All Thoughts Are Gray

writing from the wreckage ✨

tender teeth, soft claws.

poetry • survival magic • zines

writing from the wreckage ✨

tender teeth, soft claws.

poetry • survival magic • zines

writing from the wreckage ✨

tender teeth, soft claws.

poetry • survival magic • zines

company that felt so easy

her strength is the rawness

not the perfection

a smile that hooks you instantly

but there’s pain behind those eyes

it doesn’t stop her kindness

you’d think she’d give up on loving others

if anything

she loves harder than anyone before

she’s deserving of a love

just as deep

one i’m not sure

Born from rage and disgust at the current state of the world this zine is all about rebellion and disassociation as we try to navigate whatever is happening around us that we have no control over.

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This illustration is a conceptual art piece by the artist Gülce (often known online as Gülce's Art or associated with the handle @gulcesart), according to google.

I know it’s not that deep

And yet the logic is lost amongst the abyssal caverns

that surround a heart

That has been abandoned one too many times

You’re a monster.

Not one twisted and created from the painful perception

that darkens with each knife you stick into my back

but one that was born

that crawled its way out of someplace most sinister

and has always walked amongst men

With such a poor disguise

Yet one that fools almost every naked eye.

You have mastered the art of seduction

Crawling beneath defenses

and sticking your sin-soaked fingers

into every limb you wish to bend and break for you

You arm and disarm with every word you speak

Striking sideways just when I start thinking straight

Do you know what it feels like?

To feel every little thing that rolls in

with the intensity of a brand new potential?

Reaching new highs and lows that set a standard to break

The war between lost and found

The shattered mosaic mindset whispers gently

 as the world radiates insistence

She commands submission

A full surrender to the never-ending barrage  of tidal waves that carry with them an intensity

that was never meant to be felt

Still

I carry it all

Twisted with the persistence of the masses that I’m too much

If only  they knew what it was

To have the antithesis of harmony

 gut out your core and take its place

Wearing the mangled remains of the soul that once ruled

I know I shouldn’t care

And I know this time

It will be the death of me.

From the book, Foundations.