"When you made a mistake, I showed you forgiveness. Yet when I made a mistake, you showed me the door."
— I thought I meant something to you... (J)
gyermey reblogged
I've already mourned you
Before I've even lost you
I know exactly how it'll feel
I've rehearsed the lines
Worn black and planted roses at our grave
I've already seen the woman I become after you leave me
All sharp teeth and iron skin
She's beautiful
And terrifying
She dreams of fire and flesh
And doesn't let anyone touch her
She only prays after dark
And drinks loneliness like wine
The twisted glory of a Goddess who's lost all her worshipers
I see her when I look into the mirrors past dark
Maybe it is her who I pray to
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AIS 22/11/22
gyermey reblogged
“I want to talk to you. Of course I want to talk to you. I’m just not too sure you want to talk to me.”
—
Its 5 a.m.
It’s 5 a.m., and my eyes are still a little fuzzy. They’re making faces out of shapes in the darkness. I had a nightmare, I think? I woke up so suddenly, and I don’t feel okay.
It’s 5 a.m., and I just can’t go back to sleep. I feel a soft pounding in my head; probably from one too many drinks. The phone screen is burning my eyes, but I just can’t put it away.
It’s 5 a.m., and my head won’t stop racing. I’m just listening to the crickets sing. It’s kinda like a choir that’s out of sync. I’m still thinking of you, and all of the things I never had the courage to say.
(J)
gyermey reblogged
“You were a dream. Then a reality. Now a memory.” - Iain Thomas, The City Rises and Falls
Fuck, this one hurts the most…
gyermey reblogged
I still dream about you sometimes. I don’t know what that says about me, but every time I do, I wish I could’ve slept longer.
Sadness feels both constant, and chaotic
And that’s what makes it so beautifully addicting.
(J)
gyermey reblogged
i'm too old, can you remind me why we stopped talking? the days are getting shorter again - i wake up before the sun, i finish work after she has already hidden again.
i saw you got a dog - i think. i saw you dyed your hair - maybe. i saw that you like the same television series i do - well, it seems. anything could be happening, i guess. it's hard to tell just looking at a screen.
i'm too old - why did we fight? i can't remember what exactly happened. i can't remember what came up. i've been getting better. i'm sorry, if it's my fault. i'm sorry even if it's not. i'm sorry even if neither of us did anything wrong.
someone mentioned you the other day, and asked me - do you know her? as if we'd never even been friends. i had to think about it. no, i guess not. i once cried on your shoulder for half an hour about a boy who wasn't even, like, hot.
for old time's sake, wanna come over? it's halloween. it used to be our season. we used to clomp through the leaves together. wanna come over? i just moved, i want to show you my tiny skein of a yard. wanna come over? my dog can meet your maybe-dog and we can drink mulled cider and get over the hard part.
i dont remember who drew the line. i don't remember if there was even a line ever drawn, or we just grew apart, the way adults sometimes do. i think to text you sometimes - but what if you're angry?
you used to come to my birthday parties. i used to throw parties for you. it's kind of hard to picture, these days, as if through a fogged windowpane. a lot has happened since then. a lot has changed for me. probably for you too.
i can't write today. i wasn't ever really good at writing for you, specifically, anyway. i felt something too mottled. something that scalded if it wasn't handled properly.
anyway. i'm too old. i hope you reach out. i am glad you look happy. i am glad that i'm happy too. i am glad we are both busy adults with our lives sparkling like glitter glue. i am glad like ice cream dinners and theme park tickets and closing a book. i am glad to my roots.
but i kind of wish you were here so i could share it with you.
Can I be honest with you?
I seriously went to other people to ask how I should approach you. I don’t even know who I fucking am anymore. I’ve always been a “talk about it” or “if you wanna know, ask” kind of person. Blunt. Straight. To the point. But I’ve been so scared I might be pushing you away, so petrified by the idea that I might come on too strong, that I started playing all these silly little games. I fucking hate staring at my phone wanting nothing more than to talk to you, but holding back because “it hasn’t been a whole day yet” or because I’m “waiting for you to text first.” Fuck. That. I like you; maybe a little more than I’d like to admit. I want to go out and experience new things with you. See you smile and laugh while we make stupid little jokes to each other. I want to learn what makes you tick. What your deepest fears are. What your biggest passions are. I want to prove to you that you mean more to me than just some repository for attention. If that scares you away, then fine. If you don’t feel comfortable with that yet, that’s okay. I can’t force you to like me. But at least I’ll be able to sleep at night knowing that I put my best foot forward. That I wore my heart on my sleeve, and no one had to guess how I feel. I’m done playing these stupid fucking games.
