ladies and gentlemen, i introduce the selfish machine

goodbye tumblr

this is the eighth thing i’ve written about you.

i dreamt of you last night

the way you touched my scars makes me want to make more


bury me in your vanity mirror

so i can tell you all the things you refuse to see

like how your smile makes me

feel just a little less tired

and the way your big eyes make

me think of a million oceans.

you have the disheveled hair of a

fallen angel and the burning wings

to prove your story.


the darkness talks dirty to me

the whispers curl up around

my little head and plant seeds

of nightmares between my ears.

leather monsters prowl some-

where behind closed eyelids

and then i’m running for my life

in my dreams. lightning kisses

the ground off which my feet lift 

and the heady taste of rain on 

horizon sticks to my tongue.

how do I make the hurting stop

this is the sixth thing i’ve written about you.

anxiety curls its black hands around my throat and buries itself into the molecules in my lungs. it comes out to play when i have an audience and have to hide the shame of hyperventilation. my head spins with the sudden loss of control and snap reversion back to the most human and animalistic reaction to fear, and i can’t even cry because i’m too busy trying to breathe normally with the big A sucking all remnants of rationality dry.

and i am just a bag of bones and blood but you tell me i’m beautiful even though you can’t see the state that i am currently in, naked in my bed with these heavy, crinkly eyes and a throat that hurts from not having enough air. i think i am sinking again, another reversion back to the pit that swallowed me for four years because i’m now tired of climbing. i had forgotten that depression and anxiety went hand in hand, and what godless creatures they are.

i forgot how much fun anxiety attacks were

Anonymous asked: Stay strong sweetie <3

We’ll see

this is the fifth thing i’ve written about you.

here are the things i meant to tell you:

  • today i watched the girl i had been friends with for five years get off the horse she was riding and kick it in the stomach because her temper wasn’t the only thing she couldn’t rein in
  • the same girl sat beside me for a time yesterday while i was doing official things that she is equally if not more qualified to do and the only thing she asked me was if she could use my sunblock because never mind the fact that i had been on my feet for close to six hours without a break
  • on saturday i was waiting an hour and a half for the arena to be spun before i could build my show jumping course because one of the moronic fathers was taking the scenic route with the tractor in the paddock
  • three weeks and one day ago my riding instructor was dumped by her ex-partner who had left his wife for her but then went running back and sometimes she still cries about it
  • zack’s transmission is becoming increasingly temperamental
  • my mum sleeps a lot and when she’s not sleeping, she’s working
  • my mum has never told me that she loves me
  • i slept on the couch for three nights because it’s too hot in my bed and i’m getting bitten by bugs
  • i am having anxiety about selling my horse
  • i am having anxiety about school
  • i am experiencing a general and constant feeling of panic about a lot of things
  • i hate being at home all the time
  • i hate being at home all the time when everyone else is at school or at work and they are all too busy
  • i want to drive to the top of the country and back because i would rather do that than go home
  • i am feeling increasingly inadequate
  • i don’t want to eat anymore
  • i don’t want to go back to therapy because i don’t want anymore tests or assessments or appointments or drugs or my parents knowing that i’m relapsing
  • i miss you kissing me
  • i’m tired but it’s not the kind of tired that sleep can cure
  • i want to be in a car accident so then maybe zack will be written off but also because i will have a chance to release all my anger on the dickhead who failed to give way
  • i’m just really lonely and unhappy
  • i could watch you swear at your stats homework all day
  • i forgot how to make myself okay again
  • i love you a lot but i’m not sure that the feeling is mutual
"Sometimes you meet someone and even though you
never liked brown eyes before, their eyes are your new favourite colour.”
— Anonymous (via moonsads)

1. I’m 17 and I’m in a state of perpetual state of heartbreak
and my lungs are black from cigarette smoke

2. I’m 17 and I’m paralyzed at the thought of having a future
and my iron wrists have bleed rust for the past 4 years

3. I’m 17 and I’m an insomniac whose eyes are bruised black and blue
and my heart aches with every waking moment

4. I’m 17 and I’m full to the brim with shards of shattered dreams
and my words often get stuck in my throat choking me

5. I’m 17 and I’m acting as if I don’t need anyone but I need you
and my escape is into the pages of love sick poetry

6. I’m 17 and I’m longing to be buried at the roots of an elm tree
and my bones are bruised from beatings I give myself after every mistake

7. I’m 17 and I’m learning about life still so be kind
and my soul still has some searching to do

— 7 Things About Being 17-by (N.I.)

taking a break

Reblog if you are a woman who is offended by the lyrics in Blurred Lines



I will be writing a sociological research paper about the effects of the lyrics in Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines.

Please reblog this if you are a female who finds the lyrics of this song offensive or upsetting.

The equal post for men can be found here and for nonbinary/genderqueer here.


this is the fourth thing i’ve written about you.

in the first year i had my heart broken by a boy i thought i was in love with. he had dark eyes and dark hair, kind of like you but without the bleeding heart and the long eyelashes. he told me i was beautiful with his fingers crossed behind his back just so he could see what i looked like underneath my shirt. while doing so, he reached through the branches of my ribcage and tore it right out of my chest, taking it with him as he climbed out my window. i made myself bleed for two weeks because he made me think that i deserved to.

in the second year i had one of my best friends leave me for someone she had so vehemently hated only a few months before because apparently vodka and identical shades of hair dye are thicker than five years’ worth of friendship bracelets. my back spasms saw me spending many showers curled up on the floor and crying because it hurt too much to get up. my horse blew out a tendon in the first winds of the winter and by spring i had to let my baby go but not without the claw marks of a sick girl who still has the ghosts of the jagged nine letter name carved into her left arm.

in the third year i was uncertain as to whether i would see sixteen or not. 

in the fourth year i was determined to make this easter my last weekend. i would plant my soggy bones in the bottom of the bathtub and let the lorazepam turn to acid in my stomach while my arms emptied themselves of everything red and life-preserving. i went to sleep instead.

in the fifth year i found my way back to you, the saving grace that i had overlooked when i was fumbling in the dark because i’d forgotten how to turn the lights back on. it turns out you had been waiting all this time for me to climb out of this pit that had so nearly become a grave, and i just hope to dear god that you, please, don’t go.