Melancholia

Introduction

hey fuckers!

I’m Mazie and this is a blog to stay if you love poetry and ofc Lana del Rey.

‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵

Some things I will be posting:

poetry (mostly shit abt my life and random things)

Art (random drawings that are probably of lana del Rey or old rockstars)

Guns N’ Roses

Old men possibly

random shit I find interesting

shoutout to that one kid in middle school who looked exactly like him and comforted me when I was crying.

My soul is a Peruvian lily

(TW: eating disorder mentioned)

I long for big hair,

A wild mane to mask the weight of my body.

For the Peruvian lilies bloom, then wither—

so why do I continue to leap towards the sun?

I once met a fiery little girl,

Her words dripping of hope and danger:

“The instant way to stay small

is to not eat at all.”

On the pilgrim roads, she took this vow and made it her own, for it was woven into her imperfect soul.

her parents would weep,

their voices fractured with ferocity—

but the beautifully normal was much too harsh for her tender ears.

And so, the breeze became a storm,

Whipping her past away,

her gut twisting uneasily with hunger she never dare speak before.

the faint taste of Diet Coke lingered in her mouth,

a bitter talisman,

Trying to stop the upchuck of breakfast from that day forward, or to rewrite hunger’s story.

But as always, the girl had not changed—

she just became smaller,

hungrier,

like the Peruvian lily

Deprived of

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Golden gates, American Dreams

♱

My savior walks on waves, in which I drown.

I can’t help but believe god doesn’t know me.

When the time comes,

And I stand before him,

on the golden ground He tread,

I will be cast into the great black gates of hell.

forever will I worship the idols who blinded me.

Lana, Marylin, Priscilla—

the women who shaped my valleys,

but were my sin.

I cannot let go, for the American dream caves within me

My savior walks on the universe, where I suffocate.

When Lilac, peaches, and cigarette smoke are the only scent I know.

When The great yellow city lights, and the Las Vegas casinos’ neon hum are the only places I can recall.

My soul captivated in the underground, calling for the men I idolize:

Elvis, Slash, Jef,

The men who provoke my lust, utterly corrupt beyond salvation.

But I cannot unfold my hands from temptation,

Clenched tight, drowning,

Still craving the whispers of the idols I worship.