wilted hearts


   “That’s all I saw.”

   Who helped with the ritual? Well, Keyleth, obviously. She tore Orthax from his soul. He saw that. And Pike. Who else would be skilled enough to bring him back, really now. It’s so clear to everyone who was responsible. And then there’s Vex, who has nothing to offer but her wilted little heart, the one that Saundor wanted so terribly. And what good was that to give Percy? He already had that.

   The main thing is, is that Percy is alive. What does it matter if her confession wasn’t heard by him? It didn’t matter, not really, not to anyone aside from Vex. She’s selfish, like he is. She’s private, like he is. She’s stubborn, and he is, too, given he’s alive now. Vex is glad that he’s alive, and he that he is safe, and that he is happy. Vex couldn’t hope for more than that.

   Vex is even glad he was spared her pathetic display, because what good did that do him?

   “Percy loves unstable things.” - Vex’ahlia, episode 27. :)

im trying not to miss you, but the pain is a dull ache behind my ears. everything i hold to my heart is wilting with the night. i tell myself chocolate milk will stop reminding me of you when i learn to love a new flavor. im stuck just bellow the surface of the community pool, and i can hear the sun pouring into my eyes. i still taste late night laughter and under-cooked spaghetti in the back of my throat. you always looked better with a smile on your face. im trying to remember that when you look at me with nothing but frowns. i can hear you singing sometimes. its a familiar tune that, even now, i still cant make out the words. 

You tell me sweet nothings to see me smile
And that’s a shame because I was ready to feel you
I wanted to know more about the emptied darkness that you refuse to let go of
I wanted to understand the salty rivers of your past
I wanted to embrace them with the softness of my wilted heart
I wanted to free you from these insecure thoughts
You told me sweet nothings to see me smile
And that’s a shame because I loved you.

You were my momentary everything
who slipped through my fingers like a droplet
which couldn’t help but fall and slowly lose itself
upon escaping my skin–
the perks you say, of getting an overture in my castle
is a chance to think twice before coming back again
It pricked the rose out of me–
of how i turned the fire beating loudly in your lips
into a madness running in cold
I remember how it used to be, I still do…

Yet the sadder tale is, if you are to ask me again, I would still say “no”.

You’ve grown roses in my heart of wilting flowers.

They wrap around my hallowed frame and leave marks where your kisses should be.

You disguise yourself as a blooming flower, but fill me up with weeds.

I am lost in the sweet scent of your petals, and they poison my thoughts with every word that you utter.

You say you are right for me, that you don’t mean to prick me with your thorns of disguised anguish. That they are just another part of you I must accept.

But my acceptance of them will only lead me to my own demise. The death of an innocence that I no longer have.

You are a rose, and I am but a flower.
You are beautiful.
But you’re killing me.

—  Lostininsomnia

For Boys Who Have Hearts That Sit Like Stones in Their Chests

I wear my heart like a rock.

I wear my heart like it could break your windows,
make it rain glass beneath the street lamp.

I wear my heart like a quivered lip
refusing to let the tears fall,
to let the flood out.

I wear my heart strong.

My heart sings like a battle scar.

My heart hits like a bruise.

My heart holds its breath when it thinks about you,
when it only knows how to say your name.

My heart is made of concrete.

My heart grows dandelions from its cracks.

My heart is sting and bite and fist.

My heart will make you bleed
and crumble,
make you slide down a wall.


My heart doesn’t know if it can take it all sometimes.

My heart beats weak at night.

My heart wilts like a flower
when nobody else is looking,
when nobody can see it wane.

The coffee in the office
looks gray this morning.
The sun is so bright
and the earth is so hot
that I can’t see without looking like
I might slit your throat.
Avoid eye contact.
Avoid caffeine.
Avoid anything that makes you shake
like a nervous wreck.

In every letter I write to you,
you are more important
than you are in my heart;
You are more important
in my mouth
and in my hands
and in my mind
than you want to be.

I understand that love
is a tired word
with many definitions
made up of more tired words
and too much sentiment.
So instead,
I use words like “rot”
to describe the way
you take up too much space in my bed
and still, none in my heart.
You wilt and grow tired
like a flower
or a carcass.

—  Dearly Beloved.