• Illusion •
Hovering on the brink,
diving deep through stories,
and searching desperately for truth,
my senses get distorted.
In an ocean of lies,
pushing myself through the waves,
I see the shore of dramatic ironies.
Not knowing a way out,
I fumble with words
to keep myself sane.
Edging between fine lines,
I wonder if it was just an illusion.
that was the devastatingly beautiful.
that felt so real and perfect.
Oh indeed, it was one.
For it has come to a dead end.
you’ll wake up the dead
or bury it
12 feet under
perhaps even more
in loving memory
of my resentment
Types of people - handwriting
Requested by @cup-of-moriarty
Neat and even - late nights with books to the nose, glasses folded away, perfectionism, carefully ironed clothes, more stationary than sense, polished shoes, huge home library filled with things they plan to read but never will
Messy and rushed - cramming all night, piled up coffee cups and crushed energy drink cans, a sense of importance, impulsive decisions paired with lazy laughter, a walking contradiction, always up to talk when needed
Loopy and cute - pen pal letters painstakingly decorated, heart dotted i’s, studio ghibli movies, bullet journal, pastel outfits perfectly matched, cute when sleepy, really good at calligraphy, always singing under mumbles
Indecipherable - rubbed eyes and chipped nails, assignments handed in with seconds to spare, master of procrastination, unmade sheets, the kind of person who puts ‘nrs’ on their snapchat story but reply immediately
what is it like to feel wanted?
to laugh when you’re happy
cry when you’re sad.
what is it like to be beautiful
both inside and out?
be kind, but not enough to let them hurt you?
to not talk through your tears,
to tell your mother when you’re in love,
to not hurt the people you care about,
to run through dewy grass and feel it kiss your feet?
to not hide bruised knuckles,
or the smell of smoke,
or your empty stomach?
am I alive or do I just want to be?
If I fall,
Who’s going to catch me?
Dead but alive
Words sharper than knives
Kill me inside
No blood to cry
Day by day
Lifeless, I Iay
Limbs cold, can’t move
My eyes, no longer hope
Fights for the light
I scream and shout
Searching my pieces
Spirit with limits
Behind the starts
Always a weak one
If something makes you happy don’t let anyone change it just because their way of thinking is different than yours.
I don’t know why people leave me and I don’t know why some of them come back. But I know there are some people who will always be there no matter how many times I try to push them away. Some of them share my blood, some of them share my zip code, some of them share my alma mater, but they’ll all always be there. And you can let people leave when you know the ones who matter will always stay.
There are many things to mend the heart strings of a broken heart.
Gourmet ice cream, coffee, dinners alone, cigarettes, comical movies, manic shopping, dressing up for no one, and flirting with strangers.
However all these things only patch up a broken heart, still with scars showing at broken suture lines.
Eventually this brokenness leads to darker fantasies.
Alcohol, strong sedating pills, bars of euphoria, highs and lows of pain and happiness.
Xanax dreams, Valium naps, and Vicodin numbness.
Soon to find one hauled away in a hard plastic gurney for 30 days.
Only to repeat the cycle as if in a revolving door.
However one day the clouds will clear, the sun will appear, and the neon sky will be brighter than ever
If you look for the light you can often find it, but if you look for the dark that is all you will ever see.
People think that I’m crazy because I talk to myself. The truth is that I talk to myself because I have no one else to talk to.
-Amelia J. Wilson // No One
I watched him against the glare of noon high sun. Blinding hot light stinging my eyes in pain but I dare not look away. Blinding light merging into a scene of lightning. Flashing. Blinding. Flashing. But I dare not look away.
It was hot. It was humid. I felt heat cover every inch of skin I have, both exposed and unexposed. Heat latching on like glove to a hand with the only evidence seen were the drops of sweat trickling down the ground. It was sweltering. Yet I was shaking. Shaking as if enveloped in the icy wind that cold night. Rain trickling down my drenched body. Dropping. Dripping. Hard on the ground. As I shivered.
I hear the rustling of the trees. They rustle against the gentle wind. Rustle with your footsteps. But the rustling gets louder each second. This was peace. Tranquil. Quiet. Unlike thunder. Unlike rain. Unlike the loud banging of drums. Unlike the plops of water against tin. Unlike an explosion. Unlike a howl. Unlike the rain. Unlike the thunder. Unlike a crash.
And now I see you. I see you in the bright daylight. I see you in the gentle breeze. I see you in serenity. But I still see the night. I still see the storm. I still hear the chaos. I hear the danger. I see the damage. I hear the blare. I see the blur. I hear the scream. I see flash. I feel the rage. I feel the hate. I feel the rage. Bright. Hot. Flash. Crash. Rage. Fury. Anger. Pounding. Crashing. Rising. Rage fