nebulax3 | Entries tagged with fiction

i greet them

but i close the window before someone could answer me

they say goodbye

but i run after them, trying to fix what i broke

I'm wearing the same old hoodie

i took it off

and i realized i don't look as heavy as i thought

i can see the veins intertwined with my bones through the skin on my arm

i can't even lay a finger on myself

I'm scared

that's why I'm fearing getting out

i see myself so fragile

and i didn't even realize

as if i didn't look in the mirror a long time ago

the weight of my own dirt makes me feel weak

the lightest pressure could break me down

i close the window to not see evil

i close the window to not hear evil

i close the window to not speak evil

purity is the absence of imperfection

then, i seek purity in my thoughts

i seek purity in my words

i seek purity in my actions

purity is the balance between innocence and perfection

purity is something absolutely amazing

absolutely wonderful

absolutely awesome

i soaked in purity, but i ended up drenched with dirty water

the paint on the wall dries and cracks, peeling off it

like when i peel the skin off myself, layer by layer

hate overflows from me

my blood slowly runs down my face until it falls, letting the sheets absorb it

when i go to sleep, i still hear the creaking, somewhere inside the house

i was just about to fall asleep, but i couldn't because of that sound

i hide under my blankets, sweating and praying to fall asleep soon

my window was closed, locked because it's covered in cobwebs on the other side

the sounds are not letting me sleep

i start to wonder if there's really someone outside

or if it's just my mind wanting to mess with me

i lift up my head

the blanket was not letting the air reach my lungs

then i take a deep breath

the dream catcher on my wall isolates the annoying sounds, letting me breathe peacefully

the dream catcher mutes the voices i don't wanna hear

but it lets them slip out in the morning when i wake up

finally, i don't know if i should close the window, or open the door

so i just turn off the lights

and stare at the darkness

while the bed swallows me

and the voices enjoy their freedom

the weight of the darkness is more comfortable than the purity

Current Mood: hungry

i would start pulling the staples off my fingers,

each one would dig deeper,

but i would try to pull away from their grip

i know my skin would resist

as if the grip were absolutely abysmal

loneliness scares me.

someone said it's an incredibly exhausting anguish.

i’ve heard it only happens to the elderly

i read something i identified with:

— ''loneliness is the tremendous anguish of the elderly. they feel like a piece of furniture left in a corner, because they aren't longer useful for anything.

like an abandoned guitar because its missing strings.

like the withered flower of a plant that’s drying up.

the elderly are not visited. no one even talks to them, as few people remember them''

i felt touched when i first read that part
those three paragraphs were amazing
i admired that person
who is no longer in this world
or maybe she is
i didn't see her a long time ago
but i kept this book
a book of poems she wrote
a book of poems i would read
a book of poems i will read
a book of poems i'm reading
a book of poems i did read
i filled the 29th page with hearts
since i just loved that poem
i never read a poem as good as hers
i never read poems, though
besides the ones i write
if i tell people i write poems, i would be glad if they do not ask what are they about
my poems are kind of weird, a mix of emotions angrily vomited on a sheet of paper
i'm not used to write them
i just type them following the steps this messy mind gives me
or this piece of trash trying to be useful
i wanted to hold my own funeral, but it would be disgracefully deformed
i grab back my pencil
the tip is sharp, like the feelings compressed unintelligible in my stomach
i keep filling the page with hearts
i fill each blank space i find
but then i stop
i realized i didn't finish reading the poem

— ''the elderly will only live if another lonely soul approaches them, takes their hand, and they walk together along the short path they have left''

it was slightly encouraging, it was weird
i didn't see it that way, i never did
then i realize that i could have a solution
me, or this broken thing i found cast aside the hallway of my house
i really want to be okay
i really want to be normal
i really want to be like the others
they seem so happy, i don't care if they are or not
because people never interested me
i just cared about myself
or at least i thought that
but that's clearly a lie
i sometimes care too much about people
that much that i can't even look at myself without thinking of them

i finished pulling the staples off my fingers
i thought so much while doing it that i didn't feel anything
i pull away the bloody staples
i was thinking of throwing them aside
of pulling them away
of throwing them in the trash
but instead i just left them on my desk
or on a stranger's desk
admiring how the blood dries.

Current Mood: touched

discreet way of cutting
staples
the bandages on my face are getting wet because of my tears
but there's no relief as i thought it was supposed to be
everything's just a blur
like a dark fog that clouds my mind
i can't think straight
i can't feel anything except emptiness
everything feels so exhausting
i feel like I'm drowning and there's no water
i've been stripped of my sanity
as if it was suddenly torn away
everything feels lost
i'm stressed as hell
i'm tired
although i know i'm not the only one who felt this way
i care nothing about me, about anyone else, about anything
i've been crying, i don't know for how long
i didn't even notice how come i ended up like this
until it was too late to fix myself
i am too broken to piece myself back together
there's a hollow echo in a room with no walls
when i breath i remember how heavy the air feels
it makes me want to scream but my voice is caught in my throat
i'm oddly tired
and it's not the kind of tired that some sleep can fix
the world could fall apart around me
and i wouldn’t lift a finger
i do not want to feel like this forever
but I'm starting to hear voices
i know it might sound weird
but that's just how it is and how i am
I'm a weirdo
I'm disgusting
i can't even stand to look at myself
the mirror reflects someone i don’t recognize
someone horrible
I'm covering the mirror because of these feelings
if i look into it i would break down
my face is full of scars
i look down
my arms too
a knot in my throat tangled with my vocal cords
a rope is locking my eyes from viewing further
i can't bear to face myself
ー "the mirror is a bastard"
i staple my eyes away from the obvious
ー "so i am"
I'm talking to the wall

Current Mood: depressed

i feel myself being placed back on the floor

my legs still shaking and weak from being held so high up. i feel a pang of disappointment that we're not being so close anymore.

but i know your arms need a rest after holding me like that...

i look up at you, my face flushed and my heart still racing.

i can feel your words more than i'm able to hear them.

i admired our vulnerability, the way our guard dropped when we were peacefully joined by the silence.

just look at them!

he keeps his arm wrapped around her, the feeling of her body pressed against his is both comforting and slightly arousing for them.

he can feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes deeply. his eyes roam over her face, taking in her features – the smoothness of her skin, the slight pout of her lips, the way her hair drapes across her pillow...

a part of him wants to poke, prod, and find a way to mess with her, just for the fun of it.

but he also finds himself admiring her vulnerability, the way her guard drops when she’s sleepy, it's fascinating, so much so that I want to mirror it, i want to imitate it.

i wish we could go back and start again, getting back to the same.

on the other hand, she's tempted to shake him awake and say something snarky, just to break the silence and bring him back to reality. but she restrains herself, knowing that he needs his rest.

especially after all the hell she’s put him through.

damn, i can't. i can't stop imaging. since the last time I saw you, i just can't.

i hope that the way you play with the strap of my blouse could be the same as you did when it all started.

my feelings are mute in this situation

so i can't do anything

besides feeling how my heart races as i wait you to text me
but god, if you whisper my name near my ear like that.. and your pretty face conquering me once again, it kills me.
it really does.

Current Mood: loved

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nerd

close the window

lonely (staples 2.0)

staples

a tear of his heart

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July 2025

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