Internally Dizzy

🖌️🪱Internally Dizzy🪱🖌️

Materials: Black paper and posca markers

Redolence Of Regret

I like the scent of you lingering on me, coated in your sweat and mine, what an odd feeling, being tangled up in your essence, who would've thought I might have enjoyed such a cocoonly embrace from a stranger of delight dull touches and eyes that never stop staring no matter how much I look away; Or so I thought as my insides were an entangled twist of confusion, sensing that this picture just wasn't right.

I'm haunted by your scent, the date night aesthetic of cologne, ghosting through my nostrils as I try to forget you and the mixed up life lesson that you were, the nice smell makes me want to vomit as I get war flashbacks of your ever gazing peepers; Feeling like Akira as I beg to be left alone.

Your desires to be cute like the other people of society pushed me further away into the corner of your brother's couch, overbearingly cheesy in the most unattractive of ways, acting as if we're a couple, politely asking for a kiss from someone you haven't even known for a full week, as you ask me to look at you in those frightening eyes that never seem to close, attempting to guilt trip me with your self conscious fears of not being the prettiest dove amongst the majestic flock; Coming off far too strong with your “end goal.”

“Fuck you.”

I think that's all you ever really wanted to do with me, based on how quick and greedy you were to have me laying with you, your hands traveling over the body of someone you'll never have, thinking you're so sly and sweet; Sweating away in July.

“Are you okay with this?”

I said yes, told you that I didn't care to be in your embrace, but I think deep down in the slimy-sluggish-sensitive pit of whispered truths I fully did, it feels like an invisible boundary I wasn't entirely conscious of has been crossed, sending me in a downward spiralling loop; Curiosity encouraging and creating the discomfort as it whines for new distractions.

There is this area hidden away painted with your foot prints, it's a territory I wish I never let you dip into even if it wasn't sexually exposing, it's as if I did slide down each cloth and garment, revealing some foreign part of myself, leaving a sliver of me feeling not quite right amongst the remaining slices of my pan; Although I am uncomfortably tart and desolate, I can't solely put the blame on you, if I chose to explore.

-Autumn(Me)

09/02/2024

An Unspoken Secret Yearning To Escape

There are words resting in my throat, choking me, wanting to be let out.

I'm scared of the aftermath that will come if I raise the volume of my thoughts; Purposefully unplugging my earbuds to let you all hear for yourselves.

What if you leave me?

What if you hear my disgusting thoughts and think me an ass?

You take each shakey pitch with venom as you clog up your eardrums; Perfectly placed cotton swabs.

If I don't speak up, I fear the worst, I teeter on the seesaw of internal death, the death of us.

But what if I said it all and things changed, it brings us closer, maybe carving open my mind wouldn't be so bad?

But I'm petrified that you're going to yell and take everything side ways, that you will think it all to be blame and slander; "A huge slap in the face to everything you've ever done for me, for us."

I hate bottling everything up in fear, I too am a hoarder, one of a different nature.

I just truly don't know how to fix us, I know there's a way, I just don't know which wire is the right one; Which one will cause us not to blow up and die?

I'm a coward who doesn't want to be the one to do it, to cut the wire that could help us heal, together.

My chest caves in at the thought of being abandoned for unshedding my tears; Opening up years of bottled anguish.

I'm just so tired, it hurts to see everyone suffering around me on mute, and I honestly don't like the thoughts that have been dashing around my head, they hold a knife up to my existence and whisper awful things; A twisted way of coping and solving everything.

What do I do, what do I say?

How do I keep us all together without you walking off into your mountainous forest of solitude?

Silently I weep at the thought of our band finally breaking up, each member angrily heading off in a different direction, walking home the true family way; Sitting alone in a quiet garage of abandoned-dusty-unique instruments.

Through tears I let the gentle melodies of our songs wash over me, it's torture to listen to my favorite hits alone, each memory bouncing off the lonely walls of my heart.

We don't need to crack and float away, there is no need to become Pangaea; Wait, just wait, I swear there's glue in this drawer or maybe...it's this one?

Will I raise the volume to my wellkept thoughts?

Clear my throat, raise my head up high, fixing my posture(for once), looking you each in your intimidating marbles, 3 pairs of brown and the lil odd man with the beautiful green orbs dancing in a mixture of many lovely shades, and release a tiny roar for your huge four-finger-lengthed foreheads to acknowledge?

No.

No, I will not be doing any of that, at least not with my voice, for my skills in writing far exceed the ones in speaking; Written material from the fierce-short-inner Centaur smoothly typed out as her tongue undoes a multitude of knots.

I spill to you this, my droplets of truth; A taste of the secret feelings I have imprisoned inside the dark shelves holding a fine collection of tightly sealed bottles within my heaving lungs.

Told to you through the freeing art of poetry; The Centaur is shy, having little experience in the domain of sharing and talking about the arrows currently kissing her skin, they've rested there for years, the blood has dried and dipped into her unwashed pores.

I am lost, searching for the safest way to pick out the splinters we have rooted deep within our skin; She doesn't know what to do, panicking under this overwhelming presence of frosty distance, stressful tears brimming the corners of her eyes.

How do I fix this?

Will sharing any of this help?

