give me a world to fill
I want to spread my heart on the sheet of paper
and melt together with letters
broken raven flying over a non-existent forest
transparent fox trying to fit into reality
Sometimes I think my words, the words I talk with and the words I try to express my emotions, are disappearing in the mist, eaten by the nothingness, and people just pass them by, not even hearing them. The words, that bloom from rotten roots, to feed on decay and burst with feral wilderness. Wild and alien, like stalk of grass that grew between the street arteries.
Sometimes I think they are the only things that understand me, those words.
These little letters that allow me to drink their blood and form the new reality from it.
I want to believe I have place in this world. But probably, I should be swallowed by a book and be kept there, pressed between sheets, slowly drowning in the story.
I grew secret garden between my brick walls. She is on the swing – I look up, to catch my happiness, gleaming like a starry night.
It’s here. It’s really here.
There is a love by the corner.
There is a love behind the veil.
There is a love between today and tomorrow.
Evening filled with hot chocolate and cookies, Middle-Earth and… truth.
Goddess, give me the strength so I wasn’t a coward. The words I will utter, I use so rarely.
My dog thinks cats are horses. If you say ‘horsie’ next to him, he will start searching for my cat. I blame myself, tbh. And my dog is really intelligent. There is needed a higher intelligence for that. My Barnaby knows at least two animals other than dog. Maybe doesn’t differ them, but still.
No cats allowed! I mean, no horses in this room…
We are tired, me and my soul. My body is tired and my heart too. I feel like an elven creature, ordered to depart to Valinor, even if they don’t want at all. They want to live a hobbit life, among fields of wheat and forests filled with mysteries.
They want to run through wilderness with a bow and arrow and shoot the falling stars.
But they are also taken by the hand and pushed on the boat. To leave forever.
And that way I feel lately. Out of place in immortal land. Leaves and pine needles in hair, among the marble statues made of perfection. Wearing a stone gown, that traps them in the moment, while the exact moment is causing their skin bleed.
I want to dive into secret pond, in a garden of moss delights. I want to hold my breath forever, looking as bubbles of immortality drift to the surface. Exile me from Valinor, give me something to sing about.
Something wild. Something strange. And at the same time completely normal.
Give me life that I could call my own. Even if for a moment, which would replace the one I am trapped in.
Give me a wind that would take my breath away and filled my lungs with juvenile joy.
The boat drifts on my shore… like a reminder… and like a promise. This creature is scarred but still so alive.
you are savage, my soul
drowning in deepest lakes
choosing the darkest oceans
to sink in
you are so vile, my soul
breathing in the white flames
craving for scorched skin and burnt hair
you are gloriously evil, my soul
taking in the darkness
and building an armor from it
we are so wild, my soul
tearing our flesh to the bone
but standing still after the battle
I am made of dreams and nightmares. Of fire and earth.
Flaming mirages of good life, that is so close yet still unreachable, like forbidden fruit; juice dripping on my skin, staining it with red and yellow, with sun and stars, but never reaching my mouth. A torture of being one step from the fulfillment, a personal Tartarus of punishment without guilt.
I am becoming Hades himself, shaping my torment into strength; I am a king of my own pain, a god of Styx, which flows through my veins long enough to change my heart into a bone muscle, pumping ink, feeding on my own suffering.
I am stronger with my shadow. It eats my fear, and replaces it with anger.
Which kills my enemies with burning flame, buries it alive in the black soil. My nightmares scream, my prey writhes in the net made of crimson rage and blood thorns.
I won’t go in peace, I will fight with talons and teeth. To reach the forbidden fruit, to the sound of fate’s laughter turning into delicious silence of death.
I know my cat likes them dangols and jingols.
As long as it hangs, it’s pattable. My ears hang enough. If I was an elf, I would have scars on them. Done by restless hunter of portruding things.
My cat likes dangols and jingols. Yes, he does.
through the cracks in my bench
mal for darkness of my heart
va for friends I always lose
among the fertile garden
bleeding flowers sprout the thorns
my second skin
built with marble moth wings
a feelingproof cocoon
for my insecurity
I am made of malvas
mal for gloom that eats my soul
va for hearts I always break
drifting in the sea of oblivion
hunting for unreachable stars
… and there is always that lingering thought, on the periphery of the brain: is this me who hurts the toxic people leaving them? Is the me doing wrong, taking care of my mental stability? Even if I knew the answer, there was that guilt crawling inside like a parasite and slowly eating subconsciousness.
But enough with that. I won’t be an ass to myself. It’s enough that others are.
I want to dive into creativity like in a pool filled with water of life.
But… not the life-giving water that will prolong it and gives me health. Nononono.
I want a Dune-like water of life, which will turn and twist my guts and spawn characters that will cause you love them and despair.
I want to create the end of all of things and go even further.
[ I am an evil mother for my imaginary children. The dose of suffering is almost legendary. ]
Someone stops me…