I Gave A Spider Water

"I am a bird,

Locked inside its cage.

I am watched by others with glee,

As they listen to me sing songs of sorrow,

And my everlasting melancholy.

Forever stuck.

Forced to watch as others move along,

While I remember the freedom

That I'm no longer allowed to feel.

I remember the wind

As I raced through the breeze.

Never was I lonely,

With the sun and the sky,

Keeping me company.

Now I just watch

As my friends soar away.

They sing songs of joy,

And of freedom,

And love,

While I waste away.

I am a bird.

I am locked in my cage.

My love,

My freedom,

My joy,

All stolen away."

- B

Hello! This is my first post, so I don't really know what to do. This is a poem I wrote, and I'd be happy to read any criticism or advice you have for me, and I hope my poem was able to make you feel something.

My father’s laughter  

Was so loud,  

I could never tell if it was joy or pain.  

What a terrible thing it is,  

To watch your father’s pride  

Fade away  

I’m sorry you had to carry a weight  

You never asked for.  

I miss you.  

Do you ever begin a project, make some starting steps (write some code, opening paragraph, draw some lines etc) and next day you wake up you suddenly don't have that spark, that ebb which drove you to starting? Your ideas gone, and you still kinda want to do it, but there's next to no drive?

I'm pretty sure it's like that when I send screens/talk about story/lore to my friends xd

How my Limbus posts probably sound to my non-Project Moon fan mutuals

Bleebus Blorbus the Flesh-Rending Giraffe is a metaphor for childhood neglect and toxic relationships, which is very fitting how its E.G.O. Skin-Eater went to Tom Sawyer. Skin-Eater Tom Sawyer synergizes really well with Ten-o-Clock Flash Mob Office Fixer Tom Identity for Bleed and Rupture damage and may also give her ties to The Hat Man in her upcoming Canto.

Ephemeral blooms

Dress the portico pallid

Yesterday's resolve in soft translation,

Have I always dreamt of fervour

Have I always ached for more

I meet the teasing loss

From where it lingers,

Self evolved lament

It will often be a season

The curious untethered

Reaching out for loves return

Distant, whispered ache.

An age between and high stakes.

Leap we didn't take.

The beloved form of my cosmic horror, Art by Lucas Garcete

always shut doors and open windows, why the chill breeze  on my back - i can’t bear all this fresh opportunity streaming blue, screaming who are you to refuse a calling? consider this a push into further than can be seen, for cold feet and hot hands  busy with potential, view so wide it can’t be contained by panes split straight and squared, lines drawn and crossed, your leaving a threshold like a question still standing and abandoned, another empty frame

wandering illusions

they all have your face, except

you look happy. that’s how i know

this is not real.

~K.T.