belladonna23poison

[belladonna23poison]

What have you ever created that grew from your rib.

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Finally edited one of my poems, I hope it makes no sense.

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My theories on love show in every way I force it to lack in my life,

If I avoid the one place I know it’ll always mundanely be,

Then for sure it’ll always be in those more extreme, out of reach, better off in a dream places

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If I am to sin, let it be before the face of God

If I am to sin, let him witness and remember the sweeter, less damned thing I was

Before I decided to leave my trail of striped clothes in his face

He can remember that, he can remember anything

He can remember who I was before I sinned

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Why did Henry shoot himself?:

Something that is a bit overlooked among the male characters is they all have a trait of theirs that they will go to the absolute extreme for, Richard’s being the most obvious which is doing anything for the aesthetic and picturesque, Charles being his control over Camilla, Francis’s being his love and attraction, Bunny’s his want for life and lavish and Henry’s being his hunger for heroism. (Side note but I believe Camilla’s extreme is not as detectable because she is on all the others spectrum of want, so she too is something they’d all go to the extreme for which lessens her own) I think this is also the reason that Henry shooting himself is not always addressed as a suicide, because it was sacrifice, but not out of pure bravery or cowardice, it was neither to take the heat or avoid prison it was to prove to himself and the remaining bit of the group that he could be the hero like in any Greek tragedy and make the ultimate sacrifice, but his reason was hardly half to protect the group, it was mostly to prove he could be a hero and be the tragedy, as any good story goes.

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♤ Call me Noella,

♤ eighteen, American valley girl, history major, poet, writer, lover, spiritually a seventy year old man.

♤ favorite books: The Secret History, Inferno, The Bell Jar, The Pictures of Dorian Gray, The Great Gatsby, Little Woman, If We Were Villains, The Song Of Achilles. (And a bunch of fantasy romances we won’t name).

♤ favorite poets/writers: Plath, Camus, Poe, Kafka, Dostoevsky, Tartt, Didion, Shelly, Nin, Keats, Byron, and too many more.

♤ hobbies/interests: writing, reading, listening to music, hyperfixating on book characters, driving along the coast, staring in the mirror, conversing with straight men, eye contact, loving.

♤ what to expect from my page: I started my page a long time ago that had a much different look and post, which I refuse to get rid of. But now I’ll be posting my own poems, poems I like, my takes on books and other pieces of literature, pictures I find pretty, and maybe a rant if I have absolutely no one else to talk to.

♤ just this of my page as one big Gatsby party hosted by me, Noella, and my Daisy is the oblivion of aesthetic and absolute talent.

-Noella

[belladonna23poison]

𝚆𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚆𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍? 𝙼𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎, 𝙸 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚡 𝚖𝚎 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛

[belladonna23poison]

I’d like to start posting on here again, maybe poems I write or my takes on books or just pictures I find pretty. I was gone for so long I am almost intimidated by this page though I know hardly anyone watches what I post, but I like the escape it gives to me, and I want to nurture it again

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I feel like I knew your soul in a past life

Well then hello again old friend :)

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All I am is meat

Bloody raw meat

Dressed up as a cake

Overly sweet and painfully bright cake

The sweetness seeps in as the blood bleeds through

The flies and the wolves all come at once

All for different flavors

All with one intention

To eat away at my delicious body

They don’t know all of me has gone bad

Oh and it will make them sick

To have me in their stomach will make them die so slowly and so painfully

It’s only red frosting, my love

Eat me

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I am as the poets say,

A fallen Angel in the shape of a promiscuous girl who lacks reality and drowns in delusions, who loves lusts and knows too much about symbolism, religion, and the male anatomy.

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I knew a boy

Who passed away

And who is still alive

In a man

Who didn’t kill him

But didn’t save him either

I mourn the boy and fear the man as much as he does as well

But I’ll love both of them like the man will never know

And like the boy will forget to remember

The most vivid way to witness the passing of childhood is to watch it die and die again in the boy you once knew to always tie your shoes

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So many men are gonna mourn my death

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Could you stomach the seed if you ate it along with the cherry meat

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“This is what it means to be a woman” I say as I cut into the pomegranate

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And in the most romantic way possible I feel the growl in my throat and desire to taste flesh fill my senses when I see you enter a room.

Is it safe to assume I’ll see you again?

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You sir,

you and them all touched me with a hand wrapped in the chains of sex,

and whipped me with the sins I didn't want to die for