-@bringer-of-curses

i'm fine, drawing

*they are staring in the mirror. so concerned*

-@bringer-of-curses

i'm fine, drawing

*they are staring in the mirror. so concerned*

-@bringer-of-curses

i'm fine, drawing

-@bringer-of-curses

i'm fine, drawing

"please don't let the weight of the words you never said convince you that your story should end here.one day, you might look back and realize that even the moments you wanted to escape had meaning. the days you cried, the days you felt lost, the days you wished everything would just stop... they were proof that you were still feeling something. still caring. still human.and the moments that hurt the most? sometimes they're reminders that something mattered deeply to you. that your heart was capable of loving, hoping, dreaming, and being touched by the world around you. say the things you've been holding back. revisit the dreams you gave up on, or the dreams you were forced to leave behind. give yourself the chance to say, "at least i tried. at least i kept going. "whatever weight you're carrying right now, i hope you don't carry it alone. everyone deserves support, understanding, and a place where they can be honest about their pain without being judged.i genuinely hope you find a life that feels like your own. a path you can walk freely, at your own pace, and a place where you feel like you belong. please stay. there may be chapters of your story you haven't discovered yet, people you haven't met yet, and moments of peace you haven't experienced yet. take care of yourself 🫂"

-anonymous

Do you know that she’s dead?

Do you see her right there,

Hanging limp by her head?

Yes, that’s my mother,

Cried the sickly young thing,

No more does she cry,

No more than just swing!

And failed her he did,

With little regret.

Or so he believes,

Or so does he fret.

Will they falter once more,

Or clean up this act?

Things rely on them now,

Or something like that.

Do you know that she’s dead?

Do you see her right there,

Hanging limp by her head?

Yes, that’s my mother,

Cried the sickly young thing,

No more does she cry,

No more than just swing!

And failed her he did,

With little regret.

Or so he believes,

Or so does he fret.

Will they falter once more,

Or clean up this act?

Things rely on them now,

Or something like that.

Do you know that she’s dead?

Do you see her right there,

Hanging limp by her head?

Yes, that’s my mother,

Cried the sickly young thing,

No more does she cry,

No more than just swing!

And failed her he did,

With little regret.

Or so he believes,

Or so does he fret.

Will they falter once more,

Or clean up this act?

Things rely on them now,

Or something like that.