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[ikarust]

i talk about tearing flesh from an arm with my teeth and you stare at me in horror like you haven't tasted blood before. i talk about being crushed like a small animal on a fast lane and you ask me how it's humanly possible of me to cling to the stone of the sidewalk the way i do. my mother could skin her hands at the sink and it would still not rid her from the truth that is that she has fed me her body and that she is convict to the manslaughter of her child.

quick question: how does one write about their mother without mentioning their mother? mine is a fortune teller. she tells me in the dead of the night while i am on the kitchen floor with the boning knife in one hand and and a towel in the other that i will never be loved right. that i will never find real love. that i will always suffer if i look for it.

mother knows best.

she tells me she destroyed herself for me and that i am selfish and cruel for not destroying myself for her. she begs me to be beautiful. she begs me to be the daughter she wanted to have. my friend tells me on the swing on a beautiful springtime evening that i am selfish and cruel for devouring every little piece of every damn thing that has ever tasted like love to me. and when i go home in the evening, my mother looks at me like she did the night she told me she wishes she'd killed me when i was a child. i tell everyone i am starving. my mother tells me she told me so.

i stare at the red in the ball of spit i hawked onto the bathroom floor. i retouch the scars on my thighs. i hack away at my hair with the big crafting scissors. i pray to god that i will wake up tomorrow beautiful and loveable. i wake up the same way. my mother tells me to never come back when i step out to leave for work. i tell her i am trying my best but nothing is working. she tells me she told me so. she tells me she's glad to see me in pain because i deserve it.

maybe i do deserve it.

i visit a clothing store and step into the fitting room just to see the way i am reflected back and forth in the front-and-back mirrors. i look and i see a morbid, mangled ruin the greatest what-could-have-been of all time. and by that i mean, i see a million possibilities in one. all the girls i could have been. and at the very center, where the image gets so small it's blurry and barely visible maybe i am beautiful. maybe i am loveable. maybe i find real love and maybe i don't suffer for it.

maybe i am the daughter my mother wanted.

[ikarust]

so crazy how you can just fall in love with someone and then they show you their favourite song and you were never interested in that particular artist before but once you get to know that this artist is special to them, your opinion on that artist is irrevocably changed forever. so crazy that the way you feel about something can change suddenly just because someone you love has a passion for it.

[ikarust]

i am a rabid animal lurking in the woods, and you are the smoke that pours from the mouth of a rifle. the last remnant of my existence, before i am dead and dragged away / the smell of you. i can be a bleeding wound in the hide of a beast, and you can be the snow that stains red. the colour of something alive when you rip it open. the colour of love.

i am not a good thing / i get on my knees and beg you for things like the devil begs a believer to sin. i wish you would stick a blade in me and carve me up. i wish you would wear claws on your nails and tear me up like i am sand and you are looking for something buried beneath my skin. i wish i could pour your scent into my lungs and survive.

you made me feel something once and i have been searching for it in you ever since. maybe if you get a handgun and gut me with the barrel, i would feel it again. you can stab me and fall back when i say nothing. i’ll clean the scrapes on your skin with brandy and kiss the gauze a blotted sunset-red before i lay it over the wound. if we were stranded on a desert island, i would cut my thigh in two for you to eat.

consume me. destroy me. make me feel something again. i’m running out of ideas.

or maybe i just need to lay my head on your shoulder in a dark place with distant lights throwing delicate shadows over the slants of your face again. maybe i just need soft music, smooth-handed heat and blood in my mouth, and i will know that i am surrendering myself the right way.

be the bullet that shatters my clavicle. be the incense that burns in the realm beyond death. be the grip on my ankles / drag me into the void and tell me nothing’s gonna hurt me while you do it. say it to me. mon cœur qui bat, toi.

