existential-files

[existential-files]

a poem-slash-short-story-slash-word-vomit i wrote in twenty minutes two hours into 2023:

Keep reading

#just got a notif for this which is terrifying where did they find that shit #but anyway here’s smth i wrote last year. and guess what! i still feel this way! #yay.

[existential-files]

wrote a song but at what cost

#hi <3

[existential-files]

my memory

#dropping this and running before i can think better of it <33

[existential-files]

forgotten things

somewhere in a forgotten room

there is a little girl

screaming

crying

banging little fists on the floor, asking for something

though no one is quite sure what. 

in the parlor, bright with life and an array of characters,

there is a twenty-five year old, and this isn’t right either.

she is sipping wine and laughing,

the picture of calm.

she knows of the room, of the forgotten girl

and the screams grate on her

but she swallows down the wine and smiles, and no one knows the difference.

sometimes the screams get too loud, 

and the twenty-five year old excuses herself

with a pleasant smile and a murmured apology

and hurries down the hall

to the room no one knows she remembers.

“hush,” she tells the little girl, 

hands on her hips, severe

“you were supposed to fade away ages ago-”

but the little girl keeps crying

and stares up at her plaintively

and the twenty five year old has to turn and walk away

before she becomes her.

somewhere in between

there is meant to be a girl who’s seventeen

and maybe she’ll learn to exist

when the twenty five year old and the little girl meet in the middle

when the little one peeks out of her room

and the twenty five year old stops trying to protect her

quite so harshly.

the wine is bitter and the screams are relentless

and the twenty five year old grips her glass tight as the Emotions at the table pass plates back and forth

dreading the moment one of them drops something and shatters it.

if the twenty five year old who should not exist dares to break, it all falls apart.

somewhere in a forgotten room, 

the little girl weeps

loud enough that everyone in the outside halls can hear

but they’re so used to it that they don’t even register it as a noise

that they don’t even think to check the room at the back

the little girl who isn’t wanted

even by herself.

#am i good at poetry? not particularly #do i write it constantly anyway? yes ofc #<3

[existential-files]

*taps mic* um hi

#test run?? idk

[existential-files]

welcome :) here is my silly little sideblog for my silly little writing on the rare occasion i write abt smth other than the gay monster show