diduthinkihadforgotten
Nihil
20. schizophrenic, chronically ill entity, living in california. secretly maybe immortal. immigrant. pro pokémon player B)
19 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
ketchocolate
KetChocolate
queencreationsitalia
Queen Creations Italia
parksandrex
Parks and Rex
aestromeri
my delusions are better ♡
Text
wednesday morning-
you slept over again last night.
you helped me change my bedsheets
when we snuck into my bedroom.
is it really that ‘casual’?
date nights every tuesday.
drinks in the park.
in the back seat, you fall asleep in my lap.
you trace circles on my thigh.
when we wake up together it takes forever.
you don’t wanna get up, neither do i.
we keep repeating the same mistakes.
insisting it won’t happen again.
and then it does.
a day later i see you again,
and you say you forgot something.
we’re left alone in an empty room,
start yelling about fairness and justice.
that’s how this story goes.
a month of this down.
how many more do we get?
you kiss me on the cheek everywhere.
you hold my hand at the cherry festival.
while i drag you through a crowd.
your hand feels warm in mine,
like his never did.
i think about distance.
tiny plants.
i squeeze three times.
you repeat.
and when i look back at you
you’re smiling.
0 notes
Text
two octobers ago i almost died in a car wreck, going 90 on the I-5. my best friend at the time was driving. i can’t talk to her anymore.
we crashed right before the sun set. we crawled out of the car into the dust and broken glass like phoenixes being rebirthed again. i looked at her and smiled.
we both still have the scars. i gave her my jacket. cleaned up her bleeding hand. i lost part of a few of my fingerprints.
as the sun set, we tried to walk. like we ever had anywhere to go. we kept laughing, and answering their questions.
the tow truck took us to burger king. they let us stay well past when they should’ve left. you came for us, like you were our savior. we should’ve just gone home, i think.
i had work the next day, after all.
these days i find myself thinking about how it felt when we were spinning in the air before landing upside down. it felt like we were flying. it was like i knew what was coming, but i wasn’t scared of dying there.
i looked in the rearview and saw the skeleton we kept back there. our travel companion. he looked like the reaper and i smiled. i was not scared of dying in that moment, i was only scared of what would happen if i lived.
i didn’t feel the pain when we landed earthside again. i just unbuckled my seatbelt and broke the window with my elbow. i crawled out of the mess and the dust, it seemed like smoke while i was in it. she followed me. we stood on the side of the road and i silently asked every god why i had been allowed to live.
we broke through some farmers fence when we reentered the atmosphere. he sued her for it a month later. it was almost funny.
i felt sort of invincible after that. untouchable, almost.
these three men with hauntingly blue eyes driving a white truck pulled over to help us. they told us to sit down, to stop laughing. that we had lived and it would all be okay. they asked if there was anyone we could call.
i only remembered my moms old landline number. i called it even though that line has been disconnected since well before i knew about driving fast. no one answered, and i laughed again. the men stayed, almost like they were keeping watch, until first responders showed up.
i kept trying to joke with the paramedics while they were examining us. we should’ve gone to the hospital, i think.
but she kept saying we had somewhere to go. so we went to burger king instead.
i kept playing with my rings. fidgeting with my necklace until i realized my fingertips had been grazed off. i still don’t know how that happened. i’m not so sure i ever will.
the drive into the mountains was terrifying. he drove too fast, too reckless. more like he was running from something than trying to run to it.
i offered her some of my medication to help fall asleep. we couldn’t stop shaking, her in the back and me in the passenger seat.
when we got where we were going, the boys wanted to party. i fell asleep in the big bed, and they stayed up all night. the next day everyone played in the hot tub. i kept my shirt on.
he asked about the scar when he saw me bare for the first time. if it were from you. i laughed and pointed to one that was. he didn’t think it was as funny as i did.
i told him the story of how i lived and died. why That was why i let things go on as long as i did. he pressed his lips to the snakeskin pattern on my third rib and for the first time it didn’t feel like a threat.
i’ve never been one to accept kindness easily. never really been the type for those sweet, soft things everyone else writes about. i’m more at home in the broken glass and curling dust.
