i’d really like to find one of those pretty dungaree dresses because it’d go very well with my anxious femme aesthetic

just five more followers... save me

the beginner’s guide to immortality

unlearn the scent of burning flesh, relearn how your favorite perfume smells, reject them both and don only the universe’s questionable motives as high couture, walk the runway of the sky and stay convinced that those flashing lights are cameras rather than solar flares. the sky is documenting your unbecoming. 

forget all the lists you’ve ever made. forget that one grocery list you left at home one time, and you returned home from your shopping with bags full of things you would never use, overripe fruit and hallowe’en candy long past its sell–by date, forget how it sat in the kitchen and rotted overnight, forget the sickly sweet smell of your own absent–mindedness. 

forget the list of all the people who have ever loved you ( and all the people you have ever loved, and all the people you think may have loved you, but you can’t be sure because love can mean a dozen different things and yet you think that none of them are your second grade babysitter’s scrabbling hands and the heat of her breath and being trapped, trapped ). 

cover the mirrors in your house, stop all the clocks, shroud yourself in black lace and white satin and refuse to come out for sixty days. you are in mourning, though for what you could not say. watch your bones become skylights and watch moonbeams filter through the hollows in your aching skin. 

leave notes for everyone who ever mattered. remind your mama to take the milk in and remind your grandmère to feed the cat and remind your sister not to steal your lipstick, not to try on your shoes. tape polaroids to the kitchen fridge and steal three dozen peaches from the local market and make off in the dead of night, the way renegade lovers escape into the sunset. 

redefine your image, redefine your beauty, lock yourself in a gas station bathroom and hack off your hair, hack out your eyes, let blood drip into your french fries as you drive away, eat them anyway because immortals cannot afford to waste food, savour how your life force tastes, remember that this is how it will taste forever. 

uncurl yourself from your shell– or rather, smash through the eggshell exterior that you never knew you were trapped in until you broke its milky boundaries and saw the sky anew, saw it glimmer a hundred different shades of tangerine–lavender–cherryblossom–strawberry, watched silk fade to velvet and watched a diamond–scatter of constellations light up the darkness. 

remove your shoes. get out of your car, take your three dozen peaches (unbitten, soft, yielding to your touch to crumble like dust), take your carved–out eyes and hacked–off hair. place the soles of your feet upon the sun warm road, let the neverending sky envelope you. this is how the universe ends – not with a bang, not with a crash, but soft. melancholy. your hair in the breeze and the soft song on the radio and the smell of the rotting peaches. this is how the universe ends ( a mistranslation: this is how people like you are born ). 

i wanna write some poetry cos i feel like i’m not good and i’d love to get better

any prompts / lyrics / anything like that would be hella appreciated