Space Lemon

You are crucified by your own limitations. Your blind choices cannot be changed; they are now irrevocable. You have had chances; you have not taken them. You are wallowing in original sin; your limitations. You cannot even decide to take a walk in the country: you are not sure whether it is an escape or a refreshing cure from cooping yourself in your room all day. You have lost all delight in life. Ahead is a large array of blind alleys. You are half-deliberately, half-desperately, cutting off your grip on creative life. You are becoming a neuter machine. You cannot love, even if you knew how to begin to love. Every thought is a devil, a hell - if you could do a lot of things over again, ah, how differently you would do them! You want to go home, back to the womb. You watch the world bang door after door in your face, numbly, bitterly. You have forgotten the secret you knew, once, ah, once, of being joyous, of laughing, of opening doors. Look at that ugly dead mask here and do not forget it. It is a chalk mask with dead dry poison behind it, like the death angel. It is what was this fall, and what I never want to be again. The pouting disconsolate mouth, the flat, bored, numb, expressionless eyes: symptoms of the foul decay within. Eddie wrote me after my last honest letter saying I had better go to get psychiatric treatment to root out the sources of my terrible problems. I smite, now, thinking: we all like to think we are important enough to need psychiatrists. But all I need is sleep, a constructive attitude, and a little good tuck. The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath #sylviaplath@spacelemon

صب سه ساعت سه شروع

https://youtu.be/LG18iGQ_jdg?si=5wUUSgJJBEyiZ4vF Been waiting for this for AGES 😭

Do not fear your death my friend, fear life and all it's pain The pain that you have suffered and the pain that's yet to come The pain if there's a next life and the pain if there is none I sifted through the embers not sure what I hoped to find Perhaps a vision of your face, perhaps a sacred sign The blackened frames and timbers glowed a flashing orange gold The colours that a true love said once was the me of old The smell of smoke was beaten by the smell of petrichor The rains washed all the ashes, cleansed the tears and rinsed the pores Your flames they were majestic, shame they were but smoke and lies You're cursed with disappointment now until the day you die

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I’ve finally reached the point where i no longer miss anyone who’s ever been a part of my life or any of the memories i’ve made. If i could go back it wouldn’t be because i want any of it back. just to make different choices, to do things differently. and there’s something strangely disappointing about realizing that but i can’t say it rlly bothers me