"Let's go to the sea-side!"
"But I'm already drowning."
"if you could say anything to the world right now, what would it be?"
It used to be that my body existed only where he touched me, leaving me bleeding in a better way. Everywhere the blade-tongue touched I found tulips growing from the lacerations, I found the bedsheets touched with rose-water.
I think the problem was always that I had too much of this blood inside of me but there was nowhere for it to go - or maybe I never had any at all. These days I seem to be leaving red stains wherever I go, like on her white dress or in the sink of some hospital's bathroom.
sometimes you're a guillotine :
the stopping of breath,
the rushing of blood.
my soul is six hundred ungathered garden lillies
I hope that heaven has a hospital where they write sonatas on doctor's notes and play nocturnes with intravenous tubes. I hope the nurses don't forget, I hope the doctor isn't cruel. I hope I'll get flowers while I'm sick. I hope it won't hurt so much, I hope I'll be okay.
three and two hundred and five hundred milligrams in a girl-heart have the capacity to make everything sweet and baby-soft, i could smile at certainly anything right now.
They found a flower growing around my lungs and taking root and the nurse tells me it's a sort of wild flower. I woke up with a petal on my tongue and pressed it in my notebook to keep it, because it's most likely the most beautiful illness to ever plague me. The doctor told me it could be dangerous, that he would have to pull it from my open mouth, because everyone knows what happens to flowers in a world like this, nobody wants to look at flowers anymore.
Is there ever to be a place where even the smallest whimper does not sound like a roar, or a place where I don't feel as restless as a mare? The whole world is so big and I am so small inside of it, like a girl with a medicine that doesn't let her leave the room. But wherever I go I find the smallest, heaviest thing tied to me which leaves me inert and unable.
I am just so sad at how beautiful the world is and how unbeautiful some people are to it and to everyone.
(I found a key to something that was once yours, I pressed it hard inside my hand, to blood, and then to keep quiet labelled the key "Temperance" and locked it inside myself. To you - if you do read this, you are as Awful as me.)
If i belong to everyone, does this mean that they belong to me, too?
"And you, what do you dream of?"
"When I grow up, I want to be a memory!"
sleeping in gardens, adorned with flowers :
the roots and vines collecting the worst,
(on flowers, a note :
i met a tulip in the yard today and i named her cordelia,
she is yellow and i envy her)
medicinals (n, plural) :
my reaching for the wounds,
only to find them quite gone.
mg (unit) :
in regards to medicinals,
too much is often too little.
"Unlove me," I say to the air,
as though the wind currents could leave a whisper in your ear,
my smell on your pillow.
For those of you who want, since I secretly adore you all, I want to send you gifts! Either physical copies of diary pages and photographs things like this or I can scan them and send them to you if you don't want to receive strange things in the mail!