♯.⠀⠀⠀𖦹 valentine⠀⠀,⠀she/he . ꪆ

i write stuff , sometimes i share it. i mostly blog reblog and think about wincest , but i like a lot of stuff , like succession , dexter , lots of mangas , sharp objects . . . i have lots of fun with fiction , consider me profic and anti–censorship !

𝜗𝜚 i really enjoy supernatural. when humans are abnormal about eachother. music , the taste cigarettes leave in your mouth. tragedy. blood spit guts and puke and girls and boys who feel weirdly aroused around it. sins. guilt. lots of guilt. boys who are a little tortured , who feel a little too much all the time. people who love eachother tight ; who kiss and touch and reach inside eachother's bodies. :3

🪡ᛟ🦷🪽💉🚏

does the wind ever whisper the secret

does the wind ever tell you to look south

has the wind told you of my diseases?

of the rot pooling at my feet,

the moisture between my thighs?

can you smell me from far away, or does the wind touch your skin in shapes of my name

is the ringing in my ears a message from you

have you been using the wind to whisper to me

during my bed years

was the window rattling with your name

was i being prepared for you

when i was cutting away years of me

did you imagine a girl with pink cheeks

does the wind whisper my name to you

when you're driving and

a saxophone sings a high note

do you think of grass, march and me?

when you watch fingers hover over keys

and let out sour breaths

do you think of crooked teeth and loving smiles

i know that i do.

when i am looking at endless tiles of pale pink

when i am looking at the number and think of june in a year, when my skin is sunburnt

when i wake up and as i sleep

when i listen to the requiem

When i look at the strands on my hairbrush

or when i see purple and green

i've felt it vibrate in my bones

when you'd explode with joy in the sun

and then you'd weep next to all of us

a pull

curiosity

what i've come to call love is full of shame

of embarrassment

you've disgusted me more times than you've amazed me in recent centuries, and the pull has never been so tight on my neck

please please

dust blew into my eyes when i looked at you that day and on after

i go outside of me to observe us

i went miles and miles away from me

for us

and i am face down on the mattress

and i am face down on the desk

and i am face down on the grass

and the grass pokes at my stomach

please, please please

does the wind tell you about the secret

the one where i'd like you to hit me

there is an engine i left to rot deep in the woods. you showed it to me.

it's a sordid kind of mechanical instrument that runs on fossil fuel, made up of different parts stolen off of dead bodies from the old town's graveyard and kept together by threads and machinery. the stench of that thing still keeps me awake at night sometimes but i still love it wholeheartedly. i dream of it in sweet escapades after falling in morpheus' arms. i have little recollection of that time we spent with it, yet it comes to me in sleep. i've thought so much about why it makes me feel this way; like a scared kitten hissing and hoisting itself up and a crazy housewife thinking of murdering her husband. like a teenage girl giggling with her friends about the cute boy in the hallway. like a baby seeing it's mom for the first time. it tingles my nose when i approach cemetery to visit your grave, which became my own as the time passed.

when you died you left nothing for me except dread and a few shiny earrings. i was torn apart from the outside in when your mom called me to tell me the news. we buried you on a foggy day in november. we played music. we ate meat. i wanted to scream the whole day because i didn't get the chance to show you my heart. i felt stupid. i was playing with the hem of my skirt thinking of your needles and purple. i loved with my whole heart that machine i will never visit again. you made me love its work and made me love its stench. i made you love its sound. i left it to rot in the forest like you left me to rot in the bathroom that day.

the souvenirs force themselves onto me like migraines. they show me the surgical way in which you would watch me touch the machine and it's cold flesh. you were dissecting every movement i made and i wanted to kiss you right there.

you didn't even leave a note, just a riddle i had my whole life to figure out. i never told anyone about the engine and it's beautiful entrails that ooze love and all that is grotesque. you loved it with all your soul and i had finally understood you when i saw the way you were trembling speaking of it.

waking up in a beautiful house of glass and light

7:53 am and cotton in my mouth

sweet melodies in my head, hungover from last night's love

my feet bring me to the ground and his music eats me from the outside in

notes in the air from the acoustic piano

tiny living room where love is priority

i know his melody isn't for me

- a good fist fight where you end up bloody

- a white lie

- a cocoon woven from your love

- 2 long talks with your knee touching mine

- a fallen eyelash

- another car ride

- 12 cookies and another hundred of candies

- a good night's sleep

- a look from the other side of the room

- a few insults

- my iphone charger

- another piano session with your eyes on me

- undone bedsheets

- your nails cleaned up

- a healing lung

- giving me the silver lining

- whispers in my ear where i can feel you laugh on my neck when you're done

i have a friend down the hall and she's always been beautiful, herself, there, and i don't know her. i feel her skin on mine sometimes and she smells like jasmine and my grandma's old apartment. she observes me with an eye i don't know anything about and i can't understand why she would stay with me in this empty castle. when she says she loves me i feel a certain kind of sadness pool in the inner corner of my eyes. it's a familiar sting that has nothing to do here, like a bug under my lids trying to eat it's way out. i know i love her too because i know what it feels like, and sometimes i remember where to feel it.

i didn't know my lover either. when his statue is out of my sight i love to reap what he sew inside my ribs. he had been growing a garden there, secretly, and he had no idea. there's lilies and lavender. they smell like nothing most of the time except when i recall a joke he told me, when i recall his laughter, the way his hair would shine like gold in the palace i now walk through empty handed. my friend tells me there are things in my hands but i can't feel them anymore. i used to, i think.

what i miss most about my lover turned statue is his melody. he would make the walls vibrate with his notes and you could almost see them, and how beautiful they could be.

im often thinking about that secret bouquet blooming inside of a ribcage from your last poem.

i was wondering how's your personal garden looking lately? what kind of flowers do you recognize growing inside your belly? (i reckon it might be a tad personal so feel free to ignore the question if it's uncomfortable)

hi bird !

i've been pretty busy. lately, my gut is spilling all over the floor. there's a hole right on my belly button and i lock myself in bathroom stalls to hide the dirt and bones that are spilling alongside my dead flowers from everyone. i don't think any seed would flourish inside of me again, at least not for a long time. i am a timid girl, and i have to grow out of this ugly habit of mine, because the world has a lot to offer and i have to trust my stars. so i have to create a new garden outside the safety of my own cage. for now i am drawing pretty flowers with pretty butterflies on walls and staircases, armed of rainbow crayons and my 6 year old self.

thank you for wondering, for asking. it makes me feel better about my spillage. i miss your writing a lot. i'm gonna go through your stuff again.