melancatholic

[melancatholic]

[melancatholic]

july 15

[melancatholic]

“I love you while paying attention to external things. I love you with the window open. You are mine, and things are mine, and my love alters the things around me and the things around me alter my love.”

— Jean-Paul Sartre

[melancatholic]

Cassandra Clare

[melancatholic]

“É”

I'll be thinking about you

You whose years aligned with mine

So perfectly we could dance with time

If we wanted to

It scares me a bit to think

We were shooting stars barely missing each other

In the vast distances of space

And just like that we crossed paths

In different paces

In the most mundane of places.

I'll be thinking about you

Like I think about butterflies wandering in graveyards

Like the one star I used to take for granted in the skies

But now is the first thing I see

I've loved as a woman with guilt

As a girl blinded by temptation

Yet there's still something different to yearn as a girl with passion

To remember youth and the things which made it innocent

Listening to you talk whilst your miles away

Imagining your warmth when you said you would stay.

I'll be thinking about you

And the mysteries of the night skies

I just want you to know I do

Naked right before the void's scary eyes

I'll take it when it stabs

Even if I know better

Because I just can't help but dive deep into the dark

In the hopes of a little bit of spark

I know it's to good to be true

But I hope you think about me too.

- chantal

(image not mine)

#poems #literature #poem #poems by me #poetic prose #prose #writeblr #writer #original poem #original poetry #for e

[melancatholic]

“cherries”

One sunny afternoon

On the pavements walked a little boy

Wind blowing on his hair

Wild curiosity in the air

He's never been in this neighborhood before

But his feet couldn't stop walking some more

When suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks

Eyes looking through fence cracks

Where bushes of cherries populated gardens

Red and plump and arden

So much red his mouth starts to water

Oh how sweet they would taste on his tongue after

It was almost like a dream

That his pants couldn't help but scream

The gates were wide open to his surprise

So he trespassed and spoiled his eyes

He picked on the cherries

A few bursting on his fingers

Sticky and wet like crushed berries

He bit his lip and ate one

Then two then four

His mind running wild on the score

Then ran away when he was done

He kept on walking

More low fences on the side

More cherries more temptation

More sweetness more intoxication

He took way too much than he needed

From unguarded fences

No one to tell him no

No one to tell him he's reckless

His mouth dripped red

With his sugar stained hands

He could still taste the sweetness

Lingering in the wetness

Eventually he ran out of cherries

And he strolled to find other unlocked doors

Desperation in his veins

For he wanted more of the inebriating daze

Then came one house with tall brick walls

No low fences

No open gates

Perhaps there's cherries in there

Maybe even more than he can estimate

But he couldn't quite tell

So he jumped high and climbed

Intrigued by obscurity

Urged by compulsivity

The wall was taller than he expected

Sweat broke through his forehead

And he thought it must be a deadend

Once he reached the top

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped

For it was nothing he could've imagined

A garden teeming with cherries 

Here and there

Rarely touched, rarely seen

As if no one even tried to dare

And whomever was the last

Was the reason the wall was cast

He could already imagine what they taste

And he wasn't going to let this go to waste

He let himself fall

And landed on the soil

Taking in the view

Breathing in the dew

This is something new

And for the first time it kicked in

He was witnessing beauty not everyone had luxury to

Butterflies and flowers

Bushes and clovers

This was all his until the owner comes over

It didn't take him long to pick

Snatching a big handful of cherries from their branches

Shoving them into his hungry mouth

He indulged and indulged to his greed

He almost forgot he wasn't supposed to be there and heed

No one caught him, no one saw

The only witnesses were the bees and their was honey raw

Even the shy butterflies fell in love with him in awe

The last person there left it a mess

So many flies, so many pests

They had to rebuild the garden with no rest

And maybe this boy would finally be different from the rest

It was heaven for a while

It almost drove him mad

How could something be so good?

The previous gardens all of a sudden never could

But nothing lasts forever

Not even thrill

The excitement in his eyes died off

He no longer got his fill

After he took and took somehow the cherries still didn't suffice

He got what he wanted but at what price?

