#im bad at poetry

[evonik-k]

Something in me died

the day my hero died.

I found out at six am

barely awake

ready to do nothing at work

when I found out my hero died.

a text from a loved one,

a video from a man who shared

a love so different

But with him

i shared and shed tears

a quiet sob in a bathroom

drowned and simultaneously echoed

with the sorrow of millions

Something in me died

i don’t know what it is

but i know it is gone

maybe the illusion

of shelter

behind a shield made from a screen

maybe innocence

of laughter

shared with a good man

maybe naivete

that those we look up to

are indestructible

‘Good things don’t happen to heroes’

he once said

words that haven’t left 

my head in weeks

a mantra

i plan to etch into my skin with ink

a reminder

to never become a hero

so that maybe

good things may happen

and i may never have to endure this pain again

Something in me died, 

And much like with him,

all I have are memories

pictures in a gallery

texts in a chat

Something in me died that day.

And I’ll never get it back.

[fictionfixations]

poems

that moment the browser crashes and removes all your progress. thank god i had the foresight to screenshot.

yeah thanks. wow.

remember that time i said i was gonna write poems daily

well i forgot

anyway this is from that time i forgot

What do you know? It's all just for show. The skies are a blight, upon the almighty eye.

----

Now though.

Bring me to sleep, within a web of your dreams. Where I lay in slumber, of your fairest schemes.

(With manipulative snakes, who wish to be freed. Of eternal servitude, for that is their decree.) And the roses painted red, with the sun a shining hue. Of fish who think of flight, and bots who feel they're true.  Tell me again, the tales of your reality. Of the twisted turns, in a cycle of morality. This wonderful land, in which you were chosen. By a mirror who picked, the most noble who blossom.

In a world not your own, but a world you belong. Follow your heart, for that is your song.

Take my hand, and show me your power. Of them, and yours, and beasts who devour.

Now on a time limit, I must bid my adieus.

No matter what happens, do not surrender your grasp. (last line is weak but idfk what to replace it with. it's meant to be like 'Don't let go of that hand, no matter what' in a reference to the mirror intro in the game)

BRUH I FORGOT TO ADD A PART WITH SCARABIA my bad

edited it in. and then edited the heartslabyul and savanaclaw part so its not too repetitive with the beginning word

[myfakeplasticlove13]

I don’t know man :/ i think I’m just tired of being me

[sadmages]

Durge thoughts

[reallybadblackoutpoems]

a greater goode (2002) - amy schor ferris

"boy rejoice" "boy you want some presents"

(happy holidays everyone stay safe stay merry)

[thehartster-blog]

[forkpigeon3146]

sorry i cant just "be casual" it's either you get paragraphs about my devotion to our friendship and every little thing i love about you or you get nothing

[thebrainrotsreal]

EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK!!! I want to be coherent about this season but please picture me foaming at the mouth and running on the walls. S2 being what if Mark's just like his Dad? Insanity. I love this show. Anyways, AU where an Evil!Mark tries to make Our!Mark worse, and Our!Mark tries to make the other better. Something something confronting your idea of the worst version of oneself. Plus, tweaked black and yellow costume because I saw it and immediately went murder hornet lookin' ass and knew I had to draw it. Evil ass Mark. Horrible. I think he should be dragged kicking and screaming into redemption.

[inkskinned]

it is all love.

sometimes you will see something saying what if it is all worth it or it gets better, doesn't it and in the little heart of you - you feel a darkness.

was it love, the way i was hurt? some things don't have a lesson in them. no silver lining. they were bad things, and they shouldn't have happened. i'm sorry they did. i am sorry they warp the space they hold in you. we tightrope walk around an ever-present grave. we carry that ache for so long it becomes smooth, overworn. i worry that i'll bore my therapist - despite all of my attempts, the pain persists the same, as sharp as it always was.

but it was all love.

