welcome to the badlands.

My my my, would you look at that! We've finally reached the one-week mark of these silly little posts of mine. I honestly didn't think I'd get to this point, but here we are. Gotta say, kudos to me for being able to keep this thing going for so long. I think I deserve a little pat on the back for that. Good job, Xiro! Thank you, Xiro! Now, as I've mentioned yesterday, I have a special post for today.

Today, I'm going to talk about something really special to me. Today's topic, or rather, subject, has gotten me through the worst times of my life and never fails to be a source of comfort for me. Without further ado, today's topic is...

BADLANDS by Halsey.

Now, you might asking yourselves: "Xiro, what is so special about this album?" And I'm going to tell you.

BADLANDS is Halsey's first studio album, released on August 28th, 2015. I think I was around 12 years old at that time. Unfortunately, I hadn't discovered this masterpiece at the time of its release, only later, around 2018-2019. I still remember the first time I heard about this album.

I was in class, somewhere around 1pm, during a break between classes. I was talking with a couple of my classmates about music, and one of them showed us a Halsey song she found. I didn't know who Halsey was, nor what her music sounded like, but this song spoke to me. It was Control, track 14th on the Deluxe version of the album. When I heard it, it instantly resonated with me. I wanted to keep on listening to it. Before I knew it, I was playing it on repeat all throughout the day, after classes have ended.

Then, I decided to listen to all of the songs. I loved every single one of them. I don't think I don't love a single song off that album. My favorite tracks are "Control", "Haunting", "Castle" and "Drive" and "I Walk The Line".

"But Xiro, that's like, half of the album!"

I know. It's so hard to pick just one favorite song when the entire album is my favorite. I can't just pick one. I have to pick them all. I have to pick the entire album.

I continued listening to this album, even though everyone around me moved on from it. This album- no, this concept stayed with me through this very day.

The concept of BADLANDS is about a dystopian city surrounded by desert wastelands that traps its inhabitants. It's both literal Badlands (the geographic structures) but also bad lands , a sort of metaphor for Halsey's mental health as she was struggling with her Bipolar Disorder diagnosis. I resonated with this within my on diagnosis, and I've never found an album that accurately depicts the feelings that I'm feeling. Ever since then, BADLANDS has been my inspiration, my goal, my mentor and my comfort.

To old Tumblr veterans, the name BADLANDS is probably an eye-twitch response. Back when it came out, you could not escape this album! Lyrics off of "Colors", "Gasoline" and "Hurricane" were all over the place! But as someone who discovered the album late, I was only around to witness its remnants. Still, it was this album that led me to Tumblr way back then. I would have never found this website, had I not discovered BADLANDS.

Now, as I've mentioned, BADLANDS has been important to me throughout my entire life. Whenever I would listen to this album, it was like my emotions were put into music, and hearing them sung out with Halsey's emotional voice and power, it made me feel seen, it made me feel understood, it made me feel like I was not alone; that someone out there knew what my struggles are like.

BADLANDS, to me, became sort of a refuge. Throughout the worst times of my depression, listening to BADLANDS and bawling my eyes out would ease the pain just a little bit. As I was walking home, alone on that one god forsaken night, I had BADLANDS playing in my headphones, and it somehow made the pain hurt a little less. When I would find myself at rock bottom, putting on this album would lift me up just a little bit.

My biggest dream in my life is to attend a Halsey concert and hear her play "Control" live on stage. I don't know whether she performs that song a lot, but it's my favorite nonetheless. You can't imagine my excitement and joy when BADLANDS (Live from Webster Hall) came out. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was home alone, and found it listed on Spotify, without knowing anything about it. I was shaking with excitement, smiling from ear to ear, my eyes shining like I'd just discovered a gold mine.

I listened to the entire album on speakers, jumping up and down in my room like I was a little kid again. I was crying. I was laughing. I was happy. I absolutely adored this release.

Not getting to attend a live concert of hers when the 10 year anniversary of BADLANDS rolled around is still my biggest disappointment in life. If I could start my life over, from the beginning, that is the only thing I'd change. I'd make sure that, no matter what, I'd go to that concert. And I'd rock the fuck out.

