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to hell and back again



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1272 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 89625
Reviews: 1272
Fri Apr 27, 2018 11:12 pm
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Rosendorn says...



you learned about chemical burns
the hard way, gel touching skin and now
every time you frown there is a reminder
to not touch wallpaper stripping. you
found the lesson again with hair gel, scalp
now producing as much wax as it does oil
when stressed, because it still cannot find
the balance it had before and it likely
will never find it again. the third time it was
your phone case rubbing against your finger
until your skin blistered to the point you couldn't
think of bending it, and now if you touch
plastic a little too long, they come back

you look at your collection of scars and wonder
how many could have been prevented if only
somebody cared enough to notice them happening

— April 27, 2018
A writer is a world trapped in a person— Victor Hugo

Ink is blood. Paper is bandages. The wounded press books to their heart to know they're not alone.

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1272 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 89625
Reviews: 1272
Sun Apr 29, 2018 3:07 am
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Rosendorn says...



a year of sheer dumb luck, where
you ask your parents for rent late and
turns out they had to pay taxes
differently that quarter, and now when
you need it again, they can cut you a cheque
and

you never wanted them to know
it has been a year since you last saw pay
but each month is just buying a little more
time, dumb luck where there is enough
somehow, somewhere, to go between
where you are now and staying
safe for another month, every month,
exhaustion heavier on your tongue
than the dinner you can barely afford

you cut your finger while washing dishes
and don't feel a thing; you thought
death by a thousand cuts
was supposed to be more painful than that

— April 28, 2018
A writer is a world trapped in a person— Victor Hugo

Ink is blood. Paper is bandages. The wounded press books to their heart to know they're not alone.

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1272 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 89625
Reviews: 1272
Mon Apr 30, 2018 3:43 am
Rosendorn says...



you read on tumblr, once, that authors
are like oprah; they throw out their own
issues onto characters like a waiting audience.
you get my perfectionism, you get
my inability to handle a life change, you get
too much trauma, and sometimes those
all go onto a single character whose life
you follow for far too long, always making sure
yes he is better but no he will never be cured,
there will always be relapses when life
hits him in the stomach hard enough, despite
his wife and career and children, his friends,
none of them being enough to make it stop and

you wipe your eyes as you plan his timeline
only now realizing that maybe it's alright
you will always be sick

— April 29, 2018
A writer is a world trapped in a person— Victor Hugo

Ink is blood. Paper is bandages. The wounded press books to their heart to know they're not alone.

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User avatar
1272 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 89625
Reviews: 1272
Mon Apr 30, 2018 7:39 pm
Rosendorn says...



i write something to you every 30th,
even though this year is tainted
by far too much guilt over what i have done,
what i have taken. i know you say
it is given freely but i am not just speaking
of physical things, of words exchanged and

every year my definition of 'i love you' changes,
woven in with too many emotions so i do not know
if it can even still be love in its pure state but maybe—

our list of things to do includes drinking mana cocktails
and trying to play smash brothers, something to be done
once just to say it happened, just to say we tried, but
halted before we can crash and burn, before alcohol
taints everything and maybe the same could be said
for what i had called love before: a temporary bender
before coming back down to earth, a single hit whose
side effects aren't worthwhile long term

(i will be honest and say i will likely always miss it;
i think you would say the same)

but i will learn to love you in a way best described as sober,
because i do not want to lose the person who stood beside you
two years ago to a haze of loneliness, instead reaching to
your callused hand and our nails sharp, no longer
softened by a feeling that, when taken in excess,
simply makes everything worse

i will still keep a bottle in the back of the cupboard, a reminder
i am still somebody's shot of whiskey but i don't need it all the time
and love comes in other liquids that sustain
instead of kill

but i will love you
i will love you
and i will try not to falter

— April 30, 2018
A writer is a world trapped in a person— Victor Hugo

Ink is blood. Paper is bandages. The wounded press books to their heart to know they're not alone.

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If you want something badly, you just gotta believe it's gonna work out.
— Andy, Parks & Rec