bbingustheoctopus

[bbingustheoctopus]

[bbingustheoctopus]

yeah

[bbingustheoctopus]

In the quest for someone who would see me as "their person," I realized I was blind to all the love poured out for me by the people around me. They poured until they couldn’t anymore—until their hearts shriveled like fruit in brine—and still, I asked for more. I forgot to see love in the little things. Even when I searched for love in every crook of the world, I forgot to look back and recognize all the kindness already extended. And I try to satisfy the craving, but my soul never seems to get enough. Often, all I see is what they couldn’t give. It’s like gasping for air when you already have enough because the fear of suffocation is more overwhelming and familiar. I leave their souls dry, having drained their spirits, exhausting their care—why? Even their entire existence. When will I see the deep-rooted affection shown to me, even by those who were never loved enough to give love? How can I believe someone likes me when I can’t seem to like myself?

[bbingustheoctopus]

Darling, are you repulsed by my words of love? If so, I’ll stop. I’ll never utter another word about you from this damned mouth of mine—never again will you hear my voice. Or is it my touch that disgusts you? For as much as I ache to hold you, I see you squirming away, avoiding even the faintest graze of my fingertips against your skin. Love, do you despise how my touch feels? I’ve heard I can cut an inch to separate those grooves and ridges--my identity, from myself. I'm scared to do so but sweetheart won't you do it for me? For I can hold in my fear and the all-consuming pain if I were to look into those brown eyes and lord knows its true.

 Love, do I make you nauseous? The way you never leave my mind, the way you linger like a phantom, gnawing at my thoughts? The way your name is always behind the back of my mind like a prayer that would save me from the eternal fire? Tell me any absurd reason, darling, any excuse—I’ll believe you. But don’t be heartless enough to let the love I’ve poured out for you be the reason. For if that’s all it takes, I'm afraid  you’ll have to kill me to stop this relentless, bleeding heart of mine. Even then, baby, would you kiss me, ever so softly, as you push the poison dagger deeper—piercing, until my body goes cold, until my blood spills like an open wound, staining everything we were?  

[bbingustheoctopus]

I was once the deer caught in your headlights, the one you stopped your car to get a closer look at. The herd never saw me the way you did, never adored me like you did. And for a moment, I wondered if this was what they called love. A complete stranger, a human, even, gave me the admiration I had always longed for. “Her hide is gorgeous,” you said, and I was bewitched by your words and your smile. "She liked my brown-spotted skin" I blushed as you gently retreated, a whisper of motion, then surged forward, unleashing a torrent of speed, slicing through the air, I felt my heart drop as the tyres met me. I saw you speed past, but then you stopped at a distance, and I saw you running back to me in glee. You ran past me, and I watched, confused, as you reached my body. For a moment, fear gripped me, but then, oh! How delicately you separated my skin from my flesh, how gently you removed my flesh from bone, how gently you pulled apart what was once me. You cut me up piece by piece and I swear it hurt my very existence, my soul, so I thought, perhaps the hurt comes with love. You sutured my hide and kissed it softly but it was unusual in a way I didn't feel the gently planted kisses but I suppose this is love. You set up camp and soaked my hide in preparation, caring for it as though it were something sacred. And even though my body was rotting away, my hair slipping off, losing its life and form, you continued to preserve my skin. You tanned it, making it into a trophy, something beautiful and I thought again, this must be love. I wanted to return to my body, to the place where the scars could no longer hurt my soul. You only caressed the dried skin, now ready to be hung up on your mantle. but your affection seemed gone. You no longer touched me with warmth. The way you looked at me had changed. There was no affection in your eyes anymore—only a faint trace of disgust. And my hide was left behind. So was I. You took down the camp, your car gone by dawn. I was confused but you loved my skin, so you will return for what we had was love or so I thought. I wandered as a spirit in the forest, searching for any sign of you, but you never came. Instead, I found my carcass, decaying in the place where I once stood. The smell and decay reminded me of a story I held close to my heart. There, preserved by your touch, my buckskin, no longer able to degrade into nature. I was stuck as a spirit, with an almost fully rotted carcass, an abandoned soul and the most beautifully preserved hide as a reminder of what had been. I waited in that endless loop, replaying and admiring the tyre marks you left behind, hoping you'd return to claim me, but I suppose this is love.

