logical inspired prose

no, love is never logical. love is not logical and never will be. whenever you truly love someone, you adhere your heart and feelings rather than using your logic. our emotions are under our grasp—prudence has no power over our emotions or thoughts. it was actually me, who allowed myself to be wounded by a person who was unwilling to shoulder responsibility. i know i could’ve stopped it. god, why didn’t i stop it all? i wouldn't have shattered my heart if i hadn't placed myself in a circumstance that allowed me to be wounded. you made me believe that loving you is equivalent to being on cloud9, as opposed to being trapped in the realm of hades. you promised me that i would be able to see the sun, but you omitted to mention that i would be able to see it through darkness. no, nothing is logical about this, i still can’t figure out why you’re still in my mind 24/7. you're like a lost sock, hovering around the room but unable to be found; you've been circling my head all day and i'm not sure why. everything around me was as white as a fluffy white cloud, but you're never as innocent as white. your lies, however, are all white lies and you deceived me into believing i was the love of your life. you can't escape love now and logic is not going to be able to do so. love is absurd, illogical, and most of all, unforeseen.

Father, fuck off for this vile mouth of mine has your tongue and my mothers teeth.

- To the daughter's that fought against their fathers.

Nothing beats a Nicotine rush on an empty stomach, that buzz that hits the very tips of my fingers while my head gets floaty. Lips tingling and the room spins. It’s the closest thing to magic I have at my disposal. I traded a razor for nicotine last year, every time I felt the begging of my skin to tear, I lit a cigarette. I had many relapses, is it a relapse when I never wanted to quit? I didn’t know I was an addict that traded a vice for another until it was too late. I don’t think I want to stop anymore.

I am floating with weights on my ankles and wrists. I miss the feeling of that first nicotine rush, that tingling of my fingertips. It’s an itch that can’t be scratched now. Like my skin doesn’t sit right anymore, it isn’t mine any longer. That breath of smoking isn’t doing it anymore.

I am grounded six feet above my heart, the weights on my limbs like shackles to a place I don’t want to be in anymore. It’s too much of everyone to expect me to continue, I don’t want to anymore. There’s too much blood in me now, I am drowning.

— David Cronenberg, Consumed

I come from a long line of people with something wrong with them

{Words by José Olivarez from Citizen Illegal /@fatimaamerbilal , from even flesh eaters don't want me.}

it seemed like something out of a fairytale to stroll beneath the jacaranda tree on an idyllic day—i stumbled upon the picturesque sensations that i was looking for in art through nature. i possess a nostalgia that does not belong to me. i have never venerated sunlight and greenery, so how is it possible?

i am unknowingly ingrained with this burning desire and it has been grasping in. I'm eagerly awaited for us to comprehend that we are part of nature.

i hope my absence gives you the peace my love apparently never could

- dee

You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering.

Ernest Hemingway

You will search for me in another person, I promise.

Unknown