He was still hungry even though he was full

Nothing in that garden was enough anymore

Not the honey, not the leaves

The bees begged him to stay when he decided to leave

Pulling his feet back when he climbed the wall again

However, there was nothing they can do to stop him then

And so the boy was back on his stride

In search for something not even he knew what

Whilst the bees and butterflies missed him

Behind those brick high walls

Waiting for him to return 

Even though deep inside they knew he wouldn’t

He left it a mess

Just like the person before him

They were wrong when they thought it would finally be him

And now they have to start from scratch again

Pick up the fallen branches

Grow back empty patches

Why do they always take?

And abandon when there’s nothing left?

Perhaps the walls aren’t high enough

Maybe the pricks should be more deadly

This way everyone would keep out their games

And stop taking cherries from my garden already.

- chantal

#poems #literature #poem #poems by me #poetic prose #prose #writeblr #writer #original poem #original poetry

[melancatholic]

[melancatholic]

Wtf this is so cute

“You shall fall dead on the day of your first child’s birth!” Was the curse that young, inexperienced witch put on you. Little did she realize that, to an asexual like yourself, she’d essentially given you immortality. Every year, on the anniversary of your curse, she tries to “fix” things.

[melancatholic]

“any other way”

Is there any other way

I can say I want you

The veins tracing the back of your dark hand

Your fingers trailing up and down my skin 

Like rocks against silk

Your nails scratching my neck

Your teeth grazing my lips

Is there any other way 

I can say I want you

The hunger in your dark brown eyes

The childlike wonder in your pretty smile

Your arms with the warmth of home

Your words with the chill of stones

Your grip on my neck when we're all alone

Is there any other way

I can say I want you?

- chantal

(image is not mine)

#poems #literature #poem #poems by me #poetic prose #prose #writeblr #writer #original poem #original poetry

[melancatholic]

untitled

When you find your eyes

Which once stared deeply into mine

The way telescopes gazed into the night skies

Wandering to someone that is not me

I hope you don't let me see

Don't tell me

Make me keep believing the lie

That your heart is no one else's but mine

Ignorance is bliss

And bliss is your empty kiss

I don't want to know

You think about her when we're alone

I don't want a heads-up

When the fire between our touch is gone

I don't want to hear

Her name coming out of you when you're here

I just want you to myself

Until there's no more butterflies left

So don't tell me

When you find your eyes drift away from mine

Make me keep believing the lie

Until we have run out of time.

- chantal

(image is not mine)

#poems #literature #poem #poems by me #poetic prose #prose #writeblr #writer #original poem #original poetry

[melancatholic]

“sketch pad”

You're a sketch pad

Blank and intimidating

My eyes anxious to even stare

At the cover page

But my impulse takes me places

For there was something about your steepness

Which made me want to climb

Close enough to skim through your pages

The first one which greets me is black and white paint

Over a white background

Stark contrasts and sharp edges

Calculated lines and unexplored shapes

Despite the unfamiliarities I flip to the next pages

Sketchpad in my grasp 

Attempting to comprehend the theme

Pages and pages of black and white

But there I saw a splatter of color

In the middle of the canvas

I flip through some more and the splatter grew

Spreading through the pages

Leaking through the edges

Until the black and white is drowned out

By blue and pink and orange and yellow

Low contrasts and soft edges

Swirly lines and familiar shapes

Paint dripped on my fingers as I held you

Warmth spread through my chest

I haven’t even reached the end of the pages

I don’t want to reach the end of the pages

I’ve seen it all before

The colors return to black and white

It ends with everything being the last sight

Once more you’ll be just a sketchpad

And I, too anxious to even stare.

- chantal

(image is not mine)

#poems #literature #poem #poems by me #poetic prose #prose #writeblr #writer #original poem #original poetry

[melancatholic]

[melancatholic]

Korok Leaf Identification Poster made by AbiToads

[melancatholic]

“Ophelia, You were never crazy, You were just full of grief. (People are so blind, they don’t see That the water you drowned in Was made of your tears)”

— “Verb: To Understand”, The Cynical Idealist.

[melancatholic]

Lmao 😳😳😳

[melancatholic]

“We’re all trying to forget someone.”

— Six Word Story

[melancatholic]

“A delicate drowsiness is leading me into your gardens,”

— Anna Akhmatova, tr. by Judith Hemschemeyer, from The complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova; “To the artist”