بنفش یاسی 🪻

The floor was slippery and the smell of chlorine was giving me a taste of sin. I saw a child submerge his head beneath the water and resurface after about twenty seconds gasping for more oxygen, for more of that sinful water to fill his lungs. His friends laughed as he drank too much pool water, almost choking on it. Then took a deep breath, and the next second you could see the strands of his hair floating to the surface as his body sunk under the blue water again. Lately I find myself on my knees, begging to be bitten. I blame global warming. I used to stroll through the rose bushes and they kissed me wounds that tasted like love. Around a year ago, they all died. Now the only way to feel loved, is by being injected by your canines intravenously. The kitchen rug is warm. I lie on top of it as a sense of control looms over me. This is all I need: a little warmth. I come here often, trying to reciprocate this feeling of emptiness with warmth. I'm a child going for another dive, wondering how many more seconds I can hold my breath. Have you ever pulled a scab that hasn't healed yet just for it to bleed again? How did it feel? I bet it was pleasurable. How much more spare blood do you have in you? Put a bandaid on your wound. I read somewhere your cigarette is your craving and your cancer. (The art in the photo is called "the green room" by Salman Toor) -Helia

https://t.me/wbwniwmwwmwwn/7555 اینسپوش هم از ایشون بود. خیلی خیلی خیلی خیلی خیلی خیلی بااستعداد و خوشگله.

The "crying but not really" look.

Love carves my heart, leaving trails of flowing honey Isn't it funny how the more you love, the deeper the trenches get? My nail polish is chipped, My book is all worn out. There's a stretch mark on my torso, all signs of life, no doubt. And you can take this messy life away, replace it with stainless steel. But life finds a way, it eventually rusts under the wind. I'm a storyteller of my life, so let me prepare my tale of flaws We ran out of honey a long time ago, it's just a sticky chasm now that I called grief I guess it's a sign that I was alive. (The photo is from the "south of the river" collection by Nico Froehlich.) -Matt

(دیگه بس. از این به بعد اگه فقط پارتی‌بازی دارین فوروارد کنین 🫶🏻) فوروارد کنین براتون یه چیزی بنویسم. شایدم شعر. شاید یه عکس هم ضمیمه‌ش کردم. می‌تونه فارسی یا انگلیسی باشه ولی اگه می‌خواین حتما فارسی باشه تهش بنویسین.

The chiropractor knuckles my neck Says there is a lot of muscle tension It feels nice just to lie down and listen Something about bones and ossification Did you know there are neck exercises? Ones that have you look back And to look at how far you've came, To appreciate the long-winded path? She rubs my temples, Asking if I'm alright Something about the tension, In my body and my mind I don't know if I'm alright, I don't want to talk But it lingered in my head, just a little too much I'm afraid my stoicism Was played by the best actor I myself believed it was nothing The pain, the joy, all the anger Sure the grass may look greener over the horizon But that doesn't mean I'm not a gardener The fruit trees take years to harvest But I still can appreciate the blossoming orchard (The art piece in the photo is called "Flashdance" by Sandrine Pelletier) -Pardis