[bbingustheoctopus]

A cup of sweet poison served by you—taken in by me without apprehension, for it was brewed by your very hands. Seeing you drink from someone else's cup of bitter venom stings. Everything we had is now everyone's to hold, to remember. Even in death, they all die the same as I do.

Where do you find the heart to use yourself as my weakness? You knew, we all knew, yet I was discarded like your favorite towel, once cinched around your body, embracing your nakedness—the you no one knew. The wear and tear, having taken its toll, left me cast aside like a dirt rag. I question my worth—maybe love was never meant to be pain. Maybe it was never meant to mirror the greatest hurt and loss.

Perhaps I could let go of the shard of glass I cherished, even as it shattered, if not for my stubbornness, my crippling fear of change, and mostly, the yearning—a familiar ache for love. The pain of staying the same for eternity seems less burdensome than the fear of losing you—forgetting the scent of your skin, your smile, the way my name sounds on your lips. And we can’t stay friends, because you are so... you.

And I’ll wait for you until the Pando succumbs to its impending doom, for it has never felt more right to love someone. My heart has never felt this weak, yet strangely free, for it is bound to you indefinitely. How can one be both the source of all pain and the greatest joy? How does one fill me with passivity, decay, and even more with exuberance?

You are the paradox that unravels within me.

[bbingustheoctopus]

she is like a poem I wish I wrote, a doubt I wish I thought and an answer I wish I said.

[bbingustheoctopus]

Starved— but the hunger for love seems more famishing; the insatiable hunger gnaws more than any hunger pang; a deeper ache that reverberates within my very core. At times, the jaws of despair bite too hard- there! Flesh separated from bone, I've lost a part of myself. But even still I wonder if the love could keep me fed; nurture my soul and my stomach filled. Some days, as I rise from the dinner table, lingering scents of a meal barely remembered, I find a glimmer of hope in the thought that perhaps, it just might. And it fleets in the air like a delicately whispered vow.

[bbingustheoctopus]

Mother.

Never felt the warmth of her womb,

or the love with which she conceived me.

[bbingustheoctopus]

I felt sickened as I realised that I still think of her;

haunted by her presence when I'm awake,

and by her touch as I dream when asleep;

Or maybe, I'm the ghost-

one who walks among the living;

just for her to be what I think of first as I wake up

and the last as I retire to my bed.

If yearning for her was to make me a sinner;

then I sure am damned.

I'm torn between saving myself and serving her,

but deep down, I know I would let her ruin me.

I would let her break me to a point of no return.

[bbingustheoctopus]

wake up

yearn

go to sleep

repeat

[bbingustheoctopus]

Tonight as you cried into my arms,

I wanted to leave you behind just to know

if you would hurt the same-

if you would burn the same as you did today

Call me selfish but I want you to hurt

I want you to live in unbearable pain,

and screams of misery that haunt you.

I want you to long for the ghost of me

for my company, touch and voice-

I want your love for me; poison you-

rot you from the inside,

like my love for you, did to me.

[bbingustheoctopus]

do u want the good news or the bad news

[bbingustheoctopus]

It hurts to be something;

it worse to be nothing with you.

[bbingustheoctopus]

@alludeddsparkles

you ever look at a girl n think how the fuck are you that pretty

[bbingustheoctopus]

tell me why no one ever told me that being too much is just as bad as being not enough

[bbingustheoctopus]

Tomas Tranströmer, tr. by Robin Fulton, from “Many Steps”, The Great Enigma: New Collected Poems