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Literature Text
I cling to his hand (sometimes with a few fingers, sometimes with both hands) as we browse vegetables and fish in the supermarket, for I am hopelessly attached to his gentle touch. People have always said that my fingers are long and my hands are big for a girl (proving their point by aligning their palms and digits with mine. I usually feel like a giant when this happens). But in his hands they are small, feminine, soft, my thumbs dwarfed, slender.
And I am hopelessly out of control when we cook dinner together, when he looks deep into my eyes as he touches me, kisses me, and oh, God, when he listens, laughs (God, to hear his laugh). In these brief moments I can forget the truth, the way of life I have adopted years ago.
Because, on other occasions I grip my pillow hard, attempt to silence the sobs, shiver in the cold of the dorm room (in the dormitory of a college not meant for me, never meant for me). I feel like I am nothing wanting to be nothing (a word permanent in the tremors of my sleep, in the lifeless words dripping from my lips).
I am truly hopeless in this cage, wings grown limp with disuse, legs crippled by lack of purpose. In my prison I only find ways to hurt myself, it seems, with pasts that will never be futures (but still frighten me) and with the delicacy of love and the tendency it has to cower from suicidal tendencies.
So, I am hopelessly out of control when this paranoia seizes my heart, for I convince myself that I am not lovable, that I should stay sick because it is familiar and awfully convenient (and being alone means I hurt a little less).
And I am hopelessly out of control when we cook dinner together, when he looks deep into my eyes as he touches me, kisses me, and oh, God, when he listens, laughs (God, to hear his laugh). In these brief moments I can forget the truth, the way of life I have adopted years ago.
Because, on other occasions I grip my pillow hard, attempt to silence the sobs, shiver in the cold of the dorm room (in the dormitory of a college not meant for me, never meant for me). I feel like I am nothing wanting to be nothing (a word permanent in the tremors of my sleep, in the lifeless words dripping from my lips).
I am truly hopeless in this cage, wings grown limp with disuse, legs crippled by lack of purpose. In my prison I only find ways to hurt myself, it seems, with pasts that will never be futures (but still frighten me) and with the delicacy of love and the tendency it has to cower from suicidal tendencies.
So, I am hopelessly out of control when this paranoia seizes my heart, for I convince myself that I am not lovable, that I should stay sick because it is familiar and awfully convenient (and being alone means I hurt a little less).
Handcuffed behind the back close-up
If you love handcuffs behind the back, in arresting positions, and really good CLOSE-UPS, enjoy my shares. Handcuffs, ropes, even NO bondage; I only focus on women's hands shown behind "PALMS OPEN,"
and showing more femininity. None of this tied "PALMS TOGETHER. Prayer position" nonsense. where is the fun in that? 🤷
Thousands of divs to share
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Literature
Untitled
I'm not sure;
i.
my hands don't remember how to write, and
my mind isn't used to sharing -
in words, at least
ii.
there are days when I want to cut parts of my body off;
my stomach and legs and all the places girls don't like
and I know what I need to do to be well; sabotage
iii.
I have a boy who loves me and today we ran around in the garden
he says I am beautiful
iv.
for a moment I thought my cluttered room was making
my lipid stores cluttered: if I clean and clean, I'm clean
and then, maybe not
v.
if I look at enough girls I can feel sad enough too
vi.
I went home and found my awards for being clever
and wondered what changed,
Literature
A thought of today
I woke up, and everything was cloudy, but bright. I started to stir, and think about where I was and what had happened. "good morning!" a soft, female voice said. I looked up. It was her! "How are you?" she said again. I thought of multiple questions all at once. "Don't worry, everything's fine. You're safe!" she said while smiling. Only now did I realize that I was laying down on the ground with my head resting on her lap. I tried to think about how I got there. I got a sudden sharp pain in my head when I remembered what had happened. "The car crash...!" I blurted out. Her smile faded a bit. "I'm really sorry, but... You didn't make it. I mu
Literature
That word
One word.
That word.
You threw that word at me
Aimed with precision
To take full control.
You knew.
Which word.
Would vanquish my spirit,
Two syllables pierced
My worth and my whole.
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yup. because i can't fucking write ANYTHING because this goddamned depression makes your thoughts go everywhere. and i have it so fucking HARD.
fuck.
fuck.
© 2012 - 2024 heart-terrors
Comments8
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i love your imagery...
my parents put me on "happy pills" to make me happy, get it? happy pills?
anyways, i feel for you :C
my parents put me on "happy pills" to make me happy, get it? happy pills?
anyways, i feel for you :C