slxthserenade

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It’s January and you’re sitting in your bathtub again. The water is searing hot and it melts through your skin and flesh and muscles and tendons and joints. And it’s so cold. You’re freezing, your bones are shivering. The steam surrounds and suffocates you. Your eyes are hazy. The water isn’t enough to drown you or your thoughts, you were naive to think it would. Your mind slips away and the only thing you feel is your heartbeat thrumming inside your ears. The only thing you feel is your heart, beating for a purpose. Purpose, purpose, purpose— flows through your veins. Your heart beats for a ghost.

#al writing #this sounds so emo and so serious for smth that was conjured in my head right before fainting in the bath #january was WIIIIILD #had me questioning my life purpose and shit #its not the most lyrical or musical piece but i love it nonetheless

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Spring passes just as quickly as it approached, right inbetween my fingers, yet the ink still runs through the quill’s end as surely as the blood in my veins.

In just two months. June’s end. Where will we be ? Are you yet another fleeting spring to be quietly added onto my shelf, left to collect dust ? Yet another fleeting spring, to wordlessly line the seventeen others beside it ? Spitefully ornate collection.

Yet another spring. Is it you ? Is it me ? Is there such a thing as us ? The questions are endless and poetry has run its course. After all, what are words to the only one who has left me speechless ? How do I return to quill’s sharp cold when your warmth still lingers on my hand ?

I know, I ask for what’s not mine. Selfishly, I ask for your image not to fade from my mind, for my verses not to lose their colour. Even more selfishly, I ask for you to stay. It isn’t an eternal spring I yearn for, no. It’s to see you by my side, to see how summer lights up the brown of your hair, how the December frost colours your cheeks red, how the autumn wind makes your eyes close. How spring and all its shades decorate your hair, as I place flowers on your pretty waves.

#al writing #oh the woe of finding a person who SO CLEARLY personifies the season you love most #not one but TWO poems related to spring. all about him. #same guy. who fucking else. #down bad ! #an electric chair isn’t enough i need a guillotine atp #also !! #his bsf asked me to show my down bad heartbroken poetry and uhm #i showed him this. i was feeling silly #not like it’ll ever reach him

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his name was actually Mr. Twitter before he was bought by Elon Musk

#resident evil

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#resident evil #luis serra

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If cats knew what sin was they wouldn’t even care

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I miss you viscerally. With a gaping ache in my chest, with veins parched of blood. With hands itching to reach forward and hold your face. With an emptiness between my arms that pillows do so little to fulfill. With eyes that scan every crowd for a glimpse of your beautiful brown, and with a mind that refuses to believe you are a city away. I miss you viscerally, in spite of myself.

#al writing #not fandom related #a microwave isnt fucking doing it anymore i need an electric chair. #same boy #its always him. who fucking else. #please i want to hug him so bad #aching and yearning for smth i never even had #this is in no way good or refined it started out as a vent in my notes but when i reread it i thought damn thats not bad

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You’ll never get to know the hand

who wakes, twitches, at the thought of holding your face.

It doesn’t know how to caress, it knows nothing of softness.

All it has ever done is tear, drag, stab with its ink

into pages upon pages,

in a frantic attempt at writing you.

It can write of caressing

with all the flowery metaphors of all the great novels.

But you ?

It only ever trembles before you.

#al writing #writing dump #im gonna be so real with you I hate this. #its missing smth or its wrong altogether #I hate traditional verse poetry man #I tried to give each cut its own meaning but they still feel random you see what i mean #i rly tried ok. i tried. #BUT IT DOESNT FLOW MUSICALLY #whatever #free verse is where it’s at !!

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My youth teachers have often spoken of Abraham. A great figure, a servant worthy of being immortalised down in the lines of the Holy Word. Thursday church, I listened and lowered my head once prayer time had come.

My grandmother often recounted to me the tale of Abraham. Admirable, valiant, God-loving Abraham. Curled up closer into the thin sheets of my grandparents’ bed, I listened and sang along with her the hymns of prayer.

My mother has always loved the story of Abraham. How enduring and faithful of a man he was, never once relenting in his trust in the Lord. The Lord’s closest friend. Morning gathering of our family, she smiled at the open page of Genesis. Seated beside her, curled up into the hard cushions of our living room, I lowered my eyes onto the Word and continued to read.

My father has always preached the life of Abraham. The man tested by God, with a faith so unshakable that he was was willing to give all he had to the Almighty if He were to ask. All he had. All he had, even his own progeny. Sunday church in a small village, Abraham stood upon a low pulpit and announced the time for prayer into a faulty microphone. Between my uncle and my mother, seated in the middle of a rusty wooden bench, I lowered my face in prayer. Had their eyes not been closed in devotion, they would’ve seen the tremble in my hands.

Saturday nights. My father lays awake, writing verses down into a white sheet, preparing to preach on the pulpit tomorrow morning. He only ever needed the verses, never notes or anything of the like. His words have always flown as smoothly as a running river— not a wink of hesitation for those who are filled with the Holy Spirit, for they are the spokesmen of God himself.