This album saved my life. This album is the reason why I'm even here typing this. With tears in my eyes and a smile on my face, I'm proud to say that this album saved me.

So thank you, Ashley Nicolette Frangipane, for putting out such an incredible album that saved the lives of countless kids out there. You're my inspiration in life. You are my role model.

I wish you nothing but good health, prosperity and lots of love in your life. I doubt you'll ever see this, but I still want to say that there is no amount of words across all the languages in the universe, past, present or future, that can accurately describe what this album means to me.

This does feel like paradise.

We're one day off the one-week mark. Anyone excited? Anyone on their edge of their seat with baited breath to see whether or not I can keep this going?... Yeah, I suppose it's not really exciting. But hey, I'm trying at least! I'm kind of surprised that my last post got a WHOPPING of 2 likes! Although, it was about gay stuff, and I know tumblr like that stuff. But I have yet to see what I wanna talk about tonight. Let's see...

Oh, I know! What if I talk about animals? I have a special topic planned for tomorrow, but for now, I wanna talk about the cute little critters that co-habit this green and blue orb alongside us, humans. I'll start off by talking about my favorite animal: the Capybara!

I think the reason I love them so much is because of how adorable and chill they are. While they have natural predators like jaguars and anacondas, they're primarily a very chill animal. They can be seen hanging out with other animals (albeit in enclosed, controlled environments like zoos) and really just... being chill. They're the world's largest rodent, native to areas such as Brazil and Colombia, and they usually live near rivers, lakes and swamps.

They're semi-aquatic, presenting features such as webbed toes and quick-drying fur and also sometimes sleep in the water. Their anatomy allows them to keep their eyes, ears and nostrils above water even while swimming. They also sometimes mate in the water.

Another interesting fact about them is that they're herbivores, which means they primarily eat things like grass, fruit, tree bark and also, their own feces! Yep, you read that right. Capybara poop is rich in protein, which basically means that when they eat their own poop, they're getting seconds of what they previously ate! They're also highly sociable creatures, living in herds of 10-20 other capybaras. They function on something called "daycare system" which means that all females in a herd cooperate to raise the herd's babies. The males, on the other hand, do have a pretty rigid hierarchy, with one singular male leading the herd, while the other subordinate men live on the outer edges, acting as a sort of defense system against p

Another interesting fact about them is that they're herbivores, which means they primarily eat things like grass, fruit, tree bark and also, their own feces! Yep, you read that right. Capybara poop is rich in protein, which basically means that when they eat their own poop, they're getting seconds of what they previously ate! They're also highly sociable creatures, living in herds of 10-20 other capybaras. They function on something called "daycare system" which means that all females in a herd cooperate to raise the herd's babies. The males, on the other hand, do have a pretty rigid hierarchy, with one singular male leading the herd, while the other subordinate men live on the outer edges, acting as a sort of defense system against predators.

Okay, enough about these adorable little critters, let's talk about my next favorite animal: the cat!

I've never been fortunate enough to own a cat, but I still would really like to get one. Only reason why I'm not getting one right now is because I don't think I could take care of one properly. I want to make sure that, if I own a cat, I can provide it with the best quality food, best quality toys, amenities, healthcare, and all that stuff.

I have a couple of friends who own cats and whenever I visit them, I always have to spend at least 20 minutes playing with them (if they'll let me). One fun fact about cats is that cats are actually nearsighted! Yep, that means that they can't focus on anything that's further than around 30 centimeters in front of them. We all know that cats see amazingly in the dark thanks to the anatomy of their eyes, but I think that a lot of people underestimate just how sensitive their whiskers are! They function similarly to human fingertips! They're thicker and coarser and provide amazing sensory feedback. Around the area of where the whiskers are located, the cats have smell glands that smell like them. This is why cats love to have their faces rubbed and also rub their face on you; they're basically marking you with their scent so they can smell you from a mile away!

