actuallydáel

today i plucked one of my feathers out, three thousand to go. one by one, each darker than the last.

i want to be merciless with your body, nor with your soul using my word. yell and yell at you, cry and break the rage through fists at me.

i need to stop falling in love with people who i won't talk to somewhere between two days, two months, a year.

i have been in hell for a thousand years, a chiliad of misfortunes, of repentment, one minute for every sin that has been placed on my back, weighing leaden like the world.

nothing is sacred;

not even the sheets you go under in intimate confession, sign of love,

#nsfw

i. to that pizza place in cumberland, to my first time ever seeing and touching snow, to all of my friends, to the forests to peace.

god made me a fighter. from birth, to now, that is the only thing my life has been, a fight.

i've stopped counting the days it's just gotten further and further away i still remember every moment i don't think i'll ever forget

can i please look at your pictures? if it doesn't make you feel too bad can i still cry over all that happened? and listen to our songs in the car?