petaledrage

[petaledrage]

Can you snag me a slushie and whatever dopamine crumbs are left in my brain??

Going insane y'all want anything ?

[petaledrage]

God, this! Some days it feels like becoming whole is just learning to live with the cracks and calling it art.

"I thought that healing meant closure. But instead it grips you by the neck and forces you to endure what has long been hiding under the surface. I wait paitently for the day to come were I don't have to drown myself anymore. I wait for the day were my vision isn't obscured, my hearing gets clear again and the broken pieces start to become whole again."

[petaledrage]

“Fading at the edges”

i remember when it felt like i was disappearing

so quietly

no one even noticed the outline i left behind.

it wasn’t one thing.

it was everything—

the slow erosion of being overlooked,

spoken over,

existing only in the spaces

where people needed something from me.

i learned how to fold myself smaller.

how to be easy to love by being easy to forget.

i coped by pretending i didn’t care,

by swallowing whole conversations

i wanted to have,

by teaching myself that silence

was safer than the sound of

someone not listening.

it got so bad that even i stopped looking.

like, if i was already fading,

what was the point of holding on?

so i hid in music.

in late nights where no one called.

in writing things i never showed anyone.

i stitched myself together in metaphors

because they were softer than

saying i was lonely out loud.

and maybe that’s still how i cope:

not fixing it.

just romanticizing the ache enough

that it feels like art

instead of abandonment.

[petaledrage]

Quiet ache

There is a silence

that doesn’t scream

it just breathes,

slow and heavy,

like something waiting

that knows no one’s coming.

A softness

that doesn’t want new hands,

new names,

new maps to trace

only the memory

of being seen

without asking.

No anger,

no despair

just a tired longing

folded into the edges

of a day

that asked too much

of a heart

already full

of almosts.

[petaledrage]

“when the hunger isn’t food”

i am not lonely,

i am just full of teeth with nowhere to bite.

a stray thought dressed in skin.

a hallway with no doors.

a flickering light in a locked room

where something used to pray.

i sleep like something waiting to be found.

rot like it’s romantic.

call it girlhood,

call it survival,

call it whatever makes it easier to swallow.

there’s a ghost in my mouth

and she’s louder than god.

she keeps saying

“don’t eat. devour.”

and i’ve been listening.

some days,

i want to be worshipped.

other days,

i just want to disappear so slowly

no one even flinches.

i’m not hungry.

i’m haunted.

[petaledrage]

Don’t tell them my secret.. I’m not busy, i’m just chronically unavailable by choice.

[petaledrage]

meow meow hiss hiss leave me the fuck alone.

[petaledrage]

Some nights the craving comes soft.

Not a scream or a whisper.

Just a thought:

one wouldn’t hurt.

But I know that voice. It never stops at one.

I’ve come too far to lose myself again for a burn in my throat and a few quiet hours that I won’t remember kindly. Still, there’s a part of me that misses the blur and the pause.

I tell myself I want to be here. Clear.

Even when it hurts.

Even when it’s loud.

I want to stay.

I want a drink.

I want ten.

No! I want to stop thinking.

To stop feeling.

To stop pretending I’m fine just because I’m sober.

No one talks about how loud the want gets and how it claws at the back of your teeth. How it says:

“you were more fun then,”

“you were easier to be around,”

“you didn’t cry so much when you drank.”

But I remember how it ended with the shame and the spinning rooms. The way I looked in the mirror and couldn’t even meet my own eyes.

So I sit here stone cold sober, angry as hell,

and craving everything I swore I’d never touch again.

Because staying clean doesn’t mean you stop wanting. it just means you keep saying no while your hands shake and no one claps.