Another fun thing about cats is that they spend 70% of their lifetime sleeping! These little bundles of joy spend around 13-16 hours a day sleeping, which makes me soooo jealous of them. However, what doesn't make me jealous is the fact that they can't taste sweetness. They're carnivores, of course, which means that their taste buds aren't equipped with the necessary receptors for sweets! Oh, and one last thing, cats only meow for us, humans! They don't usually communicate with other cats (except for the times when they hiss at each other when scared), so if your cat loves to meow, it means that it loves talking to you! And they also can recognize their own names!

Okay, and now for the last part: the dog!

All my life I've only had pet dogs, and they're freaking adorable! They're so cute and friendly and clingy, and they're the best! Let's do some rapid-fire dog facts since I feel like I've been stretching this post out quite a while.

Dogs have around 300 million receptors in their noses, whereas humans only have about 5 million! Their noses can also sense heat and thermal radiation. Additionally, dogs aren't color-blind, as people like to say. They can see blue and yellow colors exclusively! Whenever their owner yawns, it can trigger a response from the dog as well, which prompts them to yawn as well. And if they're winning in scent receptors, don't worry, we have them beat in taste buds! Dogs have around 1700 taste buds, whereas humans have between 2000 and 10000!

I freaking love animals, man. It's like they're living in a world of their own; different views of the world, different social systems, different anatomy, communication, behavior- these little guys are amazing!

It really makes you think that, if we could understand animals, or pets, how would their lives change? Would they be able to evolve and become close to humans? Would they still need to resort to hunting for food? Would they still keep the same social systems?

And more importantly, how would our lives change, if we could understand them?

It really makes you think.

Still can’t believe I managed to keep this thing going for almost a week. I guess that means I’m finding at least some fun in doing these silly little posts. Maybe I’ll do these things until I run out of topics to talk about. After that? I don’t know what would happen then. I’m not always the best at coming up with things to talk about, and today seems like my mind is also kind of giving up on me. So I’ll have to think about something to entertain my imaginary readers with…

Oh, I got it! Or, I think I do, at least. I was going to say that I want tonight’s topic to be love, but I don’t really feel like talking about it in the sense of… well, a topic, so I’ll call tonight’s topic “Romantic Daydreaming”. What this means is that I’ll describe cute things I would do if I had my ideal boyfriend during college, and yearn for the day I get my hand on him. Alright? Cool? Okay, here we go.

One thing I really hate about growing up as a gay cis boy is that I’d missed out on high school romance. I never had a boyfriend to walk to and from school with. I’d imagine ourselves waking up and meeting together at the corner of a street, hugging each other first thing in the morning. We’d stop by a convenience store to get something to drink while we tell each other about the dreams we had last night, or about how our mornings went. I’d imagine we’d get distracted by random topics and tangents and before we’d notice, we’ve already reached the front gates.

We’d ideally be in the same class, seated right next to each other. Holding hands under the desk while no one was looking, passing each other notes like “this class is soooo boring” and getting back notes like “you make it way more interesting”, and I’d feel the redness of my cheeks swelling up while I stick my tongue out at him. We’d borrow each other’s notes, we’d share textbooks and he’d keep on saying how he’d return my pen that he borrowed weeks ago, both knowing he had no intention to.

This section might get a little NSFW, so if you don’t like this, skip to the next one.

I’d imagine that during lunch break, we’d slip into the restrooms together. We’d get into the very last stall, unable to keep our hands off each other. My fingers slipping under his freshly ironed shirt while his shake while holding onto my shoulders. He’d be shorter than me- not too short though, just enough that he’d need to get on his tip-toes to kiss me. I would feel his warm breath against my lips every time he pulled away from my kiss, needing to catch his breath. I’d smile gently at him and rope him right back between my lips.

He’d tell me that it’d be dangerous if somebody found out, as I’d slip my hand beneath his pants and boxers. I’d find his bulge growing bigger and bigger, soon noticing my hand get covered in a thick, slimey yet clear substance. He’d get embarrassed about it, and that flushed expression of his face would make me wanna do it even more. I’d undo his buttons, and gently pull down that stained pair of boxers that were keeping it inside. With one hand, I’d hold his face in place, not breaking away from my kiss, while with the other, I’d keep on touching him, more and more.

