#i am poetry and i am death

[neuroticboyfriend]

i feel my emotions so effortlessly. so. effortlessly.

[mumblesplash]

in honor of last season’s poem being called “”end poem”” (all quotes mandatory) this season i made one out of pieces of the actual end poem

[wearefallensouls]

You are stuck in a time loop.

This Road by Poe / post by @janemorris / Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (1990), dir. Tom Stoppard / Circles by Marion Ethel Hamilton / Happy Death Day (2017), dir. Christopher Landon / Alan Wake II / Fatigue Empire by Cynthia Cruz / Black Sails episode XXXII

[cashmere-caveman]

forever obsessed w the fact that in bh lore vampires do actually die and stay dead for a short bit and then come back wrong. something that sadly never really gets elaborated on but that i find deeply fascinating bc it is implied that they remember the afterlife! which is such a cool and insane nugget of lore to give ur vampires like hello. also the implication that it scared the shit out of them, or at least out of mitchell..... can we talk about it!

mitchell eating his stupid fucking noodle box as hes waiting w the newly turned vamp to make sure he doesnt wake up alone and scared even though lauren mocks him for it!

mitchell making sure to remind george to NOT look at what's beyond the threshold when they are preparing to say goodbye to annie when her door shows up!

that little moment when annie decides to tell owen the secrets of the dead to drive him insane and george asks what that was all about and mitchell shakes his head so annie goes ahaha lol i was just improvising even though both her and mitchell know better!!!! thats their best friend who they will protect from the horrors of death as long as (in)humanly possible! they love you alive boy ♡

[applestorms]

the fact that he’s looking directly at himself…

horror at the sight of your own innocence. the first thing you re-learn is that you were always cursed to fall. the rapture, the upside-down ascension, the death of the human— overcoming, overwhelming. transcending mortal bounds, crossing the bridge to the other side, seeing what makes the shadows without ever leaving the cave. self-consciousness, and the übermensch. in order to attain true godhood, one must first fully relinquish the vestigial traces of their depleting humanity. animal origins grow into human, social acceptance as the “civilized” man— but what comes next? where to go, where to run, when you fly into the sun and mistake its light for your own?

do you think it hurts, to remember?

it always shocks me how quickly he recovers after this point, how far his denial goes, the repression of his remaining empathy. the impressive extent of his dedication— and, ultimately, all for the sake of self preservation, to continue seeing the purity, the wholesomeness reaffirmed. light yagami has the survival instinct of a prey animal overdosing epinephrine. he kills two people by accident, and then takes down half the world just to prove he was right.

who is he, at this moment? where does he go when KIRA takes his body back? it seems like he accepts possession so easily, so long as it is done by the correct god— his own god, his own self. a=a, tautological identification, a soul shared between two names until the face in the mirror stops looking like yourself.

i was searching, earlier this week, for a clear instance of when he grows up— that classic coming of age moment, Manhood finally achieved. there are a few potential options to consider: his coming of age ceremony, marked by his first suit, tears shed by a chthonic companion as he matches a face to the name of the man behind the cameras. or perhaps a bit later, as he builds up to taking over the title of L, a slow transition over yotsuba as he stops automatically bowing to his father's will and takes on his role as hidden director instead. or maybe, at the very beginning? watching the notebook fall, writing his first names, his earliest stumble into grace and heavenly sanctity...

none of these moments fit. in not one of these cases does light yagami grow up. he changes, sure, he shifts, he goes through the motions, sneaks out of old cycles and breaks in the new ones. but not once does he Grow, does he sit back and truly Reflect. he looks into his past and he grieves his younger self, the stain on his soul he must take for all the lesser beings onto which he bestows his glorious salvation. he calls his actions criminal, but a necessary evil for the sake of a world, to achieve the moral standard he was always taught to uphold. he graduates. he moves out. he leaves his family behind.

but not once does he grow up.

he grows older. he watches his sister's health decline, sits by his father's deathbed and listens to him regurgitate his own lies back at him. he crawls across the dirty floor of a warehouse, soaked in his own blood, begging for the impossible as his 40 seconds tick away. he spends six years reigning as a god, believing the same lies he told himself when he was seventeen, when he made his first mistake and didn't know how to accept it. he does not move on. he does not grow.

perhaps that's the true tragedy of this moment, that for every memory he regains of the past, he learns nothing of the future. such a static entity, in the end.

compare the framing here, between ch.1 and ch.53. he never stops looking at it the same way, sweating and nervous and terrified. he knew what this entailed, right from the beginning. tragedy is to be found only in the lies he allowed himself to believe in the interim. note the addition of headphones, in the previous spread— he won't even allow himself to hear his own screams.

pack it all away, buddy. you'll face the reality of your finite, mortal lifespan soon enough.

