My Life Is Just So Silly.. I Am Sitting On My Bed In The Psych Ward, Trying To Figure Out Which Dried

My life is just so silly.. I am sitting on my bed in the psych ward, trying to figure out which dried flower I should put in my journal, while I am drinking the cheapest earl grey tea I could find in the supermarket… so silly

An Angel came to me last night. It lingered infront of my bed and glowed like a thousand suns. As it opened its mouth, I almost passed out. The deafening cry it gave me, sounded almost like a sweet serenade. The angel gifted me a pomegranate. I broke it open and it’s red juice dripped down my fingers, staining my white linen. I handed the angel a half and watched as it drank the sweet nectar and let it dribble down its chin. It looked nearly unholy. Staring at the creature, tears ran down my face and burned themselves into my skin. Only later I realized.. only later I saw the mirror infront of me.

Dec 16, '23

— wasted wine.

dear one,

my hands are too cold,

and my heart too fragile,

i don't want to grow old,

this world is much so vile.

right ones come at the right time,

little one, do you not know,

they don't owe you a single dime,

you'll be alone in the first snow,

there won't linger a seamless smile.

forge a promise, break a heart,

this december, i wait another start,

hold a hand, forget about mine,

how bittersweet like wasted wine.

i sold my soul,

to a longing long unsatiated,

i can't control,

the lonesome i have created.

— vin.

HAMMOND B3 ORGAN CISTERN by GABRIELLE CALVOCORESSI

those moments when you can hear your skin tearing like paper and it reveals that you are actually styrofoam fat muscle bone all foam you're just a pool noodle with skin badly glued on and glass for teeth + eyes all of which are too heavy for your styrofoam head you're just rubbery air

Ache is a shrew residing in my chest. She burrows, she festers, she radiates until her scent intertwines with my organs, until each breath, each beat of my heart is reminiscent of her.

Ache claws at the delicate pink satin surrounding my ribs; she does not care that my blood begins to run.

I howl to an empty room, "Tell me where to put the pain, Tell me where to put the pain, Tell me where to put the pain."

The shrew whispers back, "It will be okay", but she does not tell me how to care for her, nor does she relent.