Matthew Broome As Nick Leister | MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)
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@aperlmanwrites
Matthew Broome As Nick Leister | MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)

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Everyoneâs cry for help looks different. Always be mindful and pay very close attention.
Grief.
Does anyone ever speak
 of the grief you feelÂ
losing someone thatâs right there in front of you?
The moment when you look in someoneâs eyes and realizeÂ
you no longer recognize them?
The moment you realize everything would be okay
if you just never spoke of anything important?
The moment you realize you have choices
and whichever one you decide to make,Â
you will be the only one to suffer?
The moment you know youâre trapped
because either choice brings more grief?
Does anyone ever speakÂ
of the grief you feel
mourning a life youâd thought you have?
The two story house with the vegetable garden?
I can see the foliage now; wrapped around the front of it.
Safe, peaceful, and quiet.
How about the beautiful babies you thought youâd create together?
I can hear them now; their laughter echoing through the halls.Â
One half of me, and one half of him.Â
Was it all my fault?
Did I bring this grief upon myself?
âAlexandria Perlman
My beautiful paradoxâ
How is it possible that two of you can exist in the same body?
My beautiful, sweet boyâ
How is it that the same voice that often comforts meÂ
can also put such fear and anxiety into me?
How is it possible that my body can beg for someoneâs touch
and reject it at the same time?
My safety, my refugeâ
How is it possible that you have become
the very thing that scares me most?
-Alexandria Perlman
RED
Alexandria Perlman
My favorite color is red. The color of romance, the color of passion, the color of warning.Â
I never see the red initiallyâit usually starts out as a lighter shade. A soft pink maybe. Soft pink fingertips press into my skin harshly. I ignore the slight discomfort. Soft pink lips against my own. A skipped heartbeat. A bubblegum pink next. Quiet passive aggressive remarks and some âLetâs just not fight.â Nobodyâs perfect. A rose red now. Loud yelling, then soft apologies and kisses. We will call this passion. Next comes that dark, deep, blood red. The kind that stains your fingers and wonât come out of your clothes. Itâs my fault. It will always be my fault. When will I learn?
 Broken red roses.
Tall, dark, and handsome red flags.
A red heart shattered.

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SHAME.
Itâs not a feeling I ever wanted to get accustomed to.
And yet, somehow I have.
To love someone the way that I did you
Isnât what Iâm ashamed of.
In fact, after I swore I would never allow myself to connect with another human being before I met you,
When I did, Shame was the last thing I felt.
Time is funny in the way that it allows us to begin to see thingsâsee people as they are. The more we grow to know someone, the more the pieces of the facade start to chip away. We begin to see the very flawed humans that reside underneath. But sometimes, this comes too late.
You didnât love me, I knew that.
But letting you use my body, degrade my mind, plague me with an unimaginable amount of griefâletting you leave me here with copious amounts of self-hatred and newly formed vicesâthis is what Iâm ashamed of.
This shame, like the weather in August, makes me feel warm in the face. Cold, in my fingers and toes like Iâve taken a dip in mountain water.
This shame wraps its way around my neck like an ill-tempered snake and squeezes so tight that sometimes I can hardly breathe.
This shame is so great I often wish I could peel away all the layers of my skin so I can be a version of myself you did not touch.
But Iâve decided I will not carry this shame anymore. Because it is not mine to carry.
You knew you were hurting meâusing meâand you did not care. That is your shame to bear.
Iâve allowed you to take so much from me. No more.
I will dance again, I will sing again, I will allow myself to love and be loved, and I will look in the mirror everyday single day from this day forward and see me as I am, not the version of me you created.
And I am not pathetic or weak for wanting to believe that human beings are inherently good; that the people you hold, the people you love, and the people you open your heart toâwonât hurt or abandon you.
This shame that I feel⌠is misplaced. This shame that Iâve been carryingâis yours. And you can take it the hell backâbecause itâs not welcome here anymore.
Writing sonnets is hard af. Mad respect to Shakespeare
No, fr. đ
The Spirit of Lust
Alexandria Perlman
The mind, heart, and body arenât always synced.
Three different wants, three different needs.
I feel my sanity is at the brink.Â
The spirit of lust has planted the seeds.
He is not the man Iâm supposed to want.
I sometimes wonder how his hands might feel.
The dreams, I believe, are an evil taunt.
Snakes wrap around me like a fateful seal.
I pull them off and off and off and off.Â
These monsters will no longer take from me.
I will poison them until they die off.
I will scream a very desperate plea.
