Crooked
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زن، زندگی، آزادی. The desolate gallery in an old lane. Contact: http://t.me/RedChtBot?start=782194195 Book Archive: @IchorousLetters Letterboxd: https://boxd.it/afAwj Pinterest: https://pin.it/4Pf601e4Y
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618
The portrait of a midnight fog for two deranged melted husks who are dying from trying to pour ashes on the fire they know they can't afford to acknowledge but no amount of dirt and cinder can put down the flames inside a glimpse caught abruptly. What amount of craving a substance can make it healthy? Is hunger an excuse or a reason? The vehicle lights make everything more like a dream and the first goodbye is never as defiant to them as it should have been.
She doesn't think the memory matters anymore. He knows what fear tastes like. Does trading love for desperation make it more real? "You knew it was a lie, so what does it matter if I try to defend it?" How childish is it for a lie to be about its own importance?
Sometimes there is no poetic way of putting into words what made an ascetic out of your heathenism for it to only taunt the temple you were heedlessly governing. Is there something more dull than trying to race time?
The taste of ash and salt that lingered on your cheeks is the result of jumping into the shoal head first. Plant and paper are not the tools of someone trying to stay permanent. What is the remedy when you have only your words and petals?
Knowing everything beforehand is the most useless of all things to know. Purification of events won't make them true, or even honest. And I am no longer sure if honestly ever actually mattered. It didn't happen to me and it can never be undone. It happened and then waited to see who would pass through it and who would give it a spine.
The flames engulfed the eyes and the water made filth out of the dirt. I am running out of poetry and waiting for it to take all the mortality along with it. Gravity is a double-edged sword and all those illusions caused by fire never were worthy of all the footprints it burned.
618
تازه من خودم اون آدمیام که از حافظهی ضعیفم بر علیهم استفاده میکنم خیلی زمانها.
این شکلی که؛
"راستش من درست یادم نمیآد. ولی از اونجایی که حافظهی من خیلی مه داره احتمالاً این ورژنی که تو داری از داستان میگی و اصلاً با عقل و کرکترِ من جور درنمیآد، درستتر باشه."
618
Repost from N/a
از آدمی که میفهمه حافظهم ضعیفه و بعد کم کم ازش به نفع خودش استفاده میکنه بینهایت نفرت دارم
618
یک نفر تو ناشناس گفت داره از کونش خون میآد ای کاش الآن مودسویینگ داشت انقدر خندیدم الآن خفه میشم
618
من دیگه جدی نمیدونم برایِ خوشحال کردن و ذوقبهکون کردنِ خودم برایِ این زندگی چه گهی میتونم بخورم حتی دیگه عشق هم نیست که بهش چنگ بزنم (هیچوقت نبود و نخواهد بود برایِ من و اختلالی که کارش و رسالتش کلاً ریدن در روابطته). همهی راهها هم چه درمانی باشه چه فراری زیادی گرونن و آقا مو د نیترم جدی
618
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