0 notes
Text
enemies to friends to lovers (everything in between)
we talk about the problem.
plan heists in the basement.
go on our silly little walks.
you kiss me on the cheek and say
that i take you on the best dates.
we aren’t even together.
we’re just best friends.
never mind that you sleep in my room
more than your own bed.
how we wake up in the morning tied together.
talk each other out of getting up.
it’d be easier if we didn’t fit together
like a knife and its sheath.
if you didn’t know my brain (body)(self)
like the back of your hand.
everyone calls us the evil twins.
while we talk about dismantling everything.
running off to be topless bartenders in alaska.
i say we should work on a cruise ship.
talk to no one ever again.
get bored of the boat and run away
again to be pirates on an island in the atlantic.
you said today, while we walked,
that you miss me every day.
i see you every day, i replied.
you said that you knew.
and the cashier at the store
asked how things were in our world.
you tell him that we are spectacular
while i complain about a lack of sleep.
you hug me from behind in the back room.
kiss me a million times.
we get lunch, and fight each other to the death
over beers and appetizers.
i get home and i miss you.
all of my pillows smell like your shampoo.
our souvenirs adorn my shelves.
my bed feels emptier without you in it.
far emptier than it did all those lonely nights
i spent a state away and estranged.
you said once,
that you thought you were happy
before i reminded you that we can’t be.
i said that stagnance is sinful.
what fun is anything without growing pains?
where are we going if
it’s not full speed into the future?
#anchorite#pining#i wanted to tackle you in the sand when we went to the beach but i didn’t#red hood#and yet you call me the thief
0 notes
Text
tuesday nights are for sleepovers.
you tell everyone
you’re sleeping on my floor.
yet you crawl into my bed
as if it were your own.
on tuesday, i take you to the beach.
you say i’m too romantic.
we get crushed under the wave
and talk about happiness.
my friends get back
and our conversation goes unfinished.
in the back seat i lay in your lap.
you point out a
3 floor rental.
we joke about buying it.
telling no one we left.
living our lives by the sea.
i say the house is haunted
i scream silent conversations
with you
in the back of the car.
my head in your hands,
god, did you know
that i used to fall asleep like this?
there’s sand in my bed.
in my hair.
we sit on the beach together.
pet the dogs,
i watch you make friends with everyone.
you say i make you happier.
that it’s dangerous.
this was only ever supposed to be
an unrequited emotional affair.
i take a trillion photos of you.
we make our same mistake.
thinly veiled tension
walking arm and arm through a city
i will now forever associate with you.
we make our same mistake.
you make me blush.
on wednesday mornings, now
we wake up entwined.
still too hot to touch,
but that’s never stopped our rampant
mutually assured self destruction.
you massage my back.
you know where it hurts,
all the right buttons to push.
i wonder if your hand still smells like me.
i wont shower til tomorrow.
i’ll hold on to what i have.
you say it should stop.
but i can’t. i don’t want to.
i’d rather hold on to tuesdays.
team building exercises.
that fleeting moment of happiness
when you get one of my stupid jokes.
when i tuck a flower behind your ear
walking down the beach streets.
you asked if we were on a date.
i asked the dog.
he did not have an answer.
you said that i fall in love with my friends-
which is not true.
i fall in love with being loved;
unfortunately for us both
you’re very good at that.
1 note
·
View note
Text
i say to no one in particular:
“i need you to do what you say,”
“i need you to listen”
“please say you can hear me”
you’d rather go deaf.
selective hearing-
Darkroom silence.
i sit by myself on the floor.
equal distance from everyone.
holding you all at arms length
as if i ever had anything to hide.
i’m an open book,
not written in your language, apparently.
or maybe no one can read.
maybe i just write too much.
balls deep in my own skull.
writing in the Language of Eden.
going stir crazy-
making friends with shadow walls
and hidden figures.
you say i must be having some kind of secret affair. it’s all your own smoke and mirrors. you’ve deluded yourself beyond what my brain twists and turns every day.
nobody knows my terrible secret.