I’d remind him: “We can stop at any time, okay? Just say the word and I’ll take my hands off of you.”. The way he’d find it impossible to say that he didn’t want that would warm my heart. “Please… I want this”, he’d say between stutters and a whimpering voice. I’d kiss him deeper and stroke him faster. And when I could feel his body start stiffening, it wouldn’t be long until I’d heard sounds of something being splashed onto the bathroom stall door.

As we’d clean it up, he’d be slightly annoyed with me. “Horndog,” he’d call me, “couldn’t you wait until after classes?!”. But one thing that mattered to me is that he wanted this too. I wouldn’t do anything to him he didn’t want me to. And the fact that he wanted it was what made it hot in the first place.

Okay, enough NSFW stuff. After classes, we’d go on a date. We could go to this one cafe he’d always tell me about, or we could go take a stroll around the local mall. We could do anything together, and it would still be fun because we were together. The thought of someone like that; someone who would enjoy me, love me, make me feel safe, make me feel understood and safe… it’s starting to get a little painful knowing I might not find someone like that.

I know that this is all in my head, and that no actual person would fit that criteria, but I still like to think that there is someone like that out there. Someone who would see me for who I am, the good and the bad, and still find a place for me inside their heart. Unrealistic? Sure. Impossible?… I don’t wanna lose hope yet.

Argh, now I made myself tear up. Alright alright, time to wrap things up.

Ideally, right now, I’d be sleeping next to someone. Someone who would hug me. Someone who would kiss me. Someone who would hold me close in their arms, give me a kiss in the forehead, and whisper, in a sleepy voice:

“Good night, my dear Xiro.“

I’m about to head to sleep again, so you know what time it is. It’s time for everyone’s favorite night-time show of Xiro’s rambling into the void as if anyone is gonna see these posts. I don’t even know what I’m doing it, but I heard it’s supposed to be a good output for my creativity. Speaking of, why don’t I talk about something a bit more personal today? How about…

Poetry! Or rather, more specifically, my poetry!

Almost all of my academic life, before going to college, has somehow revolved around poetry. All throughout primary school, middle school and high school, I’ve been taught about these great authors, and about how their contributions to literature has earned them a high-ranking spot in my country’s culture. But then I looked at the poems and it’s… just a few nonsensical lines and rhymes?

Those words were my initial reaction to poetry. I didn’t get it- or rather, I didn’t know how to get it. I was new to the art world (and the world in general) so I didn’t know much about what actually went into a poem. I thought it was just a few rhymes and that was it! I didn’t know anything about symbolism, metaphors or leitmotifs. I was totally lost!

But then, in high school, we were studying this one poem that really touched me. Classmates were calling it “edgy” and “depressing”, but something about it spoke to me. It was the first poem I actually memorized. It was the first poem that spoke to me. And that singular poem has lit the spark for my love for poetry. That is the first poem I ever truly understood.

I still remember the first poem I ever wrote. I wrote it when I was on a long road trip with my dad, while he was getting gas and buying snacks at this gas station in Austria. For some reason, as I was writing it, I kept imagining it being sung to this instrumental I cooked up in my head. I don’t know why I did that, but it made writing it even cooler! The title for my very first poem was “Blue”. I still have it in my notes folder, and I can’t help but cringe a little every time I read it.

But after I finished that one, I started writing more. I couldn’t stop. The idea that I could put my own thoughts, emotions and sensations into words was astonishing! Shortly after, I learned to use metaphors, then symbols, then hyperboles, and so on. There was this image I kept having in mind of my poems being layered; like when you look at them at first glance, yeah, they rhyme and all that, but the deeper you looked, you would uncover another layer of meaning and importance.

And so, without realizing it, I’d written over 10 poems in the span of a couple days. Not too shabby for a beginner, huh? Of course, the more I was writing, the more intimate my poems became. The more of myself I’d poured into them and the more they obtained meaning, until they eventually became me. I was my poems. My poems were me.

