✚ handle with care ✚

excited about baking honey wheat bread this friday and having a coffee and cigarette tomorrow morning besides all the suicidal thoughts

its this life ? this unbearable theatre in which the audience anticipates for how long can i go with love severed from me and the many shapes of abuse corroding my body as i walk my path as i try to make nests on top of electric poles . do they expect i can somehow survive this ? am i expected to resort back to some status quo the consensus of normalcy. a good, strong, beared-it-all girl. beared it all in silence. she was such a quiet girl, made sure her murky murky putrid stains of unwellness were nobody else’s problem. will there be applause if i am succeeded in the particular feat of “ healing a mortal wound “ — if i am to succumb, will the audience go ‘a-aah’ as they’ve expected it, but somehow believed i could make it out, believed i could forget or heal, as if there is such thing.