[heathcliff-the-unworthy]

This kind of machine is impossible.

theolddivorcedzukka / the creation of adam, michelangelo / source unknown / perpetual motion, wikipedia / wide sargasso sea, jean rhys / the crucible, arthur miller / swing time, zadie smith / design by johann bessler / perpetual motion, wikipedia / haunted women, heather havrilesky / photo by ronen zvulun / i wrote this for you, iain S. thomas / perpetual motion, wikipedia / art by Rea Kolarova + quote from the house on marshland, louise glück, image creator unknown. / a questionnaire, noor unnahar / selected works, yi sang

[fromtheseventhhell]

"I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? | Jon VI

--metaphorical knives at feigning neutrality regarding his sister

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold... | Jon XIII

--literal knives from breaking that neutrality to save her

[the-ghost-king]

Of Tender Death and Perpetual Care

markus zusak, the book thief // tweet by @petfurniture // gustav klimt, mother and child // jk. rowling, harry potter and the deathy hallows // andrew wyeth, perpetual care // ocean vuong, on earth we're briefly gorgeous // oscar wilde, the canterville ghost // henry scott holland, death the king of terrors // markus zusak, the book thief // hugo simberg, the garden of death // markus zusak, the book thief

[forest-fire-witness]

You are Spring.

[gibuckaroo]

achilles and patroclus; he is half of my soul as the poets say.

[original text in post: When you took Patroclus from Achilles— is this what he felt? When he saw him lifeless and pale and unmoving in another soldier's arms as they delivered the very reason he was here on earth—did he feel the ground move from under him? Did he feel time cease? Did he feel the way I do now? Out of breath, out of life, out of time, out of love. When you took his person, did he also want to dig a hell of his own?]

[xxlmug]

Lawlight headcannons

Oddly enough, I am fairly uhm, isolated from tumblr sadly. It's shocking how this platform is one that's very alike with my interests and fun and I cannot find the courage to come on here.

But here are some gayass headcannons:

1)

L unironically reads poetry just to piss Light off. They'll be sleeping and L will have the lamp on and reciting poems from poets like Paul Verlaine while whispering almost, and Light would be furious.

L: "Before your light quite fail,

Already paling star,

The quail

Sings in the thym-"

Light: "Ryuzaki."

L: "Yes Light?"

Light: "May you please shut it."

Nightly occurrence, 100%.

2)

L has asked Light multiple times what his favourite cake is. Light assumes that it's some plot to find out if he is Kira, but in reality L just wants to know what Lights favourite cake is to assess their similarities.

3)

They used to share the same bed but then they realised that they would fight too much over blankets, pillows, which side to sleep, and more so they just gave up. (Light sleeps on the bed, L sleeps on a chair close to the bed if he even sleeps that night.)

4)

Oddly enough, Light before the death note disliked Dostovesky and then when he became a suspect for the Kira case and was chained to L he was obsessed with Dostovesky. But on the other side L hated Osamu Dazai until the Kira case. This happens as they both influenced each other to read each writers books.

This only happened due to L constantly quoting Dostovesky and Light reading No Longer Human before he sleeps which in L's eyes is "Odd."

////

I'm too sleepy for more. Night, night.

[cybereucharist]

A long one. Don't know how I feel about it just yet.

[poems-of-the-anentomologist]

suffocating 

I’m doing the dishes again

Staring into the water

At that boy

How can I call myself a girl when the face that stares back

Is just another random boy

You’d see playing on a subrban corner

My name isn’t my name

People don’t call me by my name

I’ve been cut off

From everyone

If I died tonight

Nobody would notice

Just another kid

Just another teen suicide

It’s better than the alternative

To suffocate in this form

Would be preferable

To living in a world where nobody sees me

It’s better than the alternative

[hersurvival]

unwell. and i want to be able to say, "ignore this, all of this. this dark and edgy protective coating." to chalk it all up to the books I read or that i became a poet due to the fact that i twisted my mind to romanticize the smallest things just to cope with them and now i cannot stop falling into limerance, all-consuming obsession, with opposing parallels and forced symbolism. but this glimmer of darkness has been shifting, twisting, evolving from the beginning, born with something rotten in the pit of my stomach my mother called demented. desperate to find something to scare me, something to fear that's not of my mind's own creation. and i wonder if there's a corner yet untouched by shadows, i wonder if the void is still consuming all the light i touch, or if it has reached capacity, the same way i wonder how a dagger through the heart might feel or being chased through unknown woods and dragged onto the road.

how much can i take, how much are you capable of?

one day i will die and i want to know what it will be like.

[shaylogic]

"Love and Death" (1824) by Lord Byron

I watched thee when the foe was at our side,     Ready to strike at him--or thee and me, Were safety hopeless--rather than divide     Aught with one loved, save love and liberty.

I watched thee on the breakers, when the rock     Received our prow, and all was storm and fear, And bade thee cling to me through every shock;     This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier.

I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes,     Yielding my couch, and stretched me on the ground When overworn with watching, ne'er to rise     From thence, if thou an early grave hadst found.

The earthquake came, and rocked the quivering     And men and nature reeled as if with wine. Whom did I seek around the tottering hall?     For thee.  Whose safety first provide for?  Thine

And when convulsive throes denied my breath     The faultest utterance to my fading thought, To thee--to thee--e'en in the gasp of death     My spirit turned, oh! oftener than it ought.

Thus much and more; and yet thou lov'st me not,     And never wilt!  Love dwells not in our will. Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot     To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still.

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

I can't believe I'm being made to ride or die for Taylor Swift but some of the Christians condemning other Christians for listening to her are behaving like they've never heard a song before