3 people on the planet know about tiny eyes- and corner hallways. he reminds me that it’s smoke and mirrors.
i put on the show anyway. i play the game because there’s nothing left to do. waiting for checkmate.
but you’re playing checkers.
0 notes
Text
some days you’re a vaguely suicidal at worst, morbidly depressed 18 year old with nothing but too much money and too little time.
some days you give a cute guy a cool knife, cause you have nothing better to do, and too little time, right?
you end up two years later with the ghost of a dream and nothing left to hold on to. some point down the line it turns into mandatory arguments, days you’d rather spend with anyone else. you move states twice in the span of one year. like, to the day. you end up back home with chipped nail polish and a new job title.
some days you carry yourself like a truckload of guilt. every punishment in the world, cruel or unusual could not possibly be enough. others you think about heists, and jump in dirty and disgusting lakes.
sometimes people see what’s in your head, you can see them seeing. and you know. no one else could ever possibly see inside you like that and not hate what they’re seeing. or maybe it takes a certain type of person a certain amount of time.
maybe there really are so few fish in the sea.
some nights you think about swimming in the harbor. feeling alien in the sea among all the other fish. you buy one. his name is gary. he has never seen the ocean. you go for walks alone after everyone’s asleep. feel the air whooshing from the side of the road while you stand on the curb like a deer in their headlights.
sometimes you think about disappearing for 600 years. honing your strength until everyone you’ve ever known and loved is gone, along with all of your earthly weaknesses. sometimes it’s smarter to stay.
time passes so slowly these days. it always does when you feel like you’re waiting for the sun to explode. you’ll think about greener pastures, like the rest of the cattle at your neighbors house do. you’ll think about going home and growing up again a hundred, million times before the sun even rises.
your friend said months ago that you looked worse for wear. and you were. still are, but that reminded you to keep up appearances. not everyone needs to know, you remind yourself.
the days never get shorter, or longer. every hour is exactly the same as the last. history repeats itself, again and again, until the whole cycle does an ouroborous and everyone mutually decides it’s for the best if we don’t talk anymore.
and yet it continues. a slogging, solemn march into the inevitable. a bachman books style Long Walk. you’ll attend a thousand different funerals, a million rebirths, and nothing ever stops, not even for a second does that clock stop ticking.
some days you talk about the sunk cost fallacy. asking vague hypotheticals with just enough cynicism to pretend like it’s not a cry for help. sometimes the idea of a joke is enough to stave off that devouring loneliness.
things live in your peripheral vision. they make their home there, and make it clearer that they’re not planning on leaving. you take the pills, and they don’t work. you take them anyway.
you sit on the edge of your moms bed like you’re 12 again. too scared to ask for help so you cry, and tell her it’s all so much harder than it ever needed to be. she stays silent, and her silence hurts more than anything she could’ve said. so you talk to your dad instead. begging him for answers like it were as easy as a ride to the corner store.
sometimes you have to hide from everyone and every thing. you come out of the cave and are blinded by the light, and lack of bats. you don’t taste metal anymore and everything isn’t as red as it used to be, so you can say you’re happier.
you talk to someone you’re not allowed to about love, and logical fallacies, wasting time and Knowing when to say when. you tell him that you will, that you’ll know. you don’t know how to recant your statement.
so you talk in riddles. hypotheticals, and secret codes. no one gets them. maybe you’re just too #deep for them or something. but you know that’s not the case, because everyone has their own cheat codes.
you joke about that seething unhappiness, gesturing vaguely to that caged, feral animal like your grandpa does with his wife. you don’t call him.
pairs of eyes in the mirror and richard siken, apologizing to no one and everyone. feeling less than human.
some days the world didn’t end when you wanted it to.
