Paranoid-poppies - Poems By A Girl In Love

I might crumble into sharp fragments if someone touched me.

My skin soft and warm beneath his hands; flesh dipping and submitting to his fingers like an overripe fruit.

No,

I would melt before any contact happened. Soak into my sheets just as rain does with the ocean.

I am entirely new to this, virgin to touch, inexperienced and terrified of all things in this realm of life.

Do you know what you do to me?

TW: Mentions of self-harm

Distract Me

I want a distraction

I don't mean a fun game,

I mean a blade on my leg

that's causing me pain

I'm craving it's sting,

The ragged red line,

The way my heart speeds,

And the slowing of time

The rush of it all

The loss of before

The focus on feeling

And the want for more

To others I say that

"Music calms me"

Because I can't tell them

About reality

The others won't know

Because I'll never tell them

About what goes on

When there's no one to listen

First time doing nightscapes at a beach near the train station, 34 minutes total exposure time at 35mm focal length

The dim horizontal red bands are airglow I think, they appear in each frame I took. It's a similar phenomenon to aurora but more common and less bright.

I should probably make another blog to archive all the photos I post here so I don't lose them in the tags... ehh I'll get around to it later

My Heart

It hangs precariously from a single digit on your left hand. A fragile thread keeping it aloft as it shifts restlessly in a breeze. I presented that broken and wrongly-bloodied mess to you in the form of a confession. It was a guilty admission that I had done something terribly cruel to myself. I trusted you to care for it. Then this? This is the treatment it receives? It does not even rest in your palm. I had expected for you to treat it with a little more care and respect, to treat it better than I have, but no. You could not even offer me the courtesy of holding it responsibly, so that if it falls and breaks, it is your fault. So that I can blame you instead of the winds.

Those arteries and veins and muscles that pumped life through me; I gave them to you because you had me fooled that you could care for them better than I; That you could keep the blood as red and pure as wine; That you could keep it from spilling time and time again; And from creating a new, harder to clean, deep red stain on the carpet of my bedroom.

A bedroom is a god's domain. You would know. A space that should be worshipped and treated as if it is a church or a temple. Each time you spill blood in my bedroom you taint my life like no other can. Because I gave my heart up to you in a blinding haze of unusual affection and compassion that has driven me mad ever since.

I hope that next time you are careless and my heart breaks a little more in consequence, you are reminded that the lost blood will follow you. That my tragedy does not exclusively lead to me anymore. Your footsteps leave their prints behind in the same horrifying deep red.

Huge goal

“You have to get to a point where your mood doesn’t shift based on the insignificant actions of someone else.”

— Unknown