[Désastre Corporel]: Archive

I showed him my

scars, and he traced them

more reverently than

any lover had touched

at all.

Jan 31, 20124 notes

#daria's writing #vomit youth #sexonadeathbed

there’s a strangeness about you now.

You wear it like a cloak.

Like something touched you back

there that I couldn’t see.

Jan 31, 20122 notes

#daria's writing #vomit youth #sexonadeathbed #melancholy #sadness

“1. Cotton balls and cotton swabs and soft cotton underwear and pin curls and violet toilet water and lipstick the color of your gum and chewing politely with your mouth closed and keeping your bedroom eyes in the bedroom in a water glass by the bed by the foot by the drapes your mother drew with her magic marker making the rounds, making off.
3. See, first I put on the petty dress. No, I meant pity. No, pretty. First I put on the pretty dress. Then I twirl around and say, “Look at me! I am so pretty and petty! Pity me!” And then I say “Fuck this shit!” And then I lift my skirt. And then you do.
2. Spin spin spin spin. Run run run run. Nylons don’t if you clear them first with your nearest acquaintance who paints a transparence that it is so clearly apparent to anyone who looks (and everyone does) at your stockinged toes and the alluring ice-cream dripping down your luscious wrist.” —

babyland: what it’s like to be a girl

Jan 30, 2012377 notes

#Cati Porter

angel-teeth:

avoids responsibilities, people tell them they are childish and need to grow up, would rather live in their head than the real world, wants success to just happen to them, focuses on fantasies more than reality, believes they deserve to have whatever they want, life lacks direction, never know what to do next, does dumb things frequently, inconsistent performance, lazy, slacker, does the minimum to get by, does things without thinking, does not feel they have any reason to accomplish anything, tend to ignore or put off problems, believes fun is the most important thing in life, most people think they are crazy, forgets scheduled appointments, more past than future, gets attention through negative behavior

Jan 30, 20125 notes

sexonadeathbed:

I always save pictures of girls.

Girls that are so much skinnier

so much more beautiful

perfect skin long fingers perfect perfect sickening sweet

girls covered in tattoos, girls, girls, naked girls.

And then later I sit and click through them and get angry

and I cry little angry tears on my keyboard cover

and then I just get plain miserable.

maybe i am just strange.

Jan 24, 201211 notes

#daria's writing #sexonadeathbed #vomit youth

sexonadeathbed:

Cat scratch your arms, little girl,
Until ghosts trickle out
And the demons leave you
Alone.

Jan 24, 20124 notes

#daria's writing #sexonadeathbed #vomit youth

Anonymous asked: How should i deal with broken heart? It hurts too much.

ovum:

cry. write about it minimally, write about it always. run away to a town he won’t ever set foot in, get lost in its streets or forests. realize how inconsequential he was, or how lovely his eyes really were. swallow the beauty of every touch & word you exchanged, choke on it, cry until you can’t remember why it is you’re crying. but always remember that one day, on most nights, it will be a memory as distant & unfelt as anything else that once was, then wasn’t.

Jan 24, 201237 notes

Jan 23, 20121,898 notes

#Why did I do this. #This is terrible. #I'm sorry. #this is fucking incredible peter and you get all the hugs

A work in progress

Chloe…Chloe!

Pale and white.

Neglected child

of the night.

Never one

to worship light,

Our Melancholy Chloe.

Jan 23, 2012

#daria's writing #mine

Cloud Voices:Cotton Room

I told him again, I told him again and again it must have been
A thousand times
,“I AM HERE TO PLAY WITH THE FISHES” and he gave me
THAT LOOK
The one that lets me know that
He most certainly cannot see them, even if he wanted to So I draw my knees up to my sheetwhitechest and rock
Ever so slightly
Back and
Forth and
Side to
Side
Over and
Under againandagain.
Until he finally leaves me in my little cotton room and behind him a door is not locked once but
Thrice thrice thrice.

I know you’re hungry. Hush. Hush. It’s not a library but it will do. Sh. Eat the things I write so only you may read them.
I know you’re hungry. You say you’re not but I know this to be otherwise so to your dismay I begin to slowly coax word after meter after syllable into your pursed tight clenched unwilling mouth.

He unlocks
Click click click
The door in the morning to find me tirelessly stuffing notebook paper into a hole I had bit into the wall of my cotton room and I remember
The Free Ones with Capital Letters taking me down the hall on a hard uncomfy metal chair to get the tubes and the tests to extract the bits of you I hid so skillfully inside me, the parts of you I had ingested and would have kept if not for the digestive system.
They said in cloud voices with mercury in their curious appraising eyes that my love notes were found inside my stomach partially digested and I
Laugh and
Laugh and
Laugh until it
Hurts, it
Hurts with joy.

I am so proud of you.
You finally ate.