I've spent too much time in reality
I have a house here now
but I only came to tour
my walls are coming down
my skin is changing color
due to the warmth and dependence
my suitcase is still lying open
my feet are dirty
I'll must wake up tomorrow
and pack my bags
before I drown in this illusion
The fireworks are back
Or maybe they're illusions
That my mind has played on me
Several times before
And I might die again
Of awe and hurt and the dream
like several times before
my mind is itching again.
itching to live the panoramic madness of fictionalised worlds, to suffocate me with the deepest, gut-wrenching, unromantic passion but I don't know how. I want to borrow madness, and insanity from them. I want to breathe blood if it takes, to drow and fall off the cliff, give in to the structure of melancholia - only to become worthy, equal . Only to become the art I imagine everyday.
_guesty7086, Room of urges
The cold on my nose, icy fingertips and the fear of losing myself crawling back through my spine. Cinema and poetry have ruined me and I fear losing myself while loving someone.
Even the thought of it, makes me want to mould around them. Often, I pull myself back from the cliff. I will never be able to not be what I think I need to be. For them.
Because every good female protagonist, thinks about her cis-het prince, and his likes and his dislikes.
I think I'll die the day I love again, romance will poison me, break my bones and what I was before it, will never again see the light of day.
_guest292, Room of haunted love