maverick poole / six. fin

🌱 kaitlin.
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last seen Apr 24, 2024 20:40:36 GMT -5

aspiring beam of light

maverick poole / six. fin Aug 6, 2020 0:06:28 GMT -5

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Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Aug 6, 2020 0:06:28 GMT -5

maverick poole
sixteen | six

✦

❛ we look almost happy out in the sun, while we bleed to death from wounds we don't know about— ❜

✦

scorpio

Last Edit: Aug 10, 2020 21:52:20 GMT -5 by 🌱 kaitlin.

what are men to rocks and mountains?

a haunted house.

🌱 kaitlin. Graphics 2,683 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Apr 24, 2024 20:40:36 GMT -5 aspiring beam of light	maverick poole / six. fin Aug 6, 2020 0:25:06 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Aug 6, 2020 0:25:06 GMT -5
	what are men to rocks and mountains? a haunted house.

🌱 kaitlin. Graphics 2,683 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Apr 24, 2024 20:40:36 GMT -5 aspiring beam of light	maverick poole / six. fin Aug 7, 2020 22:42:06 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Aug 7, 2020 22:42:06 GMT -5
	Last Edit: Mar 22, 2021 21:06:35 GMT -5 by 🌱 kaitlin. what are men to rocks and mountains? a haunted house.

🌱 kaitlin.
Graphics

2,683 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Apr 24, 2024 20:40:36 GMT -5

aspiring beam of light

maverick poole / six. fin Aug 8, 2020 20:48:54 GMT -5

Quote

Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Aug 8, 2020 20:48:54 GMT -5

No one remembers who you used to be.

You aren't sure, at this point, if there's anyone left in your life who even remembers you from before, aren't sure if you have managed to hold onto a friendship longer than five full minutes before they gave up on you and your absolute inability to love them back the way that you know they deserve.

Maybe once upon a time you were a creative child, a kinder boy. Maybe, before your dad showed up in a morgue with six bullet holes where a vest should have been, you were the kind of soul that knew how to love, the kind of boy that knew what it felt like to smile—well and truly. Not a sneer, or something crueler even. Maybe you weren't always a demon with fangs bared, not a dead-eyed thing.

Maybe.

There's no one left to say either way.

✴

"Make me feel alive," she says, wrapping her arms around your neck, clinging onto you because she thinks maybe she could change you. Not unlike the boy before her, not unlike nearly every unfortunate soul before her. You've never been one for small talk though, and your response is quick, sharp, like the edge of a blade.

Your mouth pressed to the neck of the bottle, sitting on the edge of a roof, eyes black holes where bullets could belong: "living hurts."

✴

Both of your elder brothers hate him.

You choke on their hatred though, can't help but want to stop breathing every single damned time they bring it up. They talk about the shady shit that your dad used to pull, talk about how he was flawed, about how he was human, and it makes you want to curl into yourself and just—stop breathing.

Because, really, what does it say about you for loving, unconditionally, someone like that? Worse still, what does it say about you for needing a flawed man's approval?

Something horrible, you're sure.

So you pretend you don't hear them.

You choke down half a bottle of vodka, pretend that you don't taste the burn, and then finish it off and pretend to dream about something else. Anything else. You haven't dreamed in years, not really, not since you realized that all you had to do to stop the night terrors from coming was not sleep—but still. You think that dreaming about something half-hearted is less scary to most people than the idea of not dreaming at all, so that's the story you always go with.

✴

"Can't you ever just be fucking vulnerable?" Nolan spits at you one day over dinner. It's you and him, plus your mother and other brother, all sat around the dining room table, and you can't even remember anymore what set him off, what it was that you said, or rather, more likely what you didn't. "You're not fucking invulnerable, Mav! Everyone has a goddamn weakness!"

You remember your mother, mouth to her glass of wine, flinching at every single curse. When you speak, it's your fathers words on your tongue.

"Weakness invites a knife."

Your mother closes her eyes.

✴

You love the music wing now.

Well, you suppose that the idea of you properly loving anything is something of a stretch, but it's the only sentiment that you can think will adequately relay exactly how much you need that place.

Everyone is always surprised when they figure it out, that you like to roam the halls where the music classrooms are, sit down on a bench and not even pretend to study for whatever class you're supposed to care about that day. No one can ever properly make sense of you, why you do things, but maybe that's because you're afraid of the fact that you know you only go there to try and quiet the voices in your head. You like the music because every single note has a purpose for you to latch onto, like to savor every note, taste each melody. As a child, you'd begged your parents to get you lessons, to have someone teach you how to play, but you were fucking terrible at it.

If that could have been what you dedicated every moment of your time to, it would have been, though you won't deny that the feeling of creating something where there once was something different—that's not a feeling you know how to put into words.

In the end though, you guess it doesn't really fucking matter. You were aggressive and unkind and closed-off and completely unwilling to pay any attention in school so your mother sent you here instead of dealing with you herself. It's not even like you really blame her, not in any real way. It's not her fault that every time you try and sleep there are horror drenched images behind your eyelids, monsters where you wish there would be anything else. It's not her fault that your father is dead and it's not her fault that your brothers fucking hate him now and it's not her fault that you don't have any idea how to hate him, don't have any idea how to even pretend like you want to.

It's maybe her fault that she didn't know how to deal with you herself, but in her defense, you can't deny that you're a fucking handful.

✴

The thing is, this is what you tell yourself over and over and over again: truth isn't the same thing as fact.

Truth is personal.

Last Edit: Aug 10, 2020 21:55:12 GMT -5 by 🌱 kaitlin.

what are men to rocks and mountains?

a haunted house.

🌱 kaitlin. Graphics 2,683 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Apr 24, 2024 20:40:36 GMT -5 aspiring beam of light	maverick poole / six. fin Aug 10, 2020 21:51:03 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Aug 10, 2020 21:51:03 GMT -5 gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan
	what are men to rocks and mountains? a haunted house.

gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan Administrator 7,693 POSTS last seen Apr 24, 2024 15:04:14 GMT -5 — 🥀 —	maverick poole / six. fin Aug 11, 2020 12:31:49 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan on Aug 11, 2020 12:31:49 GMT -5 time 2 kiss now (:
	^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}