i tried to eat my whole heart raw once.
but i could not stomach it. could not stomach the noxious ventricles down my throat, could not swallow the bollus of unfleshly pink carnage.
so i broke it into pieces and i blamed you instead, because it seemed easier to say you broke me than to say that i ever loved you.
i.
this is how you broke me :
whenever i thought of you ******* her i would think of dying inside.
dying is a blessing.
dying is the movie that i am too young to watch but too old to resist. dying is divinity, it is paradisical death in slow motion, an entity mushrooming in between the eyes of a decaying rabbit. it is tears being ****** back into the eyes of a small girl, legs apart, ***** ripped, the fruitlessness of futility bleeding out like saliva from a mouth. dying is being idle, dying is being able to think without questioning existence, dying is a moth, paled by smoke.
it is that tuesday night i promised myself i would never write again
if all i wrote was about you.
ii.
this is how i broke myself :
whenever i thought of you dying inside her, i would think of *******
******* is a blessing.
******* is the reason an orchid can sing without a stigma. ******* is the malformation of your tongue when you say " i hate myself, because i hate you, but i hate you more. ". ******* is about three blocks away from love. ******* and love are probably secret **** buddies. ******* is saying you love her. ******* is saying you love me. ******* is that heart-shaped bruise that you left on my wrist, that tuesday night you ***** me and called it love. ******* is telling me i am not her.
this disposition of 'her', the realisation she plays a better 'her', than i play 'her', the realisation that she stole 'her' from me, when'her' was a dream both of us could hope to fake.
iii.
why people are kept broken:
you once told me, while ashing out a cigarette on my neck,
"it is better to stay broken so nothing else can ever break you again."
Feb 19, 2011
Feb 19, 2011 at 3:06 PM UTC
i tried to eat my whole heart raw once.
but i could not stomach it. could not stomach the noxious ventricles down my throat, could not swallow the bollus of unfleshly pink carnage.
so i broke it into pieces and i blamed you instead, because it seemed easier to say you broke me than to say that i ever loved you.
i.
this is how you broke me :
whenever i thought of you ******* her i would think of dying inside.
dying is a blessing.
dying is the movie that i am too young to watch but too old to resist. dying is divinity, it is paradisical death in slow motion, an entity mushrooming in between the eyes of a decaying rabbit. it is tears being ****** back into the eyes of a small girl, legs apart, ***** ripped, the fruitlessness of futility bleeding out like saliva from a mouth. dying is being idle, dying is being able to think without questioning existence, dying is a moth, paled by smoke.
it is that tuesday night i promised myself i would never write again
if all i wrote was about you.
ii.
this is how i broke myself :
whenever i thought of you dying inside her, i would think of *******
******* is a blessing.
******* is the reason an orchid can sing without a stigma. ******* is the malformation of your tongue when you say " i hate myself, because i hate you, but i hate you more. ". ******* is about three blocks away from love. ******* and love are probably secret **** buddies. ******* is saying you love her. ******* is saying you love me. ******* is that heart-shaped bruise that you left on my wrist, that tuesday night you ***** me and called it love. ******* is telling me i am not her.
this disposition of 'her', the realisation she plays a better 'her', than i play 'her', the realisation that she stole 'her' from me, when'her' was a dream both of us could hope to fake.
iii.
why people are kept broken:
you once told me, while ashing out a cigarette on my neck,
"it is better to stay broken so nothing else can ever break you again."
...
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