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“I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
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My mother and I. Two humans who can never stay together or can ever stay apart. We both have the same destines. The difference is that, I maybe a day late than you. Im scared everyday, thinking to myself. What if me and my daughter have the same destines. But I'm hopeful, that we won't.
I'm not ashamed to say, that I don't want to be a mother like you. But I also do want to be a mother like you. We may never agree to disagree at certain times. We care about each other in our own ways. Which you can't understand and neither can I. But our love for one another will be there. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere deep down. But what's the point of this love if we don't speak a word to each other.
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Her teeth carried the blood stains.
The ones that tore off the flesh to it's bits.
The ones that peeped in through the creepy giggle on her face.
The drip drop all over and her tongue tasting the freedom of breaking out.
The gaze that startled, and cut my feet into the ground.
On my knees begging for my life
And she offered me my death in those vermillion hands.
_athirma.
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I feel far away, yet so close to you everytime we talk. We're miles apart, but the moment you call me "mine" I am all yours. We stay under the same skies but me who looks at them longs to be in your arms and you? What do you see?
Every word you speak is so loud, but all you can hear is my whispers. Where did the obsession go? I couldn't enjoy my days with you, there was supposed to be a right time n a right place. But now it just feels I'm standing still n
You're moving along. I feel we're drifting apart, we were meant to be! Why haven't you come back to me?!
_athirma.
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Some days it's strawberries and lemonades.
Some days its just water.
Some days its all summer hues and
Some days it's exhaustion to the core.
Some days I'm yellow and some days I'm a mix of greys.
That's a rude way to describe a color but what more can I say when all I am is a human preferred to be seen in colors.
_athirma.
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I'm bleeding.
I'm bleeding and you are watching me.
I'm bleeding on the inside and you stand there to watch me.
I'm bleeding inside. It hurts. Your eyes tear up.
I'm bleeding blood in deep reds.
You stand next to the wall, looking me in the eye.
You bleed tears.
Those tears that was long overdue.
Those tears that makes my blood more darker and deeper.
Those tears that flood the whole ground I'm standing on.
My blood that just turns grey.
And my blood no longer hurts.
In the end. You won this battle.
_athirma
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Do you know how much of me you're ruining.
All those ruins. Shattered on the wall.
Just wait.
Wait.
I'll pick up them pieces.
Wait.
Till I patch them up
And then.
Then, you're gonna face the wraths of your own God.
The God you created with my blood scraps.
The God, laughing mercilessly at your tiny little heart.
The God, standing tall up to the sky, in their fiery blue hair. They'll watch you wither away as the last snow of the season.
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Tips on how to stay sane OR go crazy:
Who are we sane for? Why are we considered insane when things are not done as programmed? Is it insane to feel alive? Who set up these order and process on how life should be driven ?
Freaking people who wanted a line to be walked on. It's insane to not feel alive.
If it feels insane to anybody else, then it just proves that they absofuckinglutely are not living your life.
You can walk in any line you want. Standing line, sleeping line. Slanting line, zig zag line. Or even a curvy one.
Or you can just go fucking crazy n run around like you want!!
- To a conversation that's a safe den.
#blacked out#spilled poetry#words words words#kinda depressing#kinda fed up#kinda wanna disappear#kinda wanna scream
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"i still remember, 3rd of december. me in your sweater, you said it looked better on me than it did you."
it's almost the 3rd of december, why am i not in your sweater
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Architecture and statue of Lucifer’s defeat at Boston College
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The old wounds that were healed in silence are now at the surface of the skin, crying out that they really need a radical change.
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