Lock thyself in isolation
Confine thyself within a dream
Give birth to an illusion
Recreate what’s impossible
And be


Skin-tight vessel
Unmitigated pandemonium
Preconditioned to self-destruct


A scattered void
Volatile and incohesive
She sheds what remains of her sullen skin, blue
Flesh and bones, grey
Deep and hollow
The tips of her fingers weep
As she becomes rather irrelevant
A vessel saturated
A melting pot of oxymorons
A juxtiposition of irregularities and discrepant emotions,
No, emotions are human
Etherial, she is
A caliginous hollow projection

Sense is nonexistent where she dwells
The clock ‘there’ turns clockwise
The clock ‘here’ spins diagonally anti-clockwise
Now, she lurks beneath a perceivable shadow
Unfitting, idle, unknowing
Just so that she can pass as a living being


Walls of sorrow, she hits
Once again she is back
To her dark sanctuary
Right above brittle ribs
Medieval dungeons
Rusted iron and hanging nooses
clustered, further cluttering her barely functioning brain
Only specks of flickering light illuminates through the holes in her body
Each, a scar indenting breaking skin
A walking masquerade of a so-called living being
Her soul seeks escape


"Bad luck is like a rash, it spreads"


To forget
To move on
To get lost in the world, alone
To do good and change the world

or to be taken to my God
This is what I yearn for
for there is no more life energy in me


"Fuck it all and no regrets
I hit the lights on these dark sets
I need a voice to let myself
To let myself go free
Fuck it all and fuckin’ no regrets
I hit the lights on these dark sets
Medallion noose, I hang myself
Saint Anger ‘round my neck

I feel my world shake
Like an earth quake
Hard to see clear
Is it me? Is it fear?

"And I need my anger to be healthy , and I need to let my anger free"

Photo Set


Valérie Mesquita

Entre Nós - Just Between Us

Just Between Us - Entre Nós, in portuguese - is an independent photography project by someone who has had enough of hearing stories about women who are victims of violence inside their own homes - stories often about very close and dear people.

After some research on the subject and conversations with many women - about suffering acts of violence and not telling anyone, about suffering and speaking about it, about the devastating effect these events have in a person’s life, about seeking help, about fear, about guilt, about feeling impotent, about silence, about all the complexities which this theme englobes - this project was the way I found to take a stand, to say “I don’t agree”. (artist statement)

1. It’s ok. It was my fault.

2. Who would believe me?

3. The neighbors had to call the police.

4. I have nowhere else to go.

5. I’ve waited for him to change. It’s been eleven years now.

6. It started when I first got pregnant.

7. My mother asked me what I had done to cause this.

8. I haven’t told anyone.

9. I was in a coma.

10. Of course not, it was a bike accident.

(via embeeness)

Source: darksilenceinsuburbia

Oh how you regret giving yourself to someone for too long.. and then they leave without a word as if you meant nothing…


God grant me some happiness..just a little bit, just a tiny bit so I can go on..please

God grant me the power to rise up, to change, to become something or someone and do not let my needs hinder me instead of push me forward

God grant me some happiness..just a little bit, just a tiny bit so I can feel alive…please

God grant me the serenity to accept what I cannot change, the courage to change what I can, and the wisdom to know the difference

God grant me some happiness..just a little bit, just a tiny bit so I can find myself and do something that would make you happy…please

God…answer my prayers please for I am so tired of a life that I exist within but don’t know how to live in

God answer my prayers please for I have no willpower, hope or energy to try anymore



If only he knew
How much I wished he was the one
But it’s too late
we don’t write our fates
No matter how much we wanted to have a choice

At the end, I wish he is doing alright


I hope my agony
Rings your larynx to splinters
Like shrapnels they dive down to pierce your lungs
and infuse its air into me
The air you took away, forcefully
For I need to exhale the death that your subsistence evoked in my being
Like a lingering itch, it bedeviled me
Until I felt it lock around my sanity
And now I am more hopeless and helpless than ever
But patience dear…
I won’t keep drowning in the blood of a Bast*** forever


Paranoia devours her being
Her nerves involute
Forming a brittle knot
Her ticker circulates acid
That dissipates her soul
Her past;
A black widow’s death grip
She breaks


Quench the hollowness,
The paganist,
That perforated her skin

An antagonistic aroma,
The burnt flesh, the black salt, the graveyard dirt, a sulphuric dew

Rise from the fire
and liquefy the bone that holds her intact



There is nothing to be done
but to patient
and wish that I can find some happiness