And to the spirit of lust, you must flee.
Oh, how I long for you to leave me be.
FEATURE | Into the Decadent Life of Dorian Gray: How Victorian Aestheticism Led to His Demise
Originally published as a serial in 1890 and in book form the following year, Oscar Wilde's only novel The Picture of Dorian Gray is one of the best examples of late Victorian Gothic horror. The late 19th century aestheticism and decadence are among the key concepts that Wilde creatively weaved into his novel.
Behind the Aesthetic movement
During the 19th century, aestheticism was an art movement known as "art for art's sake" which favors the aesthetic value of the arts, literature, and music rather than their socio-political purpose. This movement focuses on producing art that is deemed beautiful rather than having a deeper meaning. Its philosophy is meant for escaping the ugliness of the materialism brought by the Industrial Age, thus only absorbing beauty and good taste. It also challenges the norms during the period where Victorians would often associate ethical and moral roles to any form of art, which is the very opposite of the movement's perspective.
While a critical reflection on the arts with the aim of getting through the hardships of a new age by recognizing the necessity of beauty in everyday life, the movement also gave rise to ethical questionsâcreating a conflict between aestheticism and morality, which can be perfectly observed in The Picture of Dorian Gray.
A stirring and provocative introduction
The novel probably has one of the best prefaces ever written. Novel prefaces during the Victorian age were usually crowded with characters, with long paragraphs that are thickly plotted. Prefaces invite the readers inside the book by stating the purpose, and Wilde was successful in doing so. He wrote the preface without complicated words, it was written realistically and with much thought.
In reference to the Aesthetic movement, Wilde asserts in the preface that art's aim is to only reveal art and conceal its artist. He also talks about the critics of art, who he defines as those who can translate into another manner or material. Detesting people who find ugly meanings in beautiful things, he calls them corrupt and uncharming; this is a fault. Those who are cultivated are the ones who can find beautiful meanings in beautiful things. Then, he ends it strongly with, "All art is quite useless."
Such an introduction will put the readers into deep thought, challenging someone's beliefs on the matter whether one agrees or not. And with the intriguing notions laid upon them, one may argue against it or further interpret the concepts on their own.
Navigating the tenets of Aestheticism in the novelâs synopsis
Opening with a vivid image of the setting, artist Basil Hallward paints Dorian Gray's portrait in his London studio. With them, Lord Henry "Harry" Wotton is smoking an opium-tainted cigarette while taking a shine to the fine young man with an "extraordinary personal beauty." Speaking in aphorisms, and in mostly profound manner, he slowly encourages Dorian to indulge deep into life's greatest pleasures, advising him to look constantly after new sensations in life despite Basil's begging that he should not corrupt Dorian with his words that reek of hedonistic values. Lord Henry, depicted as a manipulator as he picks a flower's petals one by one, would soon have a large role in Dorian's way of life.
As Basil finishes Dorian's portrait, the painting reveals such beauty and is praised by Lord Henry as being the artist's finest work ever done. Suggesting that it must be shown in the best galleries possible, Basil quickly insists that he does not want the portrait to be seen. He says, "I have put too much of myself in it."
Basil worries that showing his work will reveal so much of himself, that spectators may uncover more of his personal and artistic idolatry of Dorian than the fair subject himself. This echoes Aestheticism's principles, where artists must be dismissed; create only a beautiful work and not put meaning into it. He refuses to have his work be explored by critics, and be seen as a biographical expression.
Looking at the artist's finished work, Dorian marvels at how young and beautiful he looks. He wishes that he would always remain young, and that the portrait must become the one to age and wane. In order for such a wish to be granted, he even declared he would sell his soul. And this is the moment as if he has made a pact with the devil.
Dorian coddles with a life of pleasure, living a life with his gift of youth, just as Lord Henry has advised him. Soon he meets Sibyl Vane, a theater actress, and falls in love with her artâperforming on stage with different roles embodying the aspects of tragic love: Cordelia, Juliet, Desdemona, and Portia among others. She artistically acts on stage, as if completely losing herself and fully becoming the characters she plays. This is what Dorian falls in love with, her art as an actress. Sibyl falls in love with Dorian, she then experiences real love and realizes the falseness she has been doing onstage.