There are words scratching on the gummy insides of my throbbing neck, screeching to be freed, wanting to mix and mingle with the sounds of life, it kicks and strangles me, turning me green and blue, for I wish to vomit them loose on the carpet of our home, but I'm scared of the mess it shall truly make if I were to yack it all up for once.

- Autumn(Me)

Lying Within Her Nudity, There Is Truth

I don't think you want me, just my body, the parts of me that leak in horniness, apparently; Art of sin.

It's painted everywhere, her ache for warm saliva, bare skin sweating against yours, quivering in 50 ropes of lust; Her inner desires so obvious to the predatory eyes of the perceiver.

There is no more meaning behind her work, behind her eyes, alongside the curves of her awkward-plump-tiny form, just snake your way into her mouth, underneath all her clothes, it's what you really want.

Fingers circle and glide, traveling wherever they so please, moving her legs, bringing her closer so that you may feel the pleasures of heated close proximity; The touch starved boy has got to eat.

The amount of strength in your lingers, as the pressure of your intentions rests upon her weaker wrists, has never made her want to ignore the little gnawings and cravings for romantic human contact more than ever; Preferably starving and waiting for the right meal, Goldilocks.

I can not bring myself to want you, to lie to myself to not hurt the hearts of others, to hold your gaze, all so that you may slowly place your ashy fruit scented lips against my dry ones, to allow my fingers to explore the damp pores of your skin; Rushed and one sided.

I don't think I want you, just some space, the whole and broken parts of me that need to be alone and breath, apparently; Art of feminine beauty and personal grief.

-Autumn(Me)

07/17/2024

Empty Slots 4 Rent

Spoiled-bitter-bloody liquid oozing from the holes that once held teeth, leaking down into the depths behind, a throat that chokes on chemical red, she smiles as the bile floods her lungs; Enriched within.

She awakes in a puddle of metallic drool, sticky and dirty, drizzled all over her cheek, staining her pillow, running deep within old tarnished fabrics, her tongue explores the dry cave from which her crooked teeth reside, the meaty flesh scrapes up against the hard enamel, bewildered by the lack of moisture; She did not sleep well.

The wisest of smile bones neatly plucked and cleanly sliced, two freshly shattered, two perfectly intact, stored away in plastic, a bag now holding wisdom of 18 years hidden inside the box of a dancer who no longer spins, shut safe and tight, cluttered behind the door of her closet.

What wisdom do they hold?

The four have sat up in her skull, awkwardly shifting and twisting their pointy roots in her jaw, growing with her, only to be removed; Years of observation taken.

"You raised them."

In the oddest way, I have indeed raised them, only for them to be discarded into a box of memories, their service not required by man for some time now; An unexpected Mother sends her boys off.

Poor children, all alone, separated from their siblings and family, left to collect dust and whatever bacteria flourishes in the space of their new home, it must be so lonely, so difficult to get used to their new microscopic neighbors; Missing impacted dental tissues.

My children left me with no wise words or lessons, instead they leave me, their mother, in pain, ghostly little fists punching at gums, bruising teeth, puffing up her cheeks, leaving her to sleep it all off; Recovery hurts.

Odd, such a strange feeling, my tongue slithers to the back, finding nothing, no one is there, only stitches and a pool of minty spiked saliva, the most disgusting tartness.

Although they left her in an irritating state of uncomfortable affliction, she misses them, it's vacant, quiet, no longer loud and jam packed, her rude children are gone, family photos at the dentist no longer the same, for there are four empty rooms in the back, where her babies are no longer.

- Autumn(Me)

Welcoming In The "Best" Company

She craves this, shamefully begs for it, clattering down onto her creaky knees, a feeling of being forgotten, miserable, and empty; Drinking it down like water, gasping in distaste for the woman in the mirror.

What the fuck is wrong with her?

Chaotically distraught, disoriented by this disturbing hunger; She enjoys this?

Living in the shadows, misplaced, yet fond fingers brushing upon her bitter skin; Loving bright hands in every direction but never spotlighting on her.

Slithering in the grainy darkness, tear burnt eyes watch in anticipation, eager to see what will happen, where this chapter shall drop her and the other characters; Fucked up indulgence.

She's twisted, a fucking hypocrite, babbling through snotty snobs and sniffles, how she "hates this feeling," yet she's got a craving for all this drama; Sickly appetite of a crybaby coward, licking at her dry lips.

Why would she relish any of this, desiring for it all to go wrong?

She's afraid of Happiness, of falling in love with her, only for her to be ripped away from moist-clammy-blistered digits; A loss she's grown accustomed to.

It's easier, she likes the warm-cold embrace of Despair, as he lights up a cigarette, taking what he wants, discarding her naked shell onto the street, leaving her to crumble down; Freezing alone with no clothes to cover her shame.

Slowly regluing herself, rising onto scrapped up bones, beginning to trek up the dusty road to where she should be (with her true lover, Happiness), only for him to come back, caressing her brain, internally tearing her up (again and again).

How orgasmic, the way her tears keep coming every single time; One night stand after one night stand, her only relationship and release.

The gross whore is sorry; Not an apology, simply an excuse of being.

- Autumn(Me)