I Spend Hours Upon Hours Lying Sedentary Within My Porcelain Throne

i found myself ripping out my eyelashes

blowing them off my finger

wishing that you would find yourself falling in love with me

hoping that star that i pray to every night

would take pity on me

granting my wishes true

Everything is fair

Even if the rules

Were never clear

And we didn't mean

This to be played

Like a game

But this is murder

And it will never

Make sense

To anyone

Why you pushed

Me from the rooftop

While I was whispering

I love you

To the stars

Now I'm lying here-

On this cold ground

Feeling everything turns

Upside down

I close my eyes

Breathe my last

As the wind hums

A requiem

For my broken heart

-requiem for my broken heart, katie

i used to rub my eyes as a child sitting in bed. when i did so, certain figures would appear, almost pixelizations in a way. It was certainly beautiful. The pressure formed intricate landscapes that I got the perfect view of. It felt like flying.

it could’ve been my strong will or maybe it was my secret city that allowed me to survive my childhood. Id like to think it was my city. When the world got too loud, i would escape to my home. Turning corners with a simple tilt of my head, it was the only place i felt at peace, souring over the city.

i don’t know what changed to cause me to stop visiting. my best guess is the stress of growing up amidst chaos made my adolescent hands to heavy to bring to my eyes. I still mourn my little city. I miss being able to fly.

not every dead man was noble and neither are the dying

has every fall from grace been exonerated

now that your date of demise has been established

long have we honored the fallen as kings

with little regard for their true archetype

have the moribund beings been pardoned of their wrongdoings

now that they face deaths eternal grasp

-sundayafternoonsedentary

I am pacing back and forth in my apartment, trying to keep from calling you with a fistful of matches. Any friction, and I will start a fire. 

The thought of the pain I may cause stops me nearly every time. Nearly. Deep down, I don’t want to hurt you.  In times like these, I forget that I can plant instead of burn. 

I am restless and cold and in need of a blaze. It has all grown so grey. I don’t care if I burn myself or you, as long as I can be rid of the fog.

Fire is is vibrant and warm and it flickers and flutters like the universe being born– like I am in control of my life for once–

until it dies down.  Then the grey returns with a vengeance, smoke and ash grey and icy and me truly alone in their midst, with nothing under control. 

I am no god. Fire in my hands  only destroys. It only burns. 

I know we have not talked in a while, but please, let me keep my distance until the sun returns and chases away the grey.  Leave me alone until I remember my love for what grows.

“i have a problem with letting go of things with clenching my hands like a vice and holding on despite everything it’s why i keep all my memories with me carry them in my phone, on my walls in the little box inside my closet even though it’ll always remain closed i have a hard time letting go of people, of memories that no longer ring true i clutch them like i’d be bereft without them the conversations with people i don’t speak to anymore the photos i want to pull down from my walls the memories i no longer want to recall i never allow myself to mourn i hoard them and keep them close and i just can’t seem to let go.”

— i no longer want to meet new people because i’m afraid one day all they’ll ever be are memories i want to revisit, redo, ones that i want to stay in forever and would forever regret. memories that i would never let go of, but memories, nevertheless | wt.

For someone who couldn't sleep in the confines of four walls, her presence seemed much like home,a warmth he had never known

Having spent his favourite times amidst trees, forests and raving waves, she felt much like a storm that hitting broke the sleep of his lonely shore

Where birds perched on trees came down the Earth to meet him, she sprung her wings away from him,soaring high in the sky

Water bend their ways to come pass him by and yet she carried the vigour of an ocean untamed and wild,windy and rough challenging him with her eyes

He could bare himself to biting coldness of any sort, yet the warmth that flew from the tip of her hands caught him off guard like never before

She is in the raving spirit of the sea, the scorching life of the sun, the serenity that gives life to the moon, in his very existence

She is the dream as well as the reality and every liminal space there is to be, she is the day and night and every shade of the sky in-between.

~nt

_ She was a different kind of a wind_

Image from Pinterest

The world I saw through adolescent eyes isn’t as brilliant now that I stand in it

I thought it was the fear of getting hurt

that held me back from falling in love;

now I understand

it was really the fear of hurting others

that was truly unbearable.

I'm not afraid of death

I am afraid of the minutes before it

When my bed of steel nails

Grow into roses

If petals could talk

They would whisper in pity

By their words, I'll bloody up my hands

With the wounds the size of torn rags

And I'll tear away the civilization I made

Count every grain falling through an hour glass

Till goodbyes erode away

Mountains stand short

Bring forth my old rivers

Drain them of glory

Count every grain falling through an hour glass

Till molten corpses fall from the sky

Bells A-ringing in chaotic serenity

Doves turn to face the weeping nights

To wish my old constellations goodbye

By their words, I'll bloody up my hands

Throw away my world, let it leave my grasp

If the petals could talk

They would whisper in pity

By their words I'll wash up my hands

Lay in my lush foggy blankets

Till my eyes flutter shut

And peppered kisses, end at the hands of my crumbling world

Divide my soul and body with bleach

I'll drink it until my body is pure and free

From sins I committed at their word

following a prophecy and commiting a sin,

is how religion is born, with its birth

Comes timed demise

I'm not afraid of death

I am afraid of the minutes before it

When cold blooded sins turn dove like, gentle

If petals could talk

They would whisper in pity,

"What a fool she was, to follow a prophecy to create belief. What a fool she was, to burn dynasties for their words. What a fool she was, what a fool she was"

(Repent for your sins to make those after you believe in rules, repent for your sins to turn unity into society, Repent for your sins to look at your hands to see the monster you've become, repent for your sins, repent for your sins)