I will love you until we turn to stardust,
And even then, I’m sure our orbits will cross
May the universe, the gods and the mortals judge in disgust
I can still feel your touch, fresh like that sea moss,
When the light still shone and the waves of the ocean
Planted summer kisses on your neck.
No, but darling you are more like a mountain,
Majestic, mysterious, but all I could see
You were drowning in oceans
And I couldn’t set you free.
My heart is still pounding, my eyes are ablaze
The love of our fire is coldly disgraced.
I hope you remember that cool summer air
When we sat by the sea moss, kissing with flair.
“Your generation would probably ‘livetweet’ the apocalypse” you say, and you laugh
You mean it as an insult, and I understand,
Or you don’t
because the word lies awkwardly on you tongue, stumbles as it leaves your lips, air quotes visible
You meant it as an insult, so you don’t understand, when I look into your eyes and say “Yes”
Because we would.
It would be our duty, as citizens on this earth
to document it’s end the best way we know
and if that means a second by second update
of the world going up in flames, or down in rain, or crushed under the feet of invading monsters
so be it.
It would mean a second by second update of
“I love you”
“Are you all right?”
It would mean a second by second update of the humanity’s connection with one another,
Proof of empathy, love, and friendship between people who may have never met in the flesh.
So don’t throw the word 'Livetweet’ at me like a dagger, meant to tear at my 'teenage superiority’
Because if the citizens of Pompeii, before they were consumed by fire,
had a chance to tell their friends and family throughout Rome
“I love you”
“Don’t forget me”
Don’t you think they’d have taken the chance?
Sometimes it hurts when people scorn internet cultre
into a digital abyss we’re falling lost amongst the white noise of our lives i fuck with the periphery of my existence moments of sobriety smashed to fuckin nothing core lit up senses at the spontaneous filter incoherence to plain fuckin sense caught up like we’re existing between tv snow screams give the top layer no question blasted out perceptions
take a breath let yourself digitize into the soil data distortion against the morning dew nylon rotting alongside the worms until another sun takes its turn overflooded paranoia needling under the stone
i hold my phone out to snapchat a dead coyote corpse on its 8th day feeding the cornfield on the town outskirts caption reading: SO YOU THINK YOU CAN CONDENSE LIVES DOWN TO MERE PHOTONS sense of self stripping as i try to rip something poetic out of from my own mind vomit
terrified daily of the daylight bleeding past my blackout curtains i cower trying to mind suffocate to shut out the shroud casting a halo around our sun that’s flipping between channels 3 and 17 turning it all to muted red and black nonsense my eyes closed i cant stop the visions - towering gears shifting along unmovable levers not bare to the naked eye as i realize im operating as a machine with no creator
psycho shutdown too much to bear and i open my eyes to five hours past walking out to air now glittering in binary rips that smile through the cracks between the hydro bonds i let the cogs punch my feet into the concrete resting myself fetal against a wall as my vision begins to focus robotically between the strings of 1’s and 0’s drifting past autumn leaves
comfortably numb as i feel my body shiver and bright nothingness begins to tear at the edges of my vision - all clarity squeezed down to to an ethereal tone blaring out like a radio between frequencies a howl buried beneath the newly born realities
it’s 10 PM and i’m drowning.
drowning in my own thoughts
pictures places people phrases things whirling within me – and they sting my soul like sharp seawater sliding softly over an almost invisible cut on my leg, my arm, my heart
it’s 11 PM and i’m choking.
choking on the words i could’ve should’ve would’ve said didn’t say
they rise up like slimy bile in my mouth but never come at the right time the right place the right person. twenty two years of life stuck in my throat. twenty two years of death, and after a while it burns
it’s midnight and i’m hurting.
hurting you hurting them hurting me
inside and out upside and down. pain sears through my brain, your veins, his bones. no more, no more, no, more. i don’t want it to stop
it’s 1 AM and i’m praying.
praying for sweet salvation
on my knees in a chapel in my bedroom in my mind. whispering the Lord’s Prayer while i pull a two year old bottle of cheap vodka from the back of my closet. stringing pills together and they’re rosary beads and maybe they will save me if i shut my eyes and praypraypray
it’s 2 AM and i’m dying.
hey, sweetheart, do you have the time? [ 31st march 2017 ]
I’m Leonie and I spend too much time on the internet.
I’m socially akward and bisexual. My hobbies are singing, playing the
uke, reading and volunteer work. It would be nice to have someon to
discuss politcs and other controversial topics. I’d like to have a pen
pal who is interested in the same things as me (not necessarily all of
- Poetry and classic literature
- Any kind of music
- greek mythology and philosophy
- feminism and the LGBT community
- Doctor Who, Sherlock, Hamilton
I’m fluent in English and German (obviously lmao). It would be nice to
have a friend in another country so we can also talk about our cultures.
Snail mail and email are both ok.
Any gender and sexuality
Pls be open minded
they say grief is a well. deep with creeping water that seeps first into your socks. it climbs like ivy, making an abandoned building out of your bones.
i can see it. the well, i mean, the grief and the water and the creeping. i can see it.
i think grief is more like a storm. clouds that hug the horizon, caress the sky with fingers that leave bruises the colour of the skin under your eyes when you haven’t slept for a week.
lightning bolts that illuminate the shapes in the dark for just long enough that you get to see remnants of a normal life, picnic blankets not abandoned to rain, beaches covered with sand and not hail, but the light never lasts.
and thunder. thunder that drowns out the sound of laughter. thunder that only knows how to emphasise the gaps of quiet in between each earth shaking sigh.
they say that grief is a well, it collects in your chest and fills and spills over as the walls wage war with the water. i can see it. i can. but my grief is more like a storm where lightning likes to strike the same place a thousand times each day.
When we think about meeting people who will have the kind of importance in our lives, it seems impossible that they could live miles and miles away. It seems impossible that we can bond with someone over FaceTime calls and texts. Adults ingrave into our minds that the people we meet on the internet have no purpose in our lives other than to destroy it.
I feel bad for the people who still try to tell us that internet friendships or relationships aren’t comparable to a real life one, because they believe the internet is only full of danger.
Those people don’t know what it feels like…
To finally meet your best friend.
Wouldn’t it be nice to be happy
wouldn’t it be a beautiful thing
to wake up smiling because that’s what you do
just like how the flower blooms
and the sun rises
and the moon glows
wouldn’t it be nice if happy
was the only thing you knew?