#anchorite#this one’s not about you#my writing#i was a very sad little kid#im still a very sad little kid#way down deep
0 notes
Text
ruin
maybe in another lifetime,
some other timeline,
we’re allowed to be friends.
for now it’s all
hushed conversation about
sunk cost fallacy,
the fall of modern government
robberies and alternate realities.
i said
maybe in 600 years.
you asked if you’d have to wait that long
and truthfully i don’t have an answer.
though i do always answer honestly.
you said that i won,
that i always win.
so we split bottles down the middle
and try very, very hard
not to ruin what’s already broken.
(okay maybe we don’t try that hard)
i think somewhere in another universe
you and i are friends.
and it’s the same as it was always,
never going to be.
you said in february
that happiness will not ever
come to people like us.
i don’t think it could happen,
i don’t think it’d be worth it.
can you wait 600 years?
could you wait 6 months?
does that mean that you win?
1 note
·
View note
Text
outgrown
sleeping in my childhood bedroom.
sitting on the couch with Dad.
talking about love with old friends.
i think i’ve outgrown you.
this pathological need i have
to feel seen,
heard.
i sleep in the child’s place.
and i think about building furniture.
i think about building a life.
i think about your place in it,
whether there is or is not space.
i konmari my existence.
slap a fresh coat of paint
on things i didn’t think id see again.
sit back down and think about love.
buying new knobs for a set of drawers.
you only call me pretty when i’m naked.
you only ever called when you need.
companionship,
good places and dark nights.
putting a flower crown on a bear.
chucking rocks down hill,
like skipping stones on a still black lake.
i think:
fixing things takes work.
fixing relationships takes work, too.
you can’t talk a broken door
off of its broken hinges.
i think:
sometimes ugly things want to stay ugly.
0 notes
Text
mo(u?)rning
i wake half the house crying. every night it’s been temper tantrums, blackouts, arguments that will never end and conversations that will never begin.
i think about moving. starting a farmers market stall on sundays and working at the zoo. i think about Darkrooms and night terrors. i think, eventually, gratefully of nothing at all.
one last night in a cold, wet, tomb, huh? i spend it with friends first. then with you for two minutes and 34 seconds. you leave wearing my clothes. then, finally, alone again.
i stare at where the ceiling would be. out the window at the paling dark sky.
my eyes burn. i cried again. i cry easier now. or maybe im too tired to tell the control panel not to open the floodgates. days have passed like molasses asteroids. the slowest shooting star you ever saw. the longest blink, the shortest mile going 90 on the I-5.
i think about last month. today, a month ago, i was curled on the floor 400 miles from here trying not to remember what it felt like to clean blood with a hospital gown. i try not to think of that conversation with my mother.
“i’m sorry, mama. i tried so hard.”
i think of broken nails. the hardest drywall you’ve ever seen. an empty bed and an overfilled trash can.
jesus fucking christ, i say to the fish. he cannot help us now.
i remember how i told him he made me miss my ex. at least then not everything was instantly my fault. at least in that Darkroom the pictures still developed.
it’s just a packed lunch, and an unvacuumed floor. a night on the metaphorical couch, the dogs howling at the doorstep. it’s just a quiet night in a quiet city. the sirens are just the park locals getting shut down by pigs with cars.
he tried to tear the wings off my plushie. he broke my vape in half, and destroyed my favorite necklace. i have not been able to make eye contact since.
i’ve been talking vaguely; about things like dopamine addiction, self destruction. turning over that New Leaf. the future. i say i deleted that app, the one you obsess over and never do anything with.
0 notes
Text
brain on fire at the center of things
god it feels empty here. i feel hollow. lifeless. a bird flown into a glass door and left in the bushes. i miss the grave i dug for myself. i miss the proximity to love. god it does not feel right.
i don’t know why i’m here. i lost track of what i was fighting for. it’s lonely even when you’re not alone and all i have left are bad dreams and people who cannot possibly fathom caring.
you won’t process it; you say you can’t. you didn’t ever see them. you didn’t know. two tiny pairs of eyes, like starlight pinpricks in a deep dark sea. you leave in the night and i sleep under the bed.
god i hope you never know.
