Velimir Khlebnikov, Collected Works, Vol. 3: Selected Poems, Tr. By Paul Schmidt

Stages of Decomposition, Embroidery by calicoranger

hey. can i come over and explode into viscera in your living room ?

less than a month to go boys

Vivisepulture - [6/23/23]

None of this is easy. I can’t stay, yet I can’t walk away. Walking away would crush me, as if I was being buried alive. The dirt upon me, heavy and slowing down my every attempt at escape. The more I struggle the more it piles.

I cough, more, and more, and more. The ground you walk on itself is in my lungs. I keep thinking, “I’m going to die,” but I don’t. I am suffocating but the same force killing me is keeping me alive, prolonging the anxiety and the hurt. And the coughing.

All I’ve inhaled is the dirt but what comes out is smoke. For what feels like an eternity I continue to go through the achingly long process of dying without death, and I come to the conclusion that maybe exhaling is always easier than inhaling.

The pain is stabbing and burning and aching. I feel my body giving up. I feel my brain giving up. I have given up. I’m tired of fighting. Does giving up help? No. Does the suffering stop? No. But now all I can do is lay here. I’m still here yet the world continues to spin without me. I am completely alone, no one knowing of my predicament. Life goes on without me.

i love your posts did you forget to take your meds

a fragment of ourselves returning v, 2018 by beatrice wanjiku

I'm getting tired of my own self destructive tendencies