Tag Archives: hope

circling infinity

colder nights

where i wish

your limbs

are intertwined

with mine

summer snowfall

cotton fibres

wandering

empty branches

all over again

vast meadows

for ancient souls

to rest on

fragrance of

inkstains and dying

strawberries

breeze whistling

haunting melodies

but i stay away

from noisy static

and i listen to

a smiling song,

hidden blush

distractions

oh, i don’t mind

messy clouds

clearing up

a splatter

of shy stars

slowly make way

for a painted

embrace

fairy lights and

oceanic laughter

lying in wait

a soft illusion

of hyperrealisms

and misplaced

daydreams

fell dryads of life

neither mine,

nor yours

our transience

taking chances

still fighting

against control

and colours

and this violent

riot of frigid

chemicals

blissful nothing

smitten euphoria

an oxytocin kiss

for a love that

won’t exist

in a future

vespertine or

less miserable

than a cold night

all alone,

contemplating

sombre and lost

picking dead grass

from high tops

and sweaters

and tangled veins

gently hoping for

a vacancy, yet

unraveling at

the harshest thought

of somebody else

interlocked with

your limbs

arms and legs

talks and lips and a

puzzle of bones

and reposing bodies

tranquil hush

whispers of blue

fading away

and falling down

keeping all of your

warmest nights.

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mementos and keepsakes

pieces of you—

scattered on post-it

notes, and cute stickers,

and bright polaroids

grinning at me every time

i have my head buried

beneath my terse hands,

sitting blankly by the table as my

unsteady life starts giving in

to the inexorable collapse…

.

i think it’s killing my mind

.

but i take these little

pieces of you, and i use it

to fill in the missing patches

within me that’s making

me crash and crumble

until they render me whole;

maybe someday i could

finally return them to you, but

not without pieces of me

still clinging on to it—

.

i hope you won’t mind.

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Peripheral Vision

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What a stubborn thought; to be loved, to be lost, to be loathed.

My initial mistake was to get myself foolishly caught up in the former instance, without carefully considering the ulterior consequences of my despicably reckless actions. I dived headfirst without peering in to see if there was a tangible ocean beneath me, and cried out in regret when my body got viciously torn apart by the jagged rocks awaiting below.

But, what else could I have done? And what else should I have not? I could spend my entire life painstakingly sifting through the showering grains of the hourglass, attempting to find a diamond until time runs out; or I could simply let the sand fall away to its own accord as I willingly hold out my roughened hands below—hurting, helping, hoping. The unfortunate namesake “human” is deeply threaded through my innocent nerves, shutting out the callous pessimism which only seeks to permanently cease my blood circulation; still withering against the gentler stings of anguish.

Though I have slowly faded out most of my past anamnesis, all of their phantasmic chimeras are still somehow luminously vigilant, almost even barbarous in its unremitting pursuit to frivolously preserve my already-squandered youth. Yet I suppose, no matter…no matter. For now, you are the overgrown wildflower field lulling my tired providence to rest, under fluid stars and unplucked scars and quavering sympathy—the only thankless relapse fully able to keep me awake for multiple infinitudes every twilight’s eve.

What a stubborn thought; to be loathed, to be lost, to be loved by you.

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a picture of patience

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half-remembered

plastic wiles

you’ve got that

kinda poppy smile

spring fills envy

and i’m steady

though my mind’s

about to break

if i’m sorry

you’re not ready

i’ll still own up

to my mistakes

when you find out

what it means

the oceans stain

with solitary pink

i’ll keep my secrets

right beside you

hope you sleep

before you blink

but it’s early

oh, far too early

and maybe i’ll be glad

for this may be an

augean journey

but you shall be my iliad.

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pseudonym [8]

am i the letdown that shook the foundation of their worries?

never did it to myself, but it seems i only ever did it to please

distichs and dead ends weren’t enough to keep me occupied

you left me spent, the choice i made just leads to a shortsight

.

callous, beguiling, simpleminded, though blindly overdramatic

indelible yet impossible, a performative living that feels emetic

zipped-up lips and narcolepsy hide a contraband of nightmares

embarking past columned spines, still seeking hope in nowhere

kept only by the promises disgraced—perhaps it was never really fair.

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sadder days

Dirty fingernails, same as your mind
But he can strum the guitar just fine
Every now and then he’d think about his life
Daydreaming just to pass the time…

~*~

today

is one of

those sad days

sadder days

morning grey

feels eclipsed

a ghost in

the window

blocking sunlight

reaching out

impalpable

sadness?

you dream

my darling, of

perhaps life

as you know it

or perhaps

nothing at all

as i pen eulogies

to my name

woe is me, my

dreams have

not been kind

they never were

but i hope

love, that yours

flourishes into

more than

sweet cosmos

and forget-me-nots

and the colour of

lilac i painted

your lips with

a pale afterglow

a subtle adoration

love, pure love

i hope all your

dreams visit you

not only when

you repose

and may they

never fall away

like, i ponder,

all those whose

footsteps have

faded from familiar

halls, missing

from freckles and

constellations

searching

for better days

or bitter days

or both—

they’ll be gone soon

but so will i

and so will you

and so will all

these sad days be

i only wonder

what time brings

for you and me

tomorrow

~*~

Now the sun is closer than it was before
Anyone who’s anyone can feel it
Saturdays are not the same as they used to be
Sadder days, why do they keep on using me?