‘Abraham chained Isaac to a sacrificial altar, raised the knife against his son without a shadow of hesitance. For his God. For his God’s test. Would you do the same ?’ My voice didn’t sound like my own.

Not a word had flown from his lips. Only a breath. “God knows. God knows exactly how to test His servants. God wouldn’t give them a test too difficult. He knows best what’s in our hearts. God is merciful. Only God knows my devotion to Him.” An uncharacteristic, broken litany, a shaky, unfamiliar stream of words is all I received from my father.

Indeed, a broken, whispered litany is all the lamb-eyed Isaac received when climbing the mountain alongside his father. A broken, tearful litany is all that his father had uttered when the knife grazed Isaac’s chest. A broken litany muttered with closed, fear-stricken eyes, a prayer from a servant to his God, never between father and so-called beloved son, a broken litany to the Sun above. Salvation, salvation and mercy, he begs. Heaven has granted you salvation, father. But your sickly progeny lays yet still, impaled to the earth through a single, festering butcher’s knife. After all, who ever wonders how the unknowing lamb ached, when the blade plunged into its angel-stained wool ? Salvation, my Lord, he yells again. And not a single prayer for my pains, not a single apology, not a single ‘I love you’, not a single—

‘What do you say to joining me tomorrow on the pulpit ? Remember your verses ?’

Of course I recall, I had them memorised by heart, Genesis 22:2. Tomorrow I would join him on Mount Moriah. Had Abraham’s eyes not returned to the open book of Genesis and to his white sheet of paper, he would’ve seen the tremble of my chest.

#al writing #not fandom related #writing dump #shoutout to lei #religious trauma #goes insane #inspired by that time i asked my dad if he’d do the same as abraham and he didn’t respond #which is arguably even worse than telling me directly that he would #ANYWAYS #writumblr #poetry #???

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I met you in February’s misty beginnings. When the grey still tinted the windows and the day never lingered on for long.

I met you and you were all stories and adventure. You trailed imagination, colours too vivid to ever fully seem yours. You spoke in borrowed words, expressions that never fit you quite right. A laugh too melodic, lingering for a second too long to be true.

In between the lines of each adventure you nestled yourself, took shelter in every thin turn of a page. Still yet bright-eyed, you picked out words from all fonts, colours, paragraphs, and strew your own stories. Every letter a heartbeat, every space a breath. Your veins are woven with lines upon lines, coursing with black as ink. You remain veiled all the words you wrapped around yourself, in place of warm arms.

But it was as if the sun itself had coloured you in all the hues of spring, filling in the gaps between each pore, running along each strand of hair. Dotting your eyes with specks of verdant grass, threading them with long-winding branches of auburn— a forest too easily lost in. All the shades of a meadow buried deep within the trees, scattering flowers wherever your feet go, a trail of colours in your wake.

My fingers could never grasp you. Not a portion of you was ever tangible in my hands. I won’t even attempt to get a hold of you. Spring passes just as quickly as it approached, in that stuffy room tinted grey with winter. And what else is left of it but fading memories, poorly transcribed colours and a smile far too vivid ?

(( You know ? The colder, carefully crafted brown of your eyes could never spread far enough to cover the surrounding tint of green that glimmers with near childish glee. ))

#al writing #not fandom related #writumblr #written for a boy I met for 2 day and didn’t speak a single word in person to #I like him too much please help #i’m happy i kept in that last scrap line because it was his favourite #im down horrendous #never assume you’re un-poetryable bc this guy i barely knew somehow became my muse #not even the best of my writing about him #someone hit me with a microwave

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the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

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when I was a little kid at some point I got upset with my parents because I didn't have a crucifix in my bedroom and they did- I was like why do YOU get to be safe from vampires??? you're okay with me getting my blood sucked???? so we took a little trip to the catholic store but the one closest to us was run by a group of nuns that had been moved here from romania. I got a little baby pink cross and this sweet old nun was like 'aww, is this a baptism gift?' and I was like no. I need to be protected from vampires. and she immediately got SO serious and was like 'this is the best one we've got, you'll definitely be safe' and since she was literally from vampire land I was convinced she was like, van helsing. like the whole time my parents had been laughing about how cute my fear was but she literally Knew dracula and was taking my concerns seriously I held this over my parents for so long lmfao

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#ferdibert #fe3h

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Forgot it was Pocky Day, so here a quick doodle~

#fe3h #ferdibert

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you understand that ingrid is a repressed lesbian. good

absolutely her closeted lesbian in denial vibes are fucking off the charts. she watches hardcore lesbian porn in the dead of night on her little chromebook every day and still insists she's straight

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Poor Caspar.

I got tags for context here but they’re from a different blog? Oop. Well. Here they are beneath the cut anyway. May just be a weird coincidence!

#fe3h #linbert #biblically accurate linbert

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Source: https://www.tumblr.com/daneicole/664127976697479168/she-most-certainly-did-not-lines-taken-from?source=share

#fe3h #black eagles #DID SHE STUTTER

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