literary stressed af

The gift of life he gave, but not the wisdom for living

Hiding behind the veil of illness, ever deceiving

No, he is not a doctor, only a concoctor

A creator, yes but also a deserter.

Frankenstein’s scientific endeavor has come into fruition

This is the result of his virulent ambition;

A blasphemous violation of the rules of nature

He worried himself sick, for his creation was a failure.

When the creature finally opened his eyes

He was docile yet denied, downright despised

But everything was new, and oh, so fascinating

He ventured into society, unaware of what was awaiting.

He loved many a thing;

Walks in the forest, foraging and even reading.

He learned to hate many a thing;

Like pitchforks and torches, and the sound of screaming.

The poor creature cried, he could not understand

Everywhere he went he was condemned, cursed, and damned

Why was he born,

If only to be scorned?

“Acceptance and love is all I need...

Yet thou hast drivest me from joy for no misdeed,

No misdeed of mine,”

Wept the creature of Frankenstein.

“You are but a hideous monster, bereft of the divine,”

Answered Frankenstein.

“Then I ought to act as such, if that is how I am to be defined”

Every single one of you is the same

Choking on brain matter every 2 am

Wishing you had cartilage for hearts

Or more machine and less flesh for parts.

You only close your eyes to wince

When the throbbing in your temple begins

Almost rendering yourself half-blind

In pursuit of validation at the cost of your mind.

You've chosen numbers and prestige as your vice

Digging a rusted scalpel into your unblinking eyes

Radioactive glass pouring poison in your brain

Achromatism melting sulfur in your veins

Self-inflicted optical torture

Trying to please authoritarian vultures

Feeding off of your demolished dreams

Scholars, work till you vomit on your screens

Haven't you noticed? You are a walking pile of carrion

Carrying yourself through a concrete jungle

Trudging through the endless labyrinth of Asterion

Daphne du Maurier + summer because I love reading her stuff even tho they're pretty creepy and would be perfect to read during the spooky months. Maybe her books + summer nights are just my ❤️‍🔥💋

Random bookish photos in my camera roll

"I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe,

That made my love so high, and me so low."

~William Blake~