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Temporary Weather

and i’ll catch up.

i’ll stumble out of this blackout, even if it takes more than a few scars and stars and more than a few yesteryears

falling apart and over and down and out and again but never giving in and saving the old lies for the worst parts of my life

left in the past not made to last

i used to believe in you but i don’t believe myself

but now maybe there’s a sliver of faith left over for the both of us to have, if you’re willing to share

you’re doing better now. you’re doing fine more than ever. though you know that stability won’t always mean permanent happiness, you’ve found your comfort in the cold

and the sun, little darling, is slowly warming up to you

and i’m happy for you. i really am.

with your pretty floral dreams, in technicolour. beyond the vale, no longer fit to be called mere dreams. sweet pastels. exquisitely tangible. mine still exist only at night

hiding beneath the darkest shadows and crashing through shut jagged windows and seeping deep like charcoal into my nervous system

and most nights, i can’t even sleep at all

but i’ll shut my tired eyes and make a wistful wish, i’ll keep my sleeves clean for the magic tricks, i’ll bare my levitating heart for the ones that i love, maybe they’ll be amused by it and raise their lips, maybe they’ll simply dismiss it and hate the cheap theatrics but

i’ll hope, still. and i’ll wait. and i’ll create. until nothing becomes something becomes everything becomes

infinities. a second of a lifetime. time. i have time.

and i’ll catch up.

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Filed under Prose

Mirage

Alright. Alright.

Let’s keep it simple. Let’s dissolve the convoluted hyperboles with a dose of sedating fentanyl and simply look the problem straight in its eyes.

Blue.

Not just pastel or skylight or marine or brilliant or midnight or cobalt or baby blue, no. But the kind of blue that makes any other shade of blue look lifelessly grey. The kind of blue you left me with watery gazes and sinkholes, when you left your thoughts to fester unstoppably in mine. The very kind of blue I never thought I’d hate to love.

Until now.

Sometimes, it faintly tastes of the tranquil oceanic breeze, and I could rest easy by the lonely bayside as I let my wandering thoughts ponder cautiously. Tiptoes clumsily traipsing against curious hope and lukewarm sand, fallen horizons blushing a pallid sunset orange, caught smiling unaware whenever I chance upon the nuanced way you adored every delicate brushstroke on the canvas I painstakingly laid out for you; an artist cursed to draw the same portrait forever.

Sweet. Bitter. Nothing.

Sometimes, it’s destructive blizzards all at once; mental violence haphazardly spitting ammunition directly into my targeted chest, turning me into a tattered tapestry of miserable fury—barely fit to be called human. My mind wails and shrieks as it rakes its bladed nails down my spine, coming undone at the uncontrollable paranoia that the very same paintings which brought your attention to my existence would now cause you to draw loathing deep into my skin; an artist blessed to despise their own creations forever.

Tantrums. Bloody. Everything.

My convictions are constantly wavering, my tessellated identity shattering into stagnant fractals if I even so much shed a sliver of you off of my armour, and the overgrown thorns that once quietly infected my lungs sting a whole lot worse when I try to pull them out. So I lie between my gritted chemical teeth and pretend it’s for the best, but no amount of feigned reassurance will ever quell the tormented pangs writhing inside of me, wrenching badly-stitched arteries apart again and crushing my fragile bones to silver dust. Irreparable.

Useless. Helpless. Hopeless.

And still, that blue—god, that damned kind of blue—so vividly engraved behind my closed eyelids like a restless epitaph. Keeping me wide awake and screaming silently in the cramped jail cell I call my home as it softly lulls me off into perpetual sleep. Far away from the echoes of the observable universe, and everyone else, and nothing else. Your inimitable shade of blue.

The kind I hate I love.

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Filed under Prose

darkrooms and diadems

daybreak

heartaches

lukewarm

rainfall

.

silhouettes

playing in

the corner

of a bad call

.

starlight

and ashes

woven into

a blonde king

.

hopeful yet

thoughtful

no mercy for

the dying

.

we’ll fly but

i’ll collide

with nothing

but comets

.

galaxies hush

still at your

voice, another

skyline death

.

mindless

so clever, yet

barely out

of my reach

.

no need for

your gold when

you’re the one

that i need.

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Filed under Poetry