[ikarust]

Leila Chatti, from "Postcard from Gone"

[ikarust]

[march 2024] the last time i cut myself out of the life of someone i loved was in 2021. my best friend. the first friend i ever made at school, in first grade, after being a little girl that never spoke a word throughout pre-school (kindergarten?). she started hating me at some point during our eleven years as friends, and when i finally let her go, i was letting go of someone i loved like my lungs love to have enough air in them — and she was letting go of someone she has despised deeply and wished death upon for a very long time.

i thought i would never find it in me to make a friend and love her again. but i did. i found a friend, i loved her more than i loved anyone else in the world.

why do we use the past tense of verbs to talk about someone that is no longer in our lives anymore? i didn't just love her. i still do. i loved this new woman that i allowed into my life, i thought she was beautiful and so full of warmth. i still think so.

february 25th, 2024. the last time i spoke to the most beautiful woman in the world. there was a build-up, i made a post about how i feel i am going to lose my closest friend, in december 2023. the end of that story is now here. i have lost her. suddenly. i will never forget the last things she said to me. that she wants me gone. that it's for her own good. and i haven't spoken to her or seen her since.

i have no poetry to make about this at the moment. maybe later, when the grief of loss has sunk its teeth in deep enough. right now i am sitting alone with a void. or is it a kaleidoscope? either way, there is something missing and the emptiness is visible. it is blinding me. and i do not know what else to do, but sit and take it.

[ikarust]

laufey’s typical of me album will be the damn death of me

[ikarust]

there's such a deep seated rage that comes with self hatred. the kind that makes me want to tear into my own arm with my teeth. and cry while i spit out my own flesh.

[ikarust]

[ikarust]

things are getting worse
i don't know what to do

[ikarust]

[ikarust]

i miss you. i miss your touch like i've felt your hands on me and like i've had mine on you before. 

           ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀i miss you the way two pairs of lips miss eachother in the middle of a first kiss. a first kiss between two people who love eachother in a way that mirrors the attraction between two opposing charges right before a lightning strike. 

there's the meeting of lips, the slight step back and the pause for air where the reality that god, i'm actually kissing them hits, and then there's the instant magnetic pull into eachother's bodies and your mouth meets mine and my tongue tastes you for the first time and there's the electric shock. the good kind. the kind that lights up the entire sky. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀do you know that it's electricity that keeps our hearts beating? there are charges between your heart and mine. we're separated by skin and flesh and bone, but if the charges between our hearts met eachother, i think they would cause an explosion bright enough to set the world on fire. we'll travel the cosmos together. you and i. we'll kiss all the time. and we'll destroy every planet we land on, just like that. until we're the only two things left in the entire universe.

 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you're the only thing i need. immortality in the shadows. we exist in the void, like god didn't know there were a pair of lovers hiding in the dark before he created light. i love you. 

[ikarust]

listen to me. answer my question, please. i need to know this. is there something i need to discover, in order to receive some love without having to sell my soul for it? i'm starting to get tired of this pattern. i give, give, give, give, give, give, give, give, and only then am i allowed even a single taste of something in return. am i not meant to be loved unconditionally? whoever said 'tell me every terrible thing you did, and let me love you anyway' needs to fall in love with me because god, i wish to be loved at my worst. i so badly want someone to walk past me while i'm on my knees like a bitch that's been shot, and for them to notice and turn back and come to me. save me, save me, save me, save me, save me, save me. please. love me while i am empty. i fear i will soon have no more soul left in me to sell for the sort of love i wish to receive.

[ikarust]

SO IF YOU NEED TO BE MEAN BE MEAN TO ME

[ikarust]

sometimes i just want to give up on my dreams and die.

[ikarust]

i would die just to know if my mother will cry at my deathbed or spit on it. i would die just to know if my mother loves me at all.  (mine)

[ikarust]

i really wish my mother loved me.

she likes to believe she's the best example of a perfect mother, and my father tells me all the time to be grateful that i have a mother as good as she is. i could be having it so much worse, he says to me.

my death is a casual topic of conversation in my house. the subject and prospect of killing me is discussed regularly. my mother loves talking about how she can kill me the same way she birthed me.

earlier tonight, i had an argument with my mother, and i asked her why she beat me so often when i was a child. she answered like it was so simple, "i should've beaten you more than i did". i could be having it so much worse, my father says. it hurt, and i felt the tears fresh and hot in my eyes, but the living room was dark and she was across the room. she would not see me cry.

i told her, voice just a little shaky, that she'll tell me she 'wishes she had killed me when i was a weak and helpless child' next (she says it often when she's angry with me). and without thinking, she said to me, "shut your mouth before i get pissed enough to hit you with something so hard it kills you."

there was a silence in the room after that. a loud silence.

i could be having it worse. i am grateful that i have a mother as good as she is.

[ikarust]

Ranata Suzuki