hafsa, eighteen, england. find my other tumblr here.

semi hiatus

hafsaatique:

you wake up each morning with shaking hands, searching. you forget the sound of your father’s voice. you think it was around the same time you gave up your bones to silence, as though you ever had a choice. you breathe, you sleep, you pray. you find bruises on your knees you don’t have a name for. you catch a boy’s eye, set your heart on fire. you burn the quiet edges of your rice-paper skin, shame licking your wrists like gasoline. you wonder what your mother would say if she saw you, barefoot and lonely, hands held up to the moonlight. it’s a test. it’s all a test. you stay up till four in the morning on your hands and knees, scrubbing ashes from your sheets until your nails bleach white, wondering if this is it. you turn your pillows inside out with frantic hands and think of your father’s promises, not knowing what it is that you’ve lost, only that it’s gone. sirens wail outside your window and you almost scream, In here. in here. in here. there are no miracles. it should have been more beautiful than this.

"   Cut a chrysalis open, and you will find a rotting caterpillar. What you will never find is that mythical creature, half caterpillar, half butterfly, a fit emblem of the human soul, for those whose cast of mind leads them to seek such emblems. No, the process of transformation consists almost entirely of decay.   "
Pat Barker, Regeneration (via commovente)
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"   Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.   "
Frida Kahlo (via escolma)
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haffalump:

brain / banks

hafsaatique:

"IF THE MOON SMILED, SHE WOULD RESEMBLE YOU. 

YOU LEAVE THE SAME IMPRESSION

OF SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL, BUT ANNIHILATING.”

You are daughter of the stars and destruction, born from the same hands that pin death in the skies as constellations. Something quivers and moans under your skin; phantoms trapped between two worlds, darkness you swallowed whole with premature gums. You don’t need a house to be haunted. You grin, turn the moon over in your smile. All you need is your rune-marked bones, a body promised to crackling skies and howling winds. Death croons within you, burning offerings to lost humanity in the quiet ends of your fingertips, torch held above your head. These days, everybody’s already dead.

You strike your last match, and wait.

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