Fast forward to present day, where I don’t write as much anymore. I’ve recently had a few days where I’d written a couple of them, but nothing too spectacular, I’d say.

Actually, no. Someone told me that I should be proud of my poems, that I should cherish each of them and open my eyes to their true qualities. Now, I don’t see them as this masterpiece this person was making them seem, but… I kinda started to like them more.

Each of my poems have meanings. Each of my poems has a fraction of my life stretched across a couple stanzas. Each of my poems has a little of my life’s essence baked into them. Maybe… maybe the reason why I don’t recognize them for their true potential is because I’d stepped out of that period of my life, and now I can’t see what that Xiro was trying to say.

But, while that may be true, I still believe that out there, somewhere out into the world is a little person who is going through the same things as I was. They might be struggling with my exact issues, or something different entirely, but I like to think that if they were to see my poems speak to them about something they’re also familiar… then I’d be proud of myself.

So yes, I may not entirely like my poems, but that doesn’t make them inherently bad. I know young Xiro would have their eyes glitter at my most recent poems.

And hey, who knows, if my poems somehow reach other little (or big) Xiros out there, then I hope that my poems can speak to them, like that poem spoke for me, in high school.

So, dammit, I’m joining the Tortured Poets Department. I’m not giving up on poems! And I hope that my poems won’t give up on me.

Goodnight, my dear imaginary readers!

Surprisingly, I kept this thing going for 3 days so far. I tend to kinda do it whenever I’m feeling sleepy and want to head to bed. That moment of peak vulnerability when all of your thoughts are still running around through your head but you’re still finding it hard to get your hands on them. I think that’s when most honest conversations come out. That’s when you get people most vulnerable.

So I thought tonight I could talk about dreams!

I’m not really a person who has a lot of dreams, or rather, remembers a whole bunch of them, anyway. Some of the dreams that I do tend to remember are the ones that leave a huge impact on me when I wake up. It can be something so scary that I’m forced awake, or something that soothes me so well that I get a good night’s sleep- or hell, even something so weird and unusual that I have to share it with a friend!

But that’s the beauty of it; dreams can have such a wide range of presentation, characters, events- just anything, really. One night, I dreamt about being chased around by a bear inside a locked building, and the next night I was dreaming about being a Capybara with my wholesome heard and we were just relaxing in a bath filled with oranges!

So yes, dreams can vary. But we don’t know how or why, which makes them unknown- scary. And we, as humans, don’t like the unknown. So there comes the question.

“What do dreams mean?”

The correct answer would be- nothing. Dreams don’t have meanings. We still don’t know why we dream. My favorite metaphor, that I made up myself, is that while we’re asleep, our brain is lazily picking up the files containing the information of what happened today and, because of its clumsiness and sleepiness, it may drop a file or two right in front of the projector inside our mind. Give the poor brain a break, okay? It’s working non-stop!

This also aligns with why sometimes, if we had a bad day, we’re more likely to experience nightmares or bad dreams. Our lil’ brain’s opening up the cabinet for “Sad Memories” and drops a few files that were placed inside there. And if we had a good day, the same goes! Isn’t our pretty little brain just such a klutz?

But some people don’t like that answer- they want something they can point to and explain it; explain their dreams. Which is why many people say that dreams are “prophetic”. In my country, there’s a superstition that if you dream about your teeth falling out, you’ll die! Or that if you dream about snakes, you have a lot of enemies. Strange, right?

But whatever the superstition or culture may be in your corner of the world, this all comes back to one original point. Humans don’t like the unknown. We try to give meaningless things meaning just to shield ourselves from admitting that we don’t know everything. Because what we don’t know, we can’t control. And what we can’t control is scary. And what is scary, is dangerous.

But not knowing things is okay. It’s okay to not be in control of everything all the time. Some things are just the way they work because, well, they just do. We don’t need prophetic dreams. We don’t need to dissect every aspect of dreams. We don’t need to interpret every dream.

