Gothic Mist

All the fogs are arousing such gothic today just look what happened to my nails 


I awoke and ate a mango and an almond butter and one felt such stridence and tallness and powerful, the latter two of which I feel are interchangeable; it's an inherent societal mutation burden of vertical oppression precludes power. 

I then saw the doctor and he was v kind but I couldn't help feel that he probably runs a satanic cult every night but it's okay because I could see he has an inherent kindness in his soul, even if it's devoted to lucifer it doesn't matter becuase he brought me to tears with his nonpareil of devotion to his client. I cannot refute president snow, for he's right: it's the things we love that destroy us.
But also, miss everdeen, it's the things we repent that rebuild us. 

So even if he is an unapologetic sociopath, his soul is unscathed in my mind's eye because that malice is a masquerade 

In English we learned the best word: newfangleness which is basically just a fancy 'new' and at lunch Lauren is crowned the surreptition quén bc she got braces and I had no idea!!!! I then lamented over how I miss mine honestly braces are a rite of passage when I write my first Bildungsroman novel it will be centred around the interchangeability of removal of braces and loss of innocence this will be key to our beloved hero's tragic undeserving downfall

After school I walked through the fog to the hopsital to get my blood sucked out and as I arrived the lady directed me and I walked down the clinical corridors listening to 24 by Lana I felt like I was in an episode of casualty but I found the blood house and received a number
You may have my number
You can take my name
BUT YOULL NEVER HAVE MY HEART
({let the fyskall})

I waited like 16 minutes until I was called and then my doctor was awaiting me and she was literally like helena from orphan black!! She asked me what I'm gonna study and I said English Literature probably and she said she was never good at anything Except biology and chemistry and blood so she has a degree in blood and every time she said the word I felt our eyes encircle in a ring of euphoric flames entrapped amid demonic fire; alas she always released me. In her Russian or Ukranian voice she asked me if I want to be a teacher/ writer and with a razor v shaped flash of a smile I said with tentative but definitive certainty "I think I'd like to be a writer". I honestly think this is the first time I've ever said this to anyone with such resolute pride and now I actually belive it and I can see myself walk into a small town waterstones (along with my four child weightlifters who pay me to work out in my hairs but are actually doing me a favour because ain't no body gonna drag me down especially not my BITCH HEAVY HAIRS) and I'll walk past the fiction section with my cloak spraying gothic rainbows across everything it caresses with its silken ripples and velvet cherry waves, and I'll catch the glimpse of a blue flame spelling the words Strange Birds and it'll still be fully in stock but I'll know that if its in a small town waterstones then it's in a West London shopping centre and I'll cry a weak wave of washed out laughter as the corners of my mouth shatter like my fragmenting heart and my lip line fades into the wrinkles of my face like my long lost soul and only I'll know of what it's really made of and I'll look upon the blue from the corners of my eyes like a tiresome dagger just half heartedly fell through me and not quite severing my tendons but superficially slicing my ventricles just so that my vision is blurred with my tears of blood as I remember what this cost me and what I lost and I make a silent atheistic prayer that the blood I lose will take away my past and wipe away my memories knowing no matter what I forget, one cannot purify a desolate soul. 

Then I transcended this true pathetic fallacy once again as I met my dad by the music store and the air so deceptively thickened and blackened into night and I embraced my nyctophillia


To conclude I lit my cocoa vanillé candle I don't think I've ever had such a gothic night but today we witnessed true pathetic fallacy and it's now 1:08 am and I just spent like an hour on this and I have so many untouched essays in for tomorrow oh the destruction of procrastiblogs

Word of the blog: nychto/scotophillia 
- love of the darkness

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