milkbunnicult

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you are imperfect. everything about you is constantly changing. dying. growing. falling apart. rebuilding itself. and that, within itself, makes you perfectly imperfect. you've come so far despite having the world constantly fighting against you; your own body and mind fighting against you. i know it hurts right now, but someday it will get better. everything will be okay.

I've kept this in my inbox purely so I could find it easily and reread it for a long time now.

but even the universe itself has an ending.

Sometimes things don't end as we wish tthe ending to be. I'll be stardust that coats the future after this one ending.

thats future enough for me, honestly.

thank you for the words that kept me going for a good handful of months and more now.

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I rise

A quick measure of whos asleep and the light from the sheet-covered window to figure out if its midnight or 5 am

I tiptoe

Or I try to

Its a little hard to judge with how many 'one more sip's I've taken by whichever point I'm at

Still

I try

And I go. And I sit. And I forget time and everything exists, if I ever even really knew it did, and I blink, and both years and seconds pass in it.

I stand. I pull some ratty, likely paint stained pants up.

I stare at the mirror after I'm finished.

Its not wistful. Its not 'Noir film protagonist splashing water on his face before he goes to his thankless job'

Its just that, exactly.

Staring.

Memorizing lines and shadows that hadn't been there before.

God, when even was the last time I look in a mirror for longer than a fleeting flash of a glance

Thats me.

Its a difficult two syllables, to even think.

Thats not me. I'm still 17, with bright hair and still somewhat bright eyes. They're a little dulled but what wouldn't be by almost dying a handful of times and trying to so many more than that.

And somehow both hours and mere seconds have passed again. I'm not even sure I blinked

I asked a silent, self pitying question, of if this is all I'll ever be.

The answer comes from not some distant voice or higher power.

If this is what I'll accept as all I can be

Accept

Do I have power in it...???

Was I born rotten? Or did one of the too many to name vices plant the seed that grew into whatever decaying thing that burns in my brain and my lungs and my heart and my throat and my

I blink

Seconds or hours

Does it even matter at this point...?

Get through the next hour.....or more accurately, get through the next *insert unnameable and incomprehensible jumble of time felt missing* and try to take another breath and feel another beat of a heart

Its weak.

It may not feel it to outside hands

It may feel strong. Resilient. Normal.

I can feel it

I can feel it

I can feel it

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do it scared do it weird do it alone. holy trinity

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Yugo Kohrogi mouth paintings

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{Words by Anaïs Nin, from The Diary Of Anais Nin, Vol. 4 (1944-1947) / Cynthia Cruz }

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hey man let me see how the barrel of your gun feels in my mouth

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I'm the one who ruined me: I did it myself

No Longer Human // Ask Polly: Help, I'm The Loneliest Person In The World! // Franz Kafka // Sue Zhao // Fingertips - Fortesa Latifi // Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoevsky // Juansen Dizon // The Garden of Eden - Ernest Hemingway // On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous - Ocean Vuong

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I RETURN TO MY FATHER LIKE A DOG: ON FATHERS AS UNLOVING GODS.

chuck palahniuk // @angelprotocol // gillian flynn // hélène cixious // halsey // ocean vuong // smoke signals.

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Charles Bukowski, "hurry slowly," from Come On In!

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