#silversongsuggestion

I woke up.

God, it's like fiberglass in my eyes.

God, it's like cardboard cuts under the nails.

God, i fucking get it.

I wish I didn't get it.

Sometimes, people think they love you and maybe they even believe it. But I get it now. You can love someone and not even like them. How wretched. How messy. Maybe we are made in God's image, after all.

I mean, how could he like himself after everything he's done? How could he not love himself when faced with the reflection in the eyes of his Son?

I'm dusting off my tongue. Polishing the rust off my collarbones. I'm figuring out where the mirror ends and the flesh begins and the value in these veins.

How could I keep spilling it for you?

How could you let me?

I woke up, and I learned how to see ghosts in the people I want to love. I am exorcising those hauntings. Fuck, it hurts. It's going to hurt. I don't think it ever stops hurting. But there's space for that hurt in the skin and in the glass and in my bones and in the past and I will hold.

For sure! You’re one of my favourite blogs btw :)

So for you I pulled the Reversed Tower card, which generally means that you are resisting change in your life. There is something that you need to confront, some thing that may appear scary or daunting and thus you’ve put off confronting it or facing it. This card encourages you to come forward and deal with problems head-on, as even though there may be consequences you’re avoiding these challenges must be faced as they’re an important part of your journey in life right now.

thanks for requesting @silversongsuggestion feel free to leave some feedback for me; it would be much appreciated :)

Aw this means a lot to me, thank you so much 💖💖

absolutely my friend!

chimes: what sounds are your favorite?

I'm trying to find the whimsy in it. The color. Wrap it all in pastel foils and gold leaf and pretend that I cannot see my own marrow leaking out of the corners. Pack it up tight and shove it in a jar with luster dust and fairy lights and display it on a shelf.

I don't know how to do it.

How to breathe around it.

When you drown in salt water, you actually drown on your own blood ripped from the membrane by the brine. When I saw you, really saw you, time stopped. An insignificant moment for you. A lifetime for me. Laughter clawing it's way between my ribs and wrapping golden claws around my lungs and this moment in time is the brine. It repeats. Your seafoam joy and the crushing weight of water over my head as the voice of an Angel pressed against the back of my neck and promised

This one, this one we could love.

I knew this was a tragedy from the start. A horror movie. I try not to cling to that siren-song moment. But sometimes when you talk to me there's a ghost of a smile kissing the corners of your eyes and I see him.

Id rather you just kill me.

Uproot me. Rip the veins from my body and turn them into dreamcatchers one last time. One last bone-aching dance in the kitchen and the crashing crescendo of my screams in my car under the full moon. I don't want to see him. My love. The one it was supposed to be. My Star, my unmaking, the green flash of this downhill slope.

There is no one i want to see more.

My ribs fit into your hands because they were made to. Because I shaped them to. With fire and steel I made this body yours. Take the bones. Turn them into windchimes. Take the blood. Water your garden with it.

This is my consequence.

This one. This one we could love.

The thing about being holy is it isnt given to you. No one wants you to embrace your divinity. This world wants you to remember humanity was said to be made of clay

But it is a simple fact of science that clay comes from stars.

We come from the heaven sent carbon those stars bled.

Darling, you have always been divine. It's time to take it.

I wake up a little past midnight. 12:15 am. And my hands shake their nightmare tremble around a too ripe plum. The juice is sticky down my arms. Late night persephone. Find me illuminated by the fridge light on the tile altar of the kitchen floor.

Her hands are tiny and fingers fat and I think how gangly and stretched of heart age has made me. No wonder we think of cherubs as little children, and not the flaming light they truly were.

Theyd have you believe you lose your purity, your divine birthright, with every tongue that meets yours. With every drink. With every lover who you allow you to trace every inch of you. I say there is nothing holier than the embrace of souls. I say this is baptism.

You are not desecrated by the colors you paint yourself in.

Darling, we don't need to be blessed to be blessed. You came this way. You came kicking and screaming and gasping for air and it is holy. Every tear shed, amen. Every bruised and bloodied knuckle, amen. Every midnight heartbreak.

It is a simple fact of science that every life that managed to live is a miracle.

This active weeding of heartache, and distress.

This sowing of kindness in the places that remain unsalted in my chest.

And from the ashes, my weary eyes think that maybe,

Just maybe,