One thing that I can tell you, dear reader, is that we should enjoy dreams, and cherish them. Dreams are a sign that our brain functions in an optimal way. Dreams are a testament to our functionality, to our humanity. So enjoy your dreams. And don’t scold your brain for making mistakes. It’s keeping you alive- you should be grateful for that!

And now, with all that being said, I’m gonna go have some sweet dreams. And I hope that you, dear reader, have the sweetest dreams tonight, too!

Would you look at that, ladies, gents and theys, your favorite boy is back at it again tonight. Now you may be wondering-

“ Hey, Xiro! What are you gonna talk about tonight? “

… I don’t know. I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to talk about, either now or in general. There are a lot of things I could tell you about- like how I’ve managed to memorize every single word off BADLANDS , or maybe about all the useless facts I know about Capybaras, or I could even give a rundown of the entire Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 lore. But I don’t particularly feel like talking about that now.

What if instead of talking we just sat together in field of grass? We could look up at the starry skied together. I could point out all the constellations I know, and you could point out yours as well, while neither one of us makes a sound. We could lie down in the warm winds of summer and feel the soft blades of grass against our skin while we rise and lower our chests.

Or we could sit on the side of the lake watching the beautiful Moon’s reflection into that pure, undisturbed water. We could even sketch it- you in your notebook with your sharpened colored pencils, and me, on a piece of paper I borrowed from you with a pen that you lent me weeks ago, but I forgot to return it.

We wouldn’t really compare drawings. We’d just exist alongside each other. You, sitting quietly on the wooden bench with your knees up to your chest, and me, on my stomach, with my feet kicking back while humming. Between your sketch, my doodle, and the water’s reflection, neither of them is the best, but they’re all equal in value.

And when it starts to rain, you’d quickly gather your papers and shove them back into your beige tote bag while scrambling to not get the paper wet. I’d reach behind the wooden bench and pull out my umbrella. You wouldn’t ask to get under it- you don’t need to. I’d just welcome you in, had you stepped closer to me. We wouldn’t be talking; just existing under the same umbrella while watching the raindrops splatter into the lake’s surface.

The sound of water hitting the pristine blades of grass would almost be melodic. We’d lightly bob our heads, making up whatever silly melody we wanted in our own heads, without the need of sharing it. And while making our way through the rain, we wouldn’t have even realized that we haven’t spoken a single thing to each other, yet we still understood each other without a modicum of fault.

Sometimes, I don’t know what to talk about. And that’s okay. Sometimes I just want to draw the Moon. Sometimes I just wanna lay on grass. And sometimes, I just wanna listen to the melody of water droplets and soft blades of grass.

So tonight, you, whoever reads this. Don’t talk. You don’t need to.

I’ll just hold out my umbrella, just a little bit higher, for you.

Since Tumblr is supposed to be a blog, I figured I might as well use it as a sort of diary; sort of like a place for me to air out my thoughts into the void. I don’t really care who hears/reads them, but in my mind . . .

In my mind I’m a performer on a stage, moving the bow on the strings to the rhythm of the torrent of thoughts in my head. All eyes are on me, the spotlights are shining on every bead of sweat on my forehead, and everyone’s on the edge of their seats watching me wet my bow on the blood of my heart and turning my emotions into discordant melodies.

The melody I’d sing today, is one about loss. I’ve recently found someone that has managed to burrow themselves into my heart. It was before I even knew it. I was dreaming of him, thinking about him, imagining my future with him.

I’d imagine us moving in together in an apartment not too far from where he’s staying right now. I’d imagine us waking up together, me making him morning coffee and eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast. We’d start our mornings slow, listening to some of his records in ambiance while we’re still waking up. I’d imagine we showered together, brush our teeth together and elbow each other like two goofballs when it came to spitting in the sink. I’d imagine we’d go on walks to his favorite spot, the river and take the ferry around while the sun was high up on the sky.

I’d imagine we’d stop by a corner cafe before heading home. I’d imagine we’d sit on his couch while I’d play whatever video game I thought of while he sat, with his head between my thighs and watch and listen to me talk about the game, while his cats would curl up around us and doze off as well.