every ugly moment after. every bad night. every time you drank too much and cried on the bathroom floor. every time you threw up from anxiety, every time you panicked in the grocery store. everything you ruined, and everything you walked away from.

some small part of you loved you enough. made you get up. made you wash your face and clean your teeth and call home. made you try again, even from the bottom. even when you were so tired of it; of restarting, of having to do-it-all-again. some part of you reached out. some part of you reached up. even there, in the bad spot - you somehow got up.

love will so rarely be big. it will so rarely be a moment like a dawn. love is shy, i think. she keeps her hands in front of her cheeks. she waits to peek out. and if you're not looking, she will look - normal.

but it will all be love. the way you pour yourself a glass of water. the little rabbit outside your window. your friend pushing your hair behind your ear. the way your dog greets you at the door. "put on a seatbelt". "text me when you get home safe". "oh, i started watching that show you love." "have you been okay?" "let's go for a walk" "whatcha doin?" "what should i make for dinner?"

oh, my life is so different these days. i don't have a partner. i call my friends a lot. i keep falling in love with the little tender moments; the glittering ones. you know, the bird in a puddle and the shush of a newly-lit candle. the movie-moments.

i am also learning to love the ugly. every moment i spent belly-flat to the floor, anxious and panting. every hour i stared at nothing, losing time to my adhd. every missed opportunity and bad memory. i am not doing well. i am spiralling.

but somewhere in there, while i am reduced to ashes. some part of me is an ever-burning ember. her little thankless job, her shy and croaking voice. she holds me to my body. she doesn't let me go. stay, she whispers. out of love. my love. wherever it goes.

some of the bad things that happened to me will always be bad. they did not make me a better person. they made me worse. i only learned what i can endure. and i did endure it. and love wasn't just the perfumed moments. love was just ... staying. while it's ugly and hard and horrible. love was just saying:

okay. i will keep trying. keep going. i owe it to the version of myself who brought me here. i owe it to my future. i owe it to the small loves i have found since - the music and the new recipes and the new books and the new hobbies. i owe it to myself to wait for the next best thing. this wall we have hit - love says keep walking. maybe one day we will find a door.

always, always: just one try more.

[serotinals]

A Long Winter | The Thirteen Letters | Not Easily Conquered

ao3: dropdeaddreams, WhatAreFears

[gamelpar]

CLONE TROOPER TECH - PLAN 99 || WHEN HAVE WE EVER FOLLOWED ORDERS?

Forgotten Anne / The Bad Batch s2e16 / You’re Gonna Go Far, Noah Kahan / Frankenstein, Mary Shelley / Loss, Hilda Doolittle / @whereicarusfelll on tumblr / Welcome to Night Vale / Nintendo “Quit Screen” message / The Worm King's Lullaby, Richard Siken / Departure, Erika L. Sánchez / Twilight, Louise Glück / full composition of tbb s2 cryptic messages, @KinerMusic on twitter

a tribute to the final episode of the bad batch arriving tomorrow!

[soupbtch]

ummm. my fic is done.

[fella-lovin-fella]

what people dont tell you about writing poems is you will look back and read them and realize you've died a thousand times and always end up the same as before.

[theplasticman]

The Drama of Skyler White

Breaking Bad (2008-2013), prod. Gilligan | Othello (4.3.23-25), Shakespeare | Ophelia, John Everett Millais (1852) | The Last Duel (2021) dir. Ridley Scott | Othello (2.3.60-61), Shakespeare | The Tale of the Two Brothers (8,5) trans. University of Houston | "Sexual Violence in Serial Form: Breaking Bad habits on TV". Feminist Media studies 2019:1, p. 125. Stuart Joy | The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, Paul Delaroche 1833 | “Old Man,” Stella Donnelly |

[simmyfrobby]

thanks brad. very cool.

words = Margaret Atwood, from “Owl And Pussycat, Some Years Later”, The Door

[thehartster-blog]

Going through the motions