i hope you are never the skeleton in your own closet. the body never becomes a graveyard, haunted house. i hope that you never meet their eyes in the mirror behind you.
hauntings like that aren’t for the faint of heart. i feel a little less steady in myself every day.
i thought i was strong before. i must have been kidding myself.
what 17 year old with a drug problem and heavy heart thinks she can’t take on the tsunami outside her bedroom door? what kid isn’t just a little bit afraid of the dark.
reincarnation, right? one thing ends and another must begin. end of one life, start of another. i lost sight before, when i bled onto the floor alone in that room. it’s like i’ve woken up again.
i will continue to think of you every day and pretend that i don’t. i’m sorry that that’s all i can give you. no wonder, huh?
#anchorite#love u very much#miscarriage#actually schizophrenic#depressing shit#i should take my meds
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
1917
the last two weeks of 19 feel exactly like 17 did.
i hate humanity just as much as i did then.
it feels almost godlike. inhuman, in the way that all things do.
look at the world through the kaleidoscope, so you don’t see the dirt and scum coating anything and everyone and feel whole.
fix the holes in the wall, clean the carpet of the sin that lived there before.
miss your mom, and the tie that held you together.
listen to men talk about garbage. leave the room and he’ll follow like a stray dog you shared a sandwich with.
smoke cigarettes on the church steps and think about ghosts. and brothers. and ghosts of brothers.
clean house again. rearrange furniture and sit in the same chair 3 years later.
make dinner 3 nights a week and call it self care.
reconsider mental health treatment. take the pills anyway.
think about dying. go for walks.
talk to strange men in suits and think about going home.
have dreams where you’re sitting on the couch watching cheers with your stepdad late at night, when you can’t sleep and he’s just woken up.
foggy interactions where everything feels like a thinly veiled threat, or a nightmare you had as a kid.
that kind of deja vu that sits on your chest like sleep paralysis.
drunk friends and the same music, cycled again.
that alien feeling, like yesterday will never end and tomorrow will never come.
pet lots of animals. hold a ferret for the first time. regret not holding the crocodile at the fair when you were 8.
your friend sends you a screenshot from an astrology app, and you vent a little bit about how the world feels inverted. scream in the car on the way home from the grocery store.
remember that it did get better, eventually. even if just for a moment. and it will again. think of every single beautiful thing you can remember.
0 notes
Text
so it really is all just my fucking fault, isn’t it?
0 notes
Text
Whyd no one tell me alligator Gars scientific name is Atrocious Spatula
29K notes
·
View notes
Text
paranoia and lies and everything in between
god this shits getting old
i’m getting too old for this
i keep thinking about
running away in the middle of the night
escaping the inescapable
you don’t even care
you can’t, compassion doesn’t exist here
it’s just you and an endless hall of mirrors
you hate what you see so you break them
and fillet me with the glass
like it’s an original thought. (i beat you there years ago)
you lied about everything
you never cared.
you can’t, and you won’t.
growth is an illusion.
you just learned bigger words.
sorry, it’s hard not to be an asshole
when every conversation is screaming
stomping feet and a high pitched shriek.
i won’t talk anymore.
you’ll understand why i did it the first time.
you’ll get it when i leave your keys on the door
and everything is empty.
you said before that you’d miss me
but i doubt you would.
i hope my spectre haunts you.
flashes of skin and hair whipping behind a door
echos of my laugh embedded into the sheets.
i’m not drunk enough for this.
it’s not late enough,
the weather isn’t cold enough.
every sound is a threat
my hand aches from the window
you saw i was scared
smelled the fear i guess
i didn’t cry or scream
i was just hit with this terrible nostalgia
two years ago my ribs were getting busted
in a friend of a friend of a friend’s car
today i’m sitting across the room from you
thinking about long drives
what home smells like right now
my momma worries about me.
i used to think she was wrong before
these days i’m not sure.
i’m not sure if it’s just ineptitude
or unchecked narcissism that put you here.
my whole life will never be as important as
memes on your phone
texts from girls who don’t know you.
i’m too old for this.
0 notes