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@twistedheavensfall
Introduction ★
Hello! This is Eli (They/Them), 2002.
I enjoy writing and poetry and prose and occasionally dabble in photography. I hope you enjoy my writing as much as I enjoy writing it! All stuff I post here is my own (or reblogged).
You can reblog stuff but please don't steal.
If you wanna use my stuff outside of Tumblr please contact me!
Be kind ★
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Lactose intolerance must be god's punishment to me for being gay.
Jordan Schiffer
Mary Annie Sloane, William Morris' Bedroom at Kelmscott Manor, c. 1912, watercolor.
There are no gods when escaping madness.
The walls close in there is nowhere to breathe. The air is thick, I can't see. Was I abandoned as a doll no longer worth playing with? A marionnette who has cut their own strings and is now tangled in them.
Spiderwebs of an existence I no longer am.
The walls of this house have fallen on me a thousand times before, don't they remember my screams? Paintings and pictures of a person who no longer exists, waiting to crumble, waiting for the end.
Who I was is now crumbling in face of who I am.
The walls are white, pure, not a single speck of dust on them. Was clawing at my own skin worth the immaculate white paint? Flesh was taught to be much more dispensable than stone. Souls did not exist.
Yet I still persist.
- What the walls saw gods did not
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There's a certain hell in waking up to nothing from a joyful dream. A dream in which you feel loved, a dream full of that which you've lost. Nothing but emptiness fills your lungs and breathing itself loses all meaning.
There's a certain hell when dreams are no longer a haven, just a reminder of all which you cannot hold.
You are alone, that is your hell, and nothing but despair fills your veins.
- Diary of Existences
“There was nothing to talk about anymore. The only thing to do was go.”
— Jack Kerouac
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Journey into the Surreal: Virgil Finlay’s Illustration for ‘Famous Fantastic Mysteries’, 1943
And I am made of stars too.
— josé olivarez // natalie diaz
The truth is, I really tried.
Polaris in Dust Clouds © Miguel Claro
I did not love you like the sun.
I loved you like constellations, trying to understand you when you would not say a word.
I loved you like the moon, observing every crater, nook and cranny from afar, afraid getting close would cause an eclipse.
I loved you like an astronaut lost in your eyes, trying to science the way to your heart with theories and equations.
But you were a nebula, a black hole that only let me see the stardust. You are made of a stardust I now cannot touch. An alien that did not want to be understood, afraid of contact yet sharing a kiss.
You are not a god, but a lost soul, too afraid of touch to even think of filling the void with a sun or stars of your own. Fear will be your mortal enemy is a galaxy full of unknowns. But it is not mine.
I loved you like constellations, you needed not my cradle like love. For black holes crave destruction.
You are too comfortable in your own pain to ever crawl out of it .
So I must ask, did you ever even want to be loved?
- Constellations of you and I pt1.
Frederick Judd Waugh - "Monhegan Surf"
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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bitch this is all you’re gonna get. this life, this face, this body. you better not ‘maybe in another universe’ your way out of everything. sit your ass down and face this. go make tea and have a picnic and read a goddamn book. kiss your loved ones, send that damn text, and hug your siblings. this is all you’re gonna get.
"Dreaming of the Blue Tiger" by Jester Pepita
