I Was Born A Beast, Which Is A Danger To Oneself;this Is Why I Have To Put It To Sleep Along With Wild

i was born a beast, which is a danger to oneself; this is why i have to put it to sleep along with wild flowers under the dusty snow of medicine. however, sometimes i wonder: what if i can feel the true taste of life in the spring, when the beast and the wild flowers are awakened; when my teeth are white and bare and tearing tissues; when my scream echoes up a staircase; when jealousy turns me into a witch with pale face, locks sticking to the wet forehead, and eyes sharper than a dagger? what if the salt of my tears is the taste of life's blood?

my mind is a highland nunnery, and, like in every nunnery, there's a devil hiding in between the bell ringings. in the morning the air smells painfully clear on the edge of a cliff.

the mountain peaks should always be covered with snow to prevent this primal insanity from descending and making me drunk on the taste of it.

i believe in hooded eyelids supremacy

my italian mother on the day of her wedding

i'm sick of 'psychologists' on tiktok implying that people pleasers are manipulators using social acceptance to get high on dopamine. why am i supposed to feel guilty for growing up in an unpredictable environment & being constantly tired bc of hypervigilance & feeling like i have to be nice to stay safe which is lowkey stockholm syndrome. such a slut for dopamine

“I’m mercurial, sometimes I want greatness, sometimes just its shadow.”

—

Roberto Bolaño, from “Prose from Autumn in Gerona,” The Unknown University, trans. Laura Healy (New Directions, 2013)

my brain every time i practise the lymphatic massage