Snow and chilled mist linger on the arid landscape of Organ Mountains-Desert Peaks National Monument in New Mexico. An ethereal cloud seems to be painted by the hand of a gentle brushstroke across the cerulean sky. The steep spires that resemble the pipes of an organ have given the sierra its symphonius name. This picturesque area of rocky peaks, narrow canyons and open woodlands ranges from Chihuahuan Desert habitat to ponderosa pine in the highest elevations. Located adjacent to and on the east side of Las Cruces, this area provides opportunities for photography, hiking, horseback riding, mountain biking, camping and wildlife viewing. Photo by Justina Thorsen, Bureau of Land Management.
vegaschapters
sweet sixteen? bittersweet bullshit. i’ve been grown since i was born, bursting out of my skin in all the wrong ways. bones in the wrong places / born in a bad place. raised by myself. don’t let them tell you otherwise. biting the hollow of my cheeks, metal mouth with no silver spoon. surgery without the knife. wait, there’s a knife, but it’s pointed at your chest. this isn’t what you’re having surgery for. / this isn’t what i signed up for. this signature is falsified, trembling pen in a vulture’s hand. driving, not wishing, not hoping for anything other than hope. escaping as escapism, not to run away from anything. boredom by proxy. / a love as tender as a bullet wound. the drugs are all wrong and so are you. sixteen painkillers lined up and crushed up. sweet sixteen, all dressed up and fucked up. like i said, bittersweet bullshit, nine nails stuck in my heart. / sweet as a meat cleaver. grin like a butterknife. oh, you’ve gone soft. that’s a prayer. you’ve gone rotten. that’s a truth. truth as affection. bruise as a reality check. / teen years down the drain, teenage haircut by the sink, teenage fuckups you don’t talk about, teenage parties done in solitude, teenage body made from starving, teenage thin wrists marked and numbered, teenage sex in bar bathrooms, teenage drinking in your bedroom, teenage wasteland on the radio, teenage trauma in your bloodline, teenage suicide as a headline, teenage drunk by definition, teenage dirtbag sing along at your girlfriend’s, teenage makeout but it’s dirty, teenage body dropped from a balcony, teenage bullshit screaming out the window. i’m gasping out one last prayer, last two years, last year on the planet and i’m empty. / the butterflies in my stomach died from malnutrition. i wish the trauma died with them (trauma as simplification, butterflies as disease). sweet sixteen, bittersweet bullshit, i’ll be dead in the scene rather than let the sugar get to me. death as a metaphor. metaphors as hiding.
hey if ur reading this and ur in a bad spot mentally or anything i hope u feel better soon and have a good day
