Category: thoughts

Words

give me a world to fill
I want to spread my heart on the sheet of paper
and melt together with letters

inkheart-born
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.

Secret Garden

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.

Between Today and Tomorrow

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.

 

Moment

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.

Hades

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.

 

Malvae

malva blooms
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.

Water of Life

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…

Hate

A word for people in Tolkien fandom, whose tongue drips with venom:

Tolkien believed in good. But don’t be fooled that he would see it in people who throw insults at the actors, bash the new show from left to right like pinata, or speak negatively of people who genuinely enjoy the new production. He would speak his mind, because he believed in good. Such people not necessarily are timid or frail.

Wasting time and effort on pointless hatred is seemingly a part of our age. Don’t be an ass. Don’t follow the hate trend. Enjoy and allow to enjoy others.

This world already is a hell pit. Don’t add additional kindling to already bursting fire.

Forever Is a Long Time

Forget forever, forest child, as forever is bathed in forgetness. The more you live, the more tucks in dark caverns of the brain and is swallowed by time. Eaten by days that pass, drank by nights that cradles us to sleep. Forget forever, as forever is really a long time.

I never cried after my father, he was always a threat in my life, a dark candle burning over my safety, its light flickering over my happiness. When he died in flurry of blood, just before my eyes, I felt nothing. It was like dark flame of his existence created a black hole in which all my feelings were sucked and pressed by gravitation.

I felt like the same black hole spits me in another dimension, into much kinder world, lacking him, his insults and drunk presence. I felt like my dark wings gain feathers, not less black, but softer.

And I still didn’t feel anything.

But I am scared how short my memory reaches into days when he was alive. My memory, a thing I was always proud of, doesn’t summon his face, his voice and even events which were good, when we both were younger and better and our relation wasn’t stained by vodka.

I remember… nothing.

Aside of a day, when he took my dog and returned without her. My memory had to filter this of all, leaving hazy days of youth in annoying pit of forgetness.

I would like to remember, I would like to choose what I remember. But maybe it’s better that way.

I don’t want to remember some things, that I would be too afraid to recall, if I did. And I know they would be coming back.

And forever is really a long time.

To Goth or Not to Goth

Me: I want to be clad in black goth girl, black eyeliner, black lipstick, lace, latex and vampire fangs, all enveloped by wings of darkness.

Me (as well): I am too lazy to wear all that stuff and bite my own lips with fake fangs. I am too lazy to be a good goth.

I ended as a messy forest spirit, wearing crown of leaves, branches vest and nothing more. Leaves. Leaves everywhere! Gloriously unorganized…