Sibyl initially inspired Dorian to turn away from decadence. Dorian discusses with Lord Henry the emotions that Sibyl makes him feel, "Her trust makes me faithful, her belief makes me good. When I am with her, I regret all that you have taught me." But when Sibyl performs as Juliet on stage, she seems artificial. She hopes that Dorian will take the hint that she does not want to act anymore after falling in love. Disappointed and ashamed, Dorian stays the whole play after everyone has left. "You have killed my love," he mutters. And then he leaves as Sibyl pleads and cries on the floor.
Sibyl symbolizes truth and purity, while Dorian is nothing but deceit and selfishness. Dorian, once again, is swayed by the values taught to him by Lord Henry. Soon, Sibyl becomes like the tragic characters she portrays, she meets a bitter end when she takes her own life after Dorian turns her down for losing her ability to act. Without this art of hers, she is now meaningless. Henry tells Dorian about the girl's death and says, "The girl never really lived, and so she has never really died."
Aestheticism's values deeply affect how Dorian sees people around him, same with how he treated Sibyl. He only saw value in her knowing that she was a brilliant actress. He mourned for her when she died as Cordelia. But never did he feel an ounce of sadness, when she died as Sibyl Vane.
After Sibyl's death, Dorian feels there is nothing more to stop him from treading a terrible path of sin and immorality. He goes on with self-indulgence, and there is no coming back. Sin after sin, he commits all things hideous. His physical body remains perfect but his portrait changes, becoming uglier as days of sin go by. Shocked by the changes in the portrait, he locks it away in his house's attic. Once again, after ceaselessly doing immoral things, he looks at the portrait and an old, evil face is revealed to him.
A tragic but fulfilling ending
13 years pass by and Dorian remains young and attractive. Dorian shows Basil his secret, the portrait that he is hiding, and the artist is appalled by the sight of his then beautiful work. Dorian then stabs Basil to death. Sibyl's brother, James, also went to exact revenge on him but is shot by one of the members of his shooting party. These events continue to disfigure his portrait. He tries to believe that the portrait may improve if he starts to behave, but he looks at the portrait again and his old self remains with the face of an evil man.
Dismayed and outraged by the loathsome sight, Dorian shoves a knife into the canvas to destroy the evidence of his sin. The sin he wants to destroy is himself. So when the servants arrive in the attic after hearing a blood-curdling sound, they witness Dorian's beautiful portrait just as Basil has painted it, but there lies on the floor a body of wrinkled old man with a horrid face.
The ending scene, as tragic as it appears on the surface, is perfectly constructed. All the events in the story, each circumstance of the characters that have different values and especially Dorian's journey of sin, led to this very endâto his ultimate demise. An ending he deserves, the moment of his death with the magical portrait at the scene that displayed strong symbolsâhim being one with the portrait maintaining his immortality, the depravity in the painting that he longs to kill instead of facing it.
Dorian Gray and the demise of his Aesthetic life
Dorian's ending is a reminder that no one can get away with everything. He went about in his life with the values of aestheticism imparted to him by Lord Henry, and that brought his downfall at the end. The movement should have only been a means to distract oneself from the industrialization and the physical harms it had on people. But too much indulgence in just beauty on a surface level gets rid of other things that are also important.
Living this life must also take some inspiration. Creating art can be both for the art and artist's sake, so as creating meaning or not having meaning at all. Sibyl is not meaningless when she loses her ability to act, it is not meagerness to finally embrace and see oneself as who they truly are. Basil should not have been shamed for keeping something so precious to him. Dorian would not have been put into a life of decadence if only he considered both having youth and not having youth as a gift, if only he considered to also put value in his attitude as he does in his looks.
It is mentioned how there is conflict between aestheticism and morality which is discernible in the novel. The very conflict presented there is Dorian Gray himself, who is such an exceptionally beautiful-looking young man but has a crooked and amoral attitudeâwhich led to his own downfall. What lies beneath the surface is more worthwhile after all.
Love Is Pointless
Hereâs an excerpt from one of my essays.
