hyperion*

Status: i miss witty's glory days
Joined: April 10, 2013
Last Seen: 3 years
user id: 356389
Location: new jersey
Gender: F


i wrote these things when i was 14 and lonely, they are weird and cringy but i am glad they are preserved here. this is my time capsule. (04/11/20 check-in).


Quotes by hyperion*



bullets
 
my thoughts are like bullets
and they ricochet around in my head

gun shots rattle my mind
my head is a constant battlefield
I can’t focus
there are too many explosions
it brought me down and down and down
i fell a long time ago 
no wonder
it feels like
wherever I go
is a war
and thinking
becomes a death wish 

weight
 
you try to cut yourself out of your skin
you try to lose what you've come to hate
but all you’re really losing is blood
and with all that has already been lost
your path
your happiness
yourself
you’re only cutting yourself a ravine
deeper and deeper into oblivion
and you may say that’s where you want to go
but really
you’re trying to cut yourself out of your skin
so you can find you
without all the weight to carry
again
-a.s.

“There are only patterns, patterns on top of patterns, patterns that affect other patterns. Patterns hidden by patterns. Patterns within patterns. If you watch close, history does nothing but repeat itself. What we call chaos is just patterns we haven’t recognized. What we call random is just patterns we can’t decipher. what we can’t understand we call nonsense. What we can’t read we call gibberish. There is no free will. There are no variables.”

- Chuck Palahniuk, Survivor




If the boy who draws
lets you look over his shoulder.
If the poet
smiles
and shows you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only
hums a song
in front of you.
Know that you're no longer a person
but the air
and dust
that fills their lungs.
When the world perishes, 
and all things cease to exisr,
you'll remain inside an ink stain,
a paint brush,
a song.

{format credit = destabilise i think}


The moment you realize
that your bones are made of the same dust
as the planets,
your lungs are breathing the same air
as the migrating butterflies,
and your blood is pumping because
of the love and care of thousands;

is when you realize
that you are not as broken
as you think you are.
you are full
of the world.

 


Happiness

Is like a

Butterly



The more you chase it
The more it will elude you


But if you turn your attention to other things
It will come and sit 

Softly on your shoulder
 

 

format credit = destabilise



Let yourself be silently drawn by the Strange
pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.

 


Oceans.

I feel as it begins, as the tide pulls me in. I feel the water, churning around me, dark and stormy. My chest tightens, as my lungs fill with sea foam, with brilliant shades of white and pale green, their hues choking me slowly. My legs are like weights, and I begin sinking to the bottom of the sea, coughing and sputtering and gasping for air. I struggle to hold onto the world, or what’s left of it – the small sliver of light I can see shimmering above me. There’s nothing to grasp onto, nothing to anchor me. The waves crash, and so do I, I keep drowning like there is no bottom, simply unexplored ocean, taking me to depths I have never been to before. Last time, I was able to swim back out, just barely, still soaking and dripping, the water droplets remnants of my near-death. Not this time, though. I don’t know if I can pull back out, if I can bear to carry myself through the waters back to shore, while knowing that some day, I will face this sea again. If I survive, I know I’ll have to; I always do. And I know the oceans will be waiting.


format credit = destabilise







don't paint me black when i used to be golden.


 



"these days are covered in thorns"



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