Ugh wtf is life even

I’m ambitious maybe, but not for the world, or ordinary desires by any means. I want to be adored for centuries like the gloomiest star in orion’s belt, to be looked at in awe since the beginning of the time like the moon and its crescenteric fragments. I want to be loved and cherished like a dying man’s last breath and a hypothermic man’s desperate crawl to the bonfire.

I’ve terribly misunderstood what it means to be happy atp. I didn’t know that it doesn’t come to you and that you have to ask/demand/grab happiness, and that in doing so you will be doing something so radical, something at the very extremes of the social spectrum that you’ll be constantly vilified for it.

The wind kissed my cheek so violently it felt like harassment.

“I can fix him” girly even a lobotomy wouldn’t fix him.

You’re the one who’s twisting the knife into my spine, you don’t get to tell me how to dress my wound.

my birthday just feels like I’m choking on confetti

Real poets look at the moon, write poetry about it and then cut off their hands for having written something so mediocre about something so ethereal.