorde visits ‘The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon’ at Rockefeller Center on June 15, 2017 in New York City.

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No amount of toxic ever shuts off my brain.

Not in the right way, you know?

You’d think, at a point, it would give in, you know?

The liquor settles, still,

And my head spins,

But my thoughts learned to catch their balance early on.

The air doesn’t clear up anything.

I am still, inside, unavoidably, myself.

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“‘why didn’t you say goodbye?’ you asked, confused and hurt. i responded, ‘each part of my body has said its farewell to you over time.’ my hands kissed yours as your fingers parted from my own. my lips missed yours as they memorized your name. my eyes vowed to look to the ground for a slow eternity before it would ever gaze upon another man’s face with as much affection. my throat houses a lump each time thoughts of you cross my mind, the same mind that hesitantly wipes away all traces of you. i do not have a choice in this.”

— Noor Shirazie

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KRISTEN STEWART Vanity Fair | September 2019

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I MADE YOU

I scream, as you deny my conscious clay modeling

Perfecting, Refining

I NEVER UNDERSTOOD YOU

I cry, as you pretend you didn’t know a thing

Deteriorating, Dissolving

I CANT FORGET YOU

I CANT FORGET YOU

I CANT FORGET YOU

I repeat, with my dying breath

Relentlessly, Unconditionally

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My chest aches with the anticipation of a single, final parting word.

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Brittany Murphy in The Prophecy II | 1998