I’d imagine we’d go to sleep together, snuggled up under the same blanket and feeling each other’s body warmth. I’d imagine we’d doze off, holding each other, with one last sigh about how peaceful the day was.

But some dreams are short-lived. I’m not someone he should spend the rest of his life with. He’s not someone who should have to carry the weight of my problems. He has potential. He’s a smart guy- no, scratch that, the guy’s beyond smart, he’s a genius. He’s someone I want to be when I grow up. Whenever he’d tell me about his book I could feel my eyes glisten and sparkle, like I was witnessing a miracle. The way his voice soothed my brain and made me feel like I could listen to him for the rest of my life. The way his goofy little smile etched itself into my brain and showed me that this is what happiness looks like. This is how I want to keep him, for the rest of his days. But unfortunately… it wasn’t meant to be.

It hurts. It’s devastating. I want to cling to him- to tell him that I can change and be whatever he wants. But I don’t think I’d last long if I did that. And he deserves more than that. He doesn’t deserve someone whose heart weighs heavy under the question mark of love. He doesn’t deserve someone whose lips tremble into a “… only me ? “ every time he tells me he loves me. He doesn’t deserve someone who’d put on an infinite amount of masks just to please them… yet unable to show him my true self.

And that’s… okay. I’ll smile while waving him goodbye. I’ll think about his future, maybe. I’ll think about the day he’s met with applause as he steps up to the podium, introduced as “Doctor” right before he begins his presentation on his book. I’ll think about him sitting in his thinking pose when watching another performance of his favorite ballet. And I’ll think… I’ll think of his happiness.

So to you, reading this post. I know you will. I want you to know that, as much as I hate you right now, I also love you. I may not be enough for you, or I may be too much for you, but what remains clear to me, is that I’ve cherished every single moment together- yes, even the bad ones.

So go! It’s embarrassing if I cry any more in front of you. And just… remember me, if it’s not too much to ask.

To you, my Kaworu.

From your failed replacement of Shinji.

The hangman looks down on others and cries,

When the rope digs into his neck and he tries,

To hear the thousand heart beats,

That drove him to the end of his wits.

The hangman looks down on them and smiles,

When his feet dangle above the ocean of lies,

The freezing grip of death in his eyes,

Baptized in the water that was his demise.

The hangman hangs with ice in his eyes,

Crying tears of stars and smoke with no sighs,

Because the tendrils of despair grips them all,

Tight enough for all their heads to fall.

The hangman stares at the sky and sighs,

Because the sun he sees will never shine,

In the depth of Hell, filled with death and fault,

The burning screams will never halt.

The hangman, strangled by a red thread,

Lynched himself, and his mouth had bled,

Because no breath of air that filled his lungs,

Would cure away the daggers of a hundred tongues.

He’s the hangman, lynched by own choice,

Strangled so tight, left with no voice,

But he still hums his favorite tune,

Even though no one hears him-

But the moon.

What do you do when the road before you crumbles? What do you say when the navigator fumbles? What do you think when the sky splits open? Would you say this is all deserving?

If your plushie would, one day, be covered in mold If your secrets would be shown to the entire world, If your own mother wouldn’t meet your glare, Would you say that all of this is fair?

When your brain is rotting from within, When your last breath hangs on a whim, When your shaky hands refuse to pull the trigger, Do you think you’d have done it with the same vigor?

But what if the sky were to fall apart? But what if we all started ruining art? Would the same words have left your lips? Would you have still forced yourself on my hips?

Or would you plant a tree and pray it grows? Would you have hugged your mother close? Would you have helped the one who tripped? I’m asking- would you have changed the script?

You left me in an ember of rot and decay. Your hands on my body- I remember every day. When I look in the mirror and want to vomit, God, I look so fucking disgusting.

You made me this way, you tarnished me, You didn’t think- always so damn carefree, Now I’m stuck- stagnant. It’s not fair.

But, do you honestly even care?