10 ways depression can say i don't love you by ohsostarryeyed, literature
Literature
10 ways depression can say i don't love you
1. "i'm sorry
i don't want to
come over today."
the clock reads 4pm
and i roll over in my bed
again.
2. "i forgot it was your
birthday."
i'd forgotten my own
too.
3. "i promise i won't
hurt myself."
the ER doesn't believe
it's an accident
anymore.
4. you asked if i loved you.
i had to sneeze and it
never happened.
i think you took that
as a no.
5. we haven't had sex in a month.
6. we don't see
your friends.
we don't see
my friends.
i've forgotten
i even have any.
7. i never answered your text.
it asked if i was okay.
8. "i need you to open yourself
up for me," you said.
i stopped talking.
9. "what do you want from me,
blood?"
apparen
not grief, but something like it by consolecadet, literature
Literature
not grief, but something like it
my grandmother's tartan bag sits on an upside-down bucket in the basement,
full to the brim with little liquor bottles and cardboard boxes
I go to do the laundry,
pass it twice an hour
and every time, just for a moment, I think she's visiting
Warholian Sociocultural Versemongering Art Fantasy by ChloroformBoy, literature
Literature
Warholian Sociocultural Versemongering Art Fantasy
The typeface on your heart
is two font sizes too small
& mine is too nonexistent.
I'm too Comic Sans
for you
&
you're too Times
New Roman for
me:
-a pompous art critic
in a backalley gallery
where vagrants build
chateaux from apple
cores & three month
old newspapers
-a lofty museum curator
sipping toxic pay checks
disguised as fine wine &
fatigue-flavored cocktail
umbrellas
-a pretentious mannequin
teaching fashionistas how
to dance migraines intact
(call it hoe couture)
-a sycophant guilty of thinking
that "I louvre you" is romantic
yet innocent of doing anything
worth an empty blue box
When you're five years old you set a promise in the dark, your sister's ice-queen eyes witness. Millie is sitting straight-backed against the headboard, face wide and earnest, and it seems as if the world has heaped itself on her shoulders, or maybe it's the strangeness of midnight.
"We can't make our wills or anything like that until we're eighteen," she says fiercely. "But I might forget this by then."
In later years you will find time to reflect that you're not as whimsical as Millie; young, you only think then that you could never forget something this important. But you can't argue with the three-years-older she holds above your head (
on certain occassions fallacies exist for a reason by ChloroformBoy, literature
Literature
on certain occassions fallacies exist for a reason
[innocent is a synonym for boring
innocence is a symptom of ennui]
i'm not in the not in the not in the
mood
to be the knot in the noose: loose
unhinged. disjointed. you know:
you know the drill & you know
the drill in my head is always
impaling my skull & you know
there is no difference between
this psychosis & you. no. i am
at best your greatest parachute
(if you fall into the abyss of my
mind, you shall float, as gently
as a feather in the wind) i am a
zephyr at worst: a tornado sans
entropy. i am the #1 cause of a
broken heart & most dangerous
catalyst since 1991. more fuel?
fuel, for what?
the autopsy of an earthquake (collab) by ChloroformBoy, literature
Literature
the autopsy of an earthquake (collab)
i composed a checklist
of your aftersex/aftershock
whispers:
the stretchmarks carved down your thighs
are cracks in the earth's crust.
your voluptuous vixen volcano
smogged up my ashtray heart.
i'm learning to love your matryoshka pelvis
and the way it would fit into mine if we were both
nothing but bones.
i'm counting the polyester skeletons hanging in our closet,
the wax-poetic crayons in my fishbowl, and the number
of seismic gasps your slender chest can hold.
this is how many contortionist limbs
fit in your jigsaw glassbox.
the number of spines you've broken,
144 odd vertebra all jenga stacked on a pedestal.
i want to pus