#reiwrites

I will drag my soft body into the future, I will pull with my arms, when my shoulders give out, my wrists will remain and struggle all the more, my fingers after that will scrabble and scrape forward forward forward, nails dig in my flesh and gouge out the pulp of me, dragging me forward forward forward, when the pulp gives out, you will see all else, it will tangle with my future, knots knots knots of fibrous materials and with them I will move again into the future.

May astral bodies and earthly forces, all that powers this vessel grant me all ability...to sleep. Where will we find ourself if this continues? The stress the strain the cracking spine and shuddering heart? Time does not rest either, she proceeds onwards, pulling ourself regretfully forward, unwillingly to-wards this creeping writhing. How slow. To fall to pieces through lack of rest. How quick. The mind quicker than imagined, body not far behind.

The sum of ones parts, does it necessarily equal something greater than the individual parts? I’m the torn up refuse pile pieces of the gods that they discarded in the deepest pits of their darkness. The pieces people let go and stop believing in when it suits them. People don’t keep believing in the gods when all their ends are the same, all people die, and when you’re afraid in the last moments of your life you only cling to the beauty of those you believed in.

The sum of my parts are the drunkenness, the belligerence, the curse of a thousand thousand thousand grieving and lost souls on their death beds, weeping as they see my face before them at the end.

I wanna be your scapegoat, I want everything you blame on that malfunctioning little piece of meat in your skull to be blamed on me, I want you to wrap your hate around me and bury myself in it. Suffocate me with the hate you feel so comfortable in, choke me with all this malice you preserve just for you, you've pickled yourself in it and now I want it, give it to me!

Broom method,

My flame is invisible to you.

You strike out hoping I'll catch your tinder and light it

You keep missing, the flame is right there

I'll just burn here, crackling loudly

But you don't hear me

You strike again

You flinch away like I've struck you, you flee from me and I'm choking on blood. Used to the taste now, iron isn't just good for foundations and alloys, it's good for my mind to be aware of the pain ever lovely it is, ever present it'll be.

How many, bursting blood bubbles have there been, Fleeing friends and partners and family, feelings left to rot, sentences left to hang and don't ever forget ounces that ooze from sad lips?

I don't have sideblogs and I've only remade once, been here about 15-16 years.

18+ will happen, put your age/age-range in bio oh and fuck AI and anyone who deals in it/uses it

You can reach me here or at

https://www.castingcall. club/wordlesspoemtree

What flows free and present once I no longer stand in my own way.

Gods state divinity is in finding the self equal to that which you serve.

I will find myself equal to myself. I will serve it just as fully as any devotee, knees wrapped and hands clasped.

What more than this will I ask of me? Than to be my own equal?