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Am I being too demanding for wanting clarity? He always made me feel like I was asking for too much when I just wanted answers, I’m not denying I might have intimidated him before, but it is… it just… it should be my fkn right, no? To know if we’re over.. i know…. i know it but he never confirmed anything, i had to almost beg him for months to admit he didn’t love me anymore or doesn’t want a relationship with me we were dating and he just gets so freaking distant like not talking to me for days and then saying we’re good? That it’s okay not to talk to each other…. Because he didn’t want to hurt my fkn feelings????? Ugh ….. he most certainly thinks he is saving me from heartbreak now too, by not saying we’re done for good. I have to come to that conclusion myself:) so fkn typical

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                            @crowbore​ echoed :  

THE MOON MOCKS HIM.   he knows this to be true,  he spies the way in which it slicks up a sickle - sweet smile when the eve is approaching,  when the skies are glazed over in hues of deepening pinks and reds.  a reflection,  nothing more.  a guardian of mute light reflected off a cold, rocky surface wherein only the foulest of poems may be written.  the moon mocks him. it mocks him in the cold and it mocks him in his dreams,  if they can be called that,  if a man such as he ever dared to take root and slumber.  some nights he cannot.  other nights he tries.  but everything ends the same,  every time he wakes up with a mouth partly dry and fingernails cracked at the corners. 


what wretched sound shrieks through the already deprived air  !  horror unto man ! a creeping phantom looming ahead  !  there are no fields of corn,  no golden pollen tickling his nose and ushering in all the ugliness this world pours over.  khada jhin stands alone in an abandoned opera house.  the light of the moon is all that parts him from dream and reality.  how often they blur,  the line in between,  one always striving across another,  it must be a certain agony.  but this was not agony though,  was it no,  this …  creature fed off something different.  something far more potent


isn’t that what you taste as well,  golden devil  ?  

words spat out from a rusted metal orifice lurch on his back,  pulling at his temples,  slicing through metaphysical bone.   the mask remained but the secrets were spilled regardless.  what lay beneath there.  what depravity and trembling fingers wrang around themselves,  tying knots with his already bruised arteries.   he remembered the day when he was left to ROT and how the moon mocked him then.  he remembered its crooked grin.  

 you  …  ❜   he hisses,   all sulfur and snarls ❛  be silent  

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I wanted to meet his badness with my good. I wanted to heal the broken bones inside him and mend the hollowness in his soul so he could feel again. Feel what it’s like to truly be loved in the most innocent way possible. But he could never be mine, because I was just as damaged.
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I have a question…

I know I’m not the only one, but I want to see who all does this.. how many or how few..

Does anyone else make up scenarios in their head when alone or at work or just anywhere? Scenarios from a wide range of things. Good and bad. Happy and sad.

I have found myself doing this constantly lately. Making myself both really sad or happy. Hmmm..

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by Kait Rokowski

Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.

You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.

It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.

See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.

These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.

So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.

Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.

You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.

I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.”

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It was my mistake. I was so scared to admit that I liked you, to say that I wanted to date you, to hold your hand and not have second thoughts, and to kiss you without any hesitations. I forgot that you had feelings too. I shouldn’t have hesitated and now we don’t talk to each other at all. “It’s better this way” is what I always told myself as I tried to forget you. However, memories of you just keeps coming back. I start to miss everything.. talking to you, teasing you, getting to know you, holding your hands, spending time with you and your friends, and spending time alone with you. I regret not telling you how I really felt. So here is what’s really on my mind and what I want to say:

I like you. At first I didn’t know why I did, but later on I found out and I just didn’t want to admit it. I liked how even when I was being a “wall” around you, you tried hard to at least talk to me. I liked your outgoing personality when I first met you, even though you were touchy feely. I was not trying to be mean to you, my mind just turns blank when you talk to me that all I can answer are yes and no. Sometimes, I can’t even think of topics or sentences to keep the conversation going, so I send you emojis. Sorry if you thought I was being mean to you. I just get flustered. I liked holding hands with you. I’ll admit I was sober when I first held your hands. I was sort of jealous that time and I guess I mustered up the courage to hold your hands. And yes, my heart was beating fast when we held hands watching the scary movie at …’s place. I’ll never forget the time we spent watching the NBA finals together, spending time at corona park, and getting ice cream in flushing.. it was mostly the highlight of my summer 2017. I guess you can say you were the first person I genuinely liked..

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