Cold and Gray
On this Sunday afternoon, cold and gray
The rain taps softly, in its rhythmic way
The air is crisp, with a chill that bites
As I sit here, on the rocky heights
In the cold and rain, there's a subtle charm
A reminder that life can be both cold and warm
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All alone in the dark,
The cold air fills my lungs,
Striking harsh feelings,
Overwhelming my brain,
It's so hard to not feel anything,
The emptiness that clouds my judgement,
Since you have walked out of my life,
Feeling so small without your company,
Your presence filled me with so much hope,
But now there is nothing to be hopeful for,
The constant memories of our fights,
The loud screams echoing in the hall ways,
A reminder of what used to be can no longer be fixed...
©️randik86
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If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?
Emily Dickinson, from Selected Letters, 1971
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November 15, 2023. 12:19 PM I guess I felt kinda intense when I wrote this haha
Notes: drowning (?), coldness, metaphor for winter depression & perhaps trauma, metaphors for (past thoughts of) self-hatred & suicide ideation…?
It looks the same at a glance, but beneath the surface, things are slowly escalating, like walking on a frozen lake, not knowing that something lurks beneath the waters until the ice cracks enough that you fall through. Then it’s an uphill battle to keep yourself (your “self” and your body) alive. By then, who cares about how much fish you catch or how well your technique is?
But the guy fishing on the surface of the frozen lake is… all that people see. And he seems so patient and calm, if not a little spaced out.
“An abyssal indigo depth where you’ve no idea what’s changed, but you can’t feel satisfied anymore.
…haha, is this who I’ve become?
Abyss, huh?
No, you KNOW what’s changed, based on your history! It’s just slow-acting, that’s all!”
—October 8, 2023
Because every year I have to fall through and fight my way back to the surface. No one sees this or understands. Curse that surface. Curse that winter. Curse that beloathed masquerade.
The rest of the iceberg is beneath the surface.
-
Knowing me, in this metaphor I’d probably dive down beneath the frozen surface and write down my observations of my condition and the thing that lurks in the depths, neglecting all surface duties and seeing this dark and cold environment as the norm.
“Ah, I’m fated to do this every winter, so I guess I’m okay with this slow descent.”
If it was me from last year or the year prior, he’d probably tire himself out beneath the surface. He’d forget who he was while trying to kill that thing in the water’s depths, swearing that this thing is separate from him while not knowing it’s a part of him—me—after all.
“This is not me!” he’d—I’d—say. “Kneel and weep, you damned thing, and don’t you dare touch those I care about. Exile me, if anyone sees me like this.”
(“Should they come to think that my blade is pointed at them, exile me then, to wordless songs, and make me leave beneath the name of solitude,” more like.)
And then, because he still wanted to observe and remember it all, he’d see himself as someone else writing down the “report”.
Yeah, I guess I was really harsh towards myself.
…
The cold light of day must reach at least the surface. I cannot wake at nightfall all the time, roused only by the frantic tin whistle of that certain “young noble”’s theme. And yet, it was him after all who motivated me to rise from…
Does it feel better this way? That it’s this endless white that stretches far beyond the horizon as opposed to that never-ending /nʰə̞ɪt/ that falls?
The poet side of me would even figure skate elegantly above that surface. He leaves—I leave—trails and marks upon the frozen ice while knowing full well that the part of me beneath the surface is… not quite downing but lacking in something.
In the end, I’m just me.
Do not lose yourself in this new metaphor like a moth to a flame.
…
Prithee, light of day—answer me.
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In the Cool Pond
I sit immersed, in nature's grace
A gentle smile upon my face
The water's touch, so pure and clear
Washes away my doubts, my fear
The world outside fades far away
In this moment, I choose to stay
Have a great day everyone 💋💋
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