#dark poets club

[bruce-wilson]

[nostalgicacademia]

Nostalgic Academia's Book Club

Would you like to be able to connect with lovers of reading and art, share your favourite works and participate in enriching discussions? Join the Book Club and immerse yourself in a world of exciting literary adventures!

From timeless classics to the latest novels, enjoy lively discussions and discover new perspectives in a welcoming and enriching atmosphere.

LINK: https://discord.gg/6udg2Au378

PS: It's a Discord community, for any questions you can contact me by DM.

[theladwhoisweird]

My roman empire? Pt. 2

[loveslikemoon]

If there's any greater force, and if it is of love, then I only desire to be loved during my weakest moments, purely, contendedly, and bravely.

- sanchita @coffeebluemoon

[writers-potion]

Just another day of reading

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Sixhundred and sixty six

A poem I wrote today on my 666th day of sobriety

TW: mentions of drugs, abuse SH etc

Today marks my Sixhundred and sixty six days day of sobriety. Sixhundred and sixty six days ago I decided to make a change. A change that would save my life.

In those sixhundred and sixty six days I have been able to see just who you truly are.

My mind was scrambled, I had been brainwashed by you. I believed you loved me and I truly loved you back. I want to know when you fell out of love? Why is it that you no longer loved me when I was clean.

For years you had taken advantage of me because I was unwell. You held me close as you kissed my scars, telling me that you would never hurt me but when in reality you would cause me the greatest heartbreak. You left me no choice, I hated who you had become. I handed you divorce papers and wondered if I was doing the right thing. Was I really willing to throw 10 years of marrage down the drain?

On my six-hundred and sixty sixth day of sobriety I see you only liked me because I was a mentaly unstable little girl, 12 years younger than you. When I looked at you I saw security, I felt safe. Only 21 and fresh out of the psych ward when I fell into your arms, now I am a 33 year old woman who wonders if I wasted my life on a man who never truly loved me, only likeing the idea of me.

Dispite us being divorced for some time now I can't seem to get you out of my head. You won't leave me alone, claiming I need you and I do need you. I miss you, I miss your touch, I miss the way you would make me feel but you can never know that.

Now I sit here admiring the fresh wound on my wrist, a wound you promised you would never cause yet you did.

On my sixhundreth and sixthy sixth day of sobrety instaid of poping pills in order to forget you I take a walk in the forest. I let the rain fall on my skin as I let myself forget about you.

As much as I try to forget you I'll never forget you. You will haunt my dreams for eternity. Right when I'm over you, you spawn back into my life. You can never admit you are wrong. Instaid you go out and paint yourself as innocent when I was the true victum of your crimes.

On my sixhundreth and sixty sixth day of sobriety I wonder what would happen if I never got clean. Would I still be with you? Would you still love me? Would I finnaly OD and rideoff into the sunset?

I'll never know the awnser to that question but I must know did any part of you truly love me or did you just like the idea of me.

On my six hundredth and sixty sixth day of sobriety I feel free. I feel like I can do anything, even leave you.

[school-of-all-time]

Round Two, Bracket 3

[hysteriasonnets]

[iflewaway]

Dead Poets Society but it's a drama club au where Todd writes plays and scenarios, Neil is obviously a really talented actor, Meeks and Pitts are in charge of sounds and lights, Charlie likes to do make-up and costumes, Knox is the versatile guy who always has good ideas but he prefers to do romantic plays, and Cameron tries to be the director but he always complains about something, especially about Neil always being the main character because Todd said so. And of course Mr.Keating is the referent teacher, and he is very proud of his little crew of gays drama students.

[bruce-wilson]

[darkacademiacontent]

Dark Academia group of friends:

[bookish-thespian]

There is just something so intimate about reading a book with someone. When reading a book by yourself, you usually keep most of your thoughts and feelings to yourself. But when you’re reading with someone, you share some of your innermost thoughts and feelings. This person gets to understand you a little better than before because they now know exactly what makes you cry and why. They now know what sort of behavior you have no tolerance for. They get to see what truly lights a fire in your heart. They get to laugh with you, cry with you, get angry with you. They get to see pieces of you that some people never get to see.

[coffeecatsandcoldnights]

I don't pity the forsaken. The ones with tortured mind; hiding the pain and masking the wounds. Because I know, when they unleash their wrath and choose to act, hellfire seems alright.

[elleestbelleetellerit]

Arranged for your studying pleasure, Charles Bernstein’s POEM PROFILER. Got a poem to study and it’s just too opaque? Found a poem you love and want to write something similar? Want to analyse your own work? The POEM PROFILER is for you!

[saint-starflicker]

Me: (trying to explain Rise of the Brave Tangled Frozen Dragons and SuperWhoLock to somebody)

My Brain: If We Were Bare Poets Fraternity Cyclone Moth History Club

Me:

[hailmaryfullofmaggots]

"Outside the city are the dogs. They are people who follow witchcraft and those who do sex sins and those who kill other people and those who worship false gods and those who like lies and tell them." Revelation 22:15

"As a dog returns to his vomit, so a fool repeats his folly." Proverbs 26:11

“Do not give dogs what is holy, and do not throw your pearls before pigs, lest they trample them underfoot and turn to attack you.” Matthew 7:6

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"as a dog returns to its vomit, he remembers… their name was caleb"

whipped cur dog

always

on the run

teeth bared,

hands like claws.

you want to spit

on them

as they

mock you.

you want to bleed

until

you deserve or

earn.

whelp of scorched earth

of broken spine—

child,

there is no earning

there is no

deserving.

there is an

understanding

a safety

like the shade of a

sycamore; warm, chattering.

you do not

earn your keep.

you do not

bruise

and rot

and be subjugated so others may not starve.

you will

look in the eyes of

man

of

god—

one day,

some day,

and you will

curl up

in their warm lap

and

it will not hurt,

to be human

like them.

to reach back.

your fingers are not claws

blood will be washed off.

it is okay to say,

i love you.

“you do not / earn your keep. / you do not / bruise / and rot / and be subjugated so others may not starve.”

this is lovely and hits home for me right now as i’m processing a lot of anger and my tendency to get defensive or back away, much like an abused dog. realizing i’m not bound to be a product of my trauma forever, realizing i don’t have to hurt to take up space is so foreign.

several lines here truly inspire me, so strong with the metaphor of a dog throughout this. “as a dog returns to its vomit, he remembers…” and a name I can see as the dog’s or its more likely it’s abuser’s, as the animal recalls its trauma through vomit — product of its torture (personal interpretation again ofc, i just adore this).

“you want to bleed until you deserve, or earn” punches so well within the narrative being told, and i love the rhythm this spacing adds. i find it hard to properly utilize it, personally, but it was a beautiful choice.

“your fingers are not claws / blood will be washed off. / it’s ok to say, / i love you.”

the conclusion has such a lovely sense of hope, or if not quite hope, a feeling of being held after body-shaking sobbing, the kind that leaves you drained and dehydrated, yet relieved. Puffy eyes, trembling hiccups in your words — it’s all empty but you can feel some semblance of comfort again.

this piece is encouraging and talented. i hope to see more ❤️