People always say love is a choice. I guess to some extent I agree, but Iâll be the first to admit, sometimes it doesnât feel like much of a choice. I will, however, say this: Love is one of the most pointless things you can feel. Now, Iâm not talking all the way around. I love my mom, my dad, my grandparents, my best friend. This isnât the kind of love Iâm referring to. Iâm referring to feeling of being in love.Â
Being in love, you become so blind to the red flags and warnings. You still look at them with stars in your eyes as they use your body for the 21st or 22nd time. Youâve lost count. You desperately wish you could take away their pain or carry everything for them even when you know theyâd never do it for you, and you have your own burdens to carry. You make excuses for them, because certainly the person you fell in love with wouldnât make you feel the way you do on purpose. Love tricks youâit deceives you into doing things you wouldnât normally do. You lose your sense of identity. The minute you hear or read an âI miss youâ, the self-respect you had just a moment ago is gone. Love is manipulative, painful, cruel.Â
When you finally set boundaries, try to tell them about how they make you feelâand you lose that person, you think maybe youâll be okay now. Maybe it was for the best. Then itâs 3am, youâve woken up from a dream about themâa dream where youâre reminded of a moment when everything felt perfect and suddenly you wish you could take back everything you said just hear them laugh again. To have them hold you in their armsârun their fingers through your hair. Because even though you know after a while you were just pretending to be happy, because you knew he was pretending to care, you miss those moments. Those moments where you felt like you knew him. Those moments where the world stopped when he looked at you with those eyesâthose eyes you canât get out of your head no matter how hard you try. You think to yourself, why couldnât I have just kept pretending? Was it really so bad? He was going through so much. It wasnât his fault. It was yours. You shouldnât have been so sensitive. You start to blame yourself again. The way you used to blame yourself in order to keep yourself from telling him about all the times you cried yourself to sleep because you desperately wished you were enough for him. Like you werenât allowed to feel that way, because you knew what the deal was. He told you he couldnât give you that. You shouldâve known better. You falling in love was not part of the deal. So, youâre not allowed to be upset.Â
Love is pointless, because at the end of the day, youâre the only one who felt it. An unrequited, unreciprocated love, wellâthere is no happy ending. Only pain, heartbreak, sleepless nights, and a newly hardened heart.

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There was moment when I thought to myself, "This is going to hurt." I thought it ironically. Most often my internal monologues are sardonic in nature. I thought surely if I could see the future this time, I wouldn't be so naive as to let it happen again. Yet, here I am. Somehow this man became one of my best friends, someone that I trust more than most, and yet this did not protect me from the inevitable. The feeling of dejĂ vu has never been more present. I'm falling in love with my best friend. It's a terrifying feeling when you know something isn't going to end well for you, but you're powerless to stop it from happening. Every attempt I make to distance myself, doesn't work. He goes through periods where he pulls away from me and I think I'm over it. But every time I get the opportunity to get closer to himâlearn more of his hopes, dreams, fearsâI can't help but feel all those feelings come rushing back. I know in my heart and in my mind, he could never love someone like me, and quite honestly, he deserves better. I have a tendency to ruin everything I touch. Self-sabotage has been my go-to means of self-preservation for as long as I can remember. I know how this ends. Opposite sex friends never stay friends forever. And soon, Iâll be left to pick up the pieces. I'm so incredibly terrified that this is what it will be like for me for the rest of my life. I've written about it beforeâthis hellish carousel ride I fear I'm doomed to ride forever. Maybe this is my penance, I don't know. All I know for sure is that this is torture, Iâm in hell, and I feel there is no one to blame but myself. And I know that when he holds close, allows me to lay on his chest; when he runs his hands through my hairâI can at least pretend for a little while that maybe the feeling might be mutual. I revel in the feeling. I think that's why it's so hard to walk away. I'm addicted to way it feels. This is my true vice. It's been six months. It's not to late to walk away, so why can't I? Why am Iâafter everything I've been through-still slave to my emotions?
Credit: @aperlmanwrites
Itâs the inevitable downfall that I dread. The day you tell me youâve found someone else, but that we can still be friends. Like that isnât just a polite way to tell someone you will never speak to them again. Sometimes I wonder if itâs worth it. Playing this game with you when I know exactly how it ends. This idea that maybe youâre right here with me, as you wrap your arms around my waist and bury your face in the crook of my neckâ itâs all in my head. You know Iâm temporary to you. You know I know it too. Could the kind and caring person I would like to think I know be so selfish?
And to whoever is up thereâ what did I do to deserve this? Itâs like Iâm stuck in a vicious cycle of dĂŠjĂ vu. Iâm on a hellish carousel ride that doesnât ever stop. Is this how it will be for the rest of my life? Constantly being needed and used while he heals and then left when he finds something better? The irony is I normally donât care. But heâs different. And I want him. I want him to continue to come to me for whatever he needs. To need me, to want me, to fall in love me. I want the way he looks at me to mean something.
Credit: @aperlmanwrites
MusĂŠum national dâHistoire naturelle. Paris, France. March 2022.
Palais Garnier. Paris, France. March 2022.

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CafĂŠ de Flore. Paris, France. March 2022.
The Burren, County Clare, Ireland.