(J)
I wanna wish spiteful things upon you. I wanna shout hateful words at you. I wanna hit things. Break something. Anything but to feel like THIS. But, I can’t. I can’t say or do any of those things because you aren’t the enemy. You didn’t play me, or use me. You just broke my heart. So what do I do? I bottle it. And I bury it. Suppress it. I pretend like it never existed. Like I’m doing okay. Like I’ve been okay this whole time. And it works, for the most part. I spend most of my days convinced I’m okay. But, of course, I’m not actually okay. I know that. It becomes clear when I start to slip just a little bit. Then I start having nightmares about you. Dreams where we’re together again and everything is back to normal; until they quickly change to horrifying visions of you breaking me all over again. And it goes on night after night until I just quit sleeping. Then it seeps into my days. Days spent thinking the nightmares are over; except, now they’ve turned into full blown panic attacks. At work, in class, at the store, practically everywhere. I see your face in passing and suddenly I can’t breath. I can’t think. The only thing I can do is run. Try to get away from whatever is causing these feelings. I’ve been heartbroken. I’ve been sad. I’ve been depressed even. But, it’s never been this bad. I’ve never turned to intoxication to fill the void. I’m not suicidal. I don’t want to die. But, I certainly don’t want to live like this. You didn’t say a word. A WORD. We haven’t spoken since it happened, and it’s eating me alive. So what do I do? I bottle it. I keep pushing it down, and drowning it at the bottom of a bottle and hope that I never have to face it.
- my mind is swimming too much for anything poetic to come out so here’s another word vomit (J)
I live for the little things.
The little things you said.
Like how “whoever you end up marrying” changed to “if/when we get married.”
Or how “your kids” changed to “our kids.”
The little things you did.
Like how you stopped asking if I wanted anything from the store because you already knew what to get.
Or how you would climb on top of me because, no matter how close we may lie, it never felt close enough.
The little things you saw.
Like how you could tell I wasn’t being myself before I ever opened my mouth to say it.
Or how you noticed the way my face lit up when I talked about the things I love.
It was the little things that made me fall in love with you all over again every single day.
— J
I lied to you when I said it was nothing.
“What is it? What are you looking at?”
I told you “nothing” because I didn’t really know either. My mind felt blank. As if it had been wiped, no, hypnotized by your beauty. But, in reality, I was running through every possible way I could tell you that I love you, and none of them were enough to truly express how you make me feel.
(J)
Quit being so hard on yourself because soon you’ll realize none of us really have a plan.
We just fight and fight and we hope that no one notices
(J)
Its like an itch in the back of my mind. No, its more like an ugly monster clawing its way in. I just keep pushing it away, pushing and pushing, but its never truly gone. Sometimes I can forget, I can occupy myself for a short time before the claws start digging again. I start forgetting how to breathe, and each breath i force out becomes more and more shallow. It feels like my lungs are shriveled. I focus so hard on not suffocating in my own thoughts that i forget to push those claws back. It starts getting a voice. “Why did you do that?” “That was fucking stupid.” “You’re remarkably good at fucking things up!” Now I’m panicking. I can’t breathe anymore, my head is filled with these ugly thoughts that don’t seem to be my own, and I can’t raise my eyes anymore. All I can do is stare at my feet and wonder if the thoughts are real. “Am I really this horrible?” “What the fuck is wrong with me?” It’s so overwhelming I can’t look strangers in the eye anymore. I feel naked. Like they can see my ugly thoughts written all over my face. Like they can see straight to my core and see how much of a fuck up I am. It’s embarrassing. I’ve never liked self-harm, but now I understand. I need anything to focus on that’ll pull me away from it all. I feel the need to punch something just to make my knuckles bleed. I want to go out and kick a ball with every ounce of my being. I want to floor my gas pedal so at least the fear of hitting someone going 110 will pull me out of this hole. Im scared. It feels like I’m trapped in a well with no where to go and no one who can hear me. I feel like a prisoner in my own body. Like I’m spectating myself as I go through the motions of “living.” I hate it. I hate myself sometimes too. I hate that I can’t break this vicious cycle.
— kind of a word vomit. My take on anxiety. (J)
gyermey reblogged
I keep wondering if this feeling will last forever
And why it can't last with someone willing to give it back
I keep wondering if my heart will ever stop breaking
And if I can ever piece it back together
gyermey reblogged
