unseeing-eyes - Tumblr blog

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How do you process grief?

by running from it until it finds me in the middle of a sunny street on a beautiful day

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We used to fit together once. In our absence we have cracked and warped. The silence between us looms. We have outgrown each other. Perhaps you have out grown me, isn’t that terrifying? Maybe your leaving me behind or I��m leaving you. I wish you the best but I wish you would stop it. There will be a day where I look at you and see a stranger. I still have the books we bought together. The guitar picks you got me still sit with the rest. Is the picture of us still up in your bedroom? I miss you but I never know what to say when I see you. Is your dog ok ? How’s your mum? I miss you. I’m sorry.

Elliot .S

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don't you just love it when poets thrust their hands into your chest, crumple up your heart and with the blood adorning their fingers write poetry so personal to you

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https://www.instagram.com/annandkirbyworld/ ♡

♡ bow art: https://www.instagram.com/lucygarland/?hl=en

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Rural Boys Watch The Apocalypse (rough draft) by Keaton St. James

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this whole scheme was smoke and mirrors from the start, and if Goncharov doesn't pull off this job, it all turns back to dust

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The Vision of Saint Hubert by Franz von Stuck

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1975

An opening to a book I might get time to write

Tw for suicide mentions, parental trauma, mental issues (referenced) and uncanny valley I guess

Any feedback or criticism welcome :)

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There’s someone he doesn’t know how to feel about, his father used to be nice enough, nothing to write home about but now he doesn’t know what to feel, he always wanted a son and when he got one he was so utterly confused by one that didn’t act like he did, that he never knew what to do with him. It got worse as he grew up, as he eventually grew out being able to be forced to try for sports teams and watch football with him at the weekends. But after, well, he didn’t really say much to him. It wasn’t like he avoided him, still asked him to pass the salt or help his mother out with tea but that was pretty much it. He never really got it, he lived in a world where things always happened to other people and well they got over it so why don’t you. It’s almost a mercy that he doesn’t have to see him much now, would be great if it wasn’t the way it affecting his mother, he swears she grows more snappy and bitter with every ‘urgent meeting he just couldn’t miss’ at least it keeps him away, but he wishes his mother had something to do; her way of coping with it, is to smother him, and never give him a moment of peace.

They don't talk about it, what happened, why he had packed his life back into suitcases and came crawling back to them, why he had followed them to America. How he put his life on hold, well the life they want him to have anyway, because at the end of the day who wants to be an accountant if their parents aren't paying for it. He pushes the thoughts out of his head before he ends back in the dingy flat in London, back to the taste of blood and back to the feeling that he managed to ruin everything he wanted when it was almost in his grasp.

He glances around for a distraction, some little detail of the church he can mindlessly stare at to clear his mind. The stained glass windows cast red on the floor, and he flinches. He can feel his mother’s eyes on him, her disapproval. He follows her to a pew and sits. His eyes are drawn to the priest as he approaches a podium and clears his throat. Jude lets the priest’s words wash over him, and he stares off into space into better things like unpacking his things and finishing the book he started, and he should really go check out the library. He’s nearly finished all the books he brought with him, he had to leave the rest after, well, he doesn’t want to think about it. He shouldn’t think about it, but the thought weighs heavy in his head, dragging him back to a shared flat, trousers discarded on his floor and the flashing of lights.

‘Deliver us from evil’ the priest says in a commanding, low voice as if he can call God down from heaven if he simply tries hard enough and then he’s back to this dingy old church in the middle of nowhere Ohio, back to his mother’s glare and the priest’s sermon. He looks up and meets the priest’s eyes, he’s staring at Jude, has he been doing that the whole time? Oh well, he never backs down from a challenge, he stares the priest down. He sits for the rest of the sermon, you never realise how slow time passes till you’re sitting listening to one of those, and stares the priest out. It lasts the rest of the sermon until it reaches the end. “Amen,” the priest says and smiles at Jude as if they’re sharing a joke between the two of them. There’s something unsettling behind that smile, like it’s wrong somehow. Something about it just makes the hair on his neck stand on end and a cold sweat trickles down his spine.

As the church sermon ends he practically flees out of the door, but as he leaves the feeling doesn’t leave, it doesn’t lessen even back in his room. Thoughts of being childish, running out of that church like a wimp away from that priest who probably was just being nice ran through his head. No, he thinks there was definitely something off. He felt like a deer in headlights at that smile. He sits on his bed, his back to the wall, as he draws his knees to his chest and curses himself.

Wishing he was back home, back where everything was alright, the worst thing he had to think about was going shopping and nine o’clock lectures. But he can never go back to that life, the person he used to be is long dead and so is Warren. A part of him knows that it would be better than being in that empty flat, crowded with a dead man’s stuff, covered in his hopes and dreams. But if we were home, another part argues, then at least we could be alone and unbothered, yeah that worked out so well last time and chuckles; the laugh sounds hysterical even to his ears.

How does someone get better after that? Warrens gone and the hole in Jude he left when he died is still bleeding all these months later. He tried everything at some point but there’s only so much someone can do to try and dull the pain after your best friend jumps for the 6th floor of your apartment building. Yeah you can call an ambulance, wait in the emergency room but get told he was dead on arrival, you can talk to his grieving family members, and you can even speak at his funeral. But nothing really will make it go away, he’s tired of the pitying looks and the words of reassurance that everything will be okay because it isn’t and it never will be and he’s spiraling again. He knows he needs to stop it, push it out of his mind, he can’t afford to slip again, they barely let him out last time they definitely won’t this time.

So he decides to figure out what the fuck was wrong with the priest and his twisted smile. What’s the worst that can happen, he dies? Well, he wants to die anyway, and wouldn’t that be an interesting way to go, he thinks. His mind is made up, he is going to figure the priest out even if it kills him. At least that will give him something to do when he runs out of books to read a suitable distraction from the parts of him that’s missing.

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x

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the impossible return

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Source

100% fewer forest fires guaranteed!

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I dreamt of someone

Who wasn’t you

Gentle love

Under a blue sky

The piece of me

You took with you

Is growing back

Slowly but surely

I’m moving on

But as the gap between us grows

I feel like I’m losing

Something irreplaceable

Your memory has bleed

Into every crevice

I hold the reminders of us

And weep

Once yours,

Elliot

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Can you sing for me,

My love,

Can you rip out my throat,

Render me speechless,

Against your simple violence,

Rip out my heart,

My being,

Leave me worthless to another,

So when you leave me wanting,

I can touch the weeping wound,

You left,

And remember your sickly,

Sweet song,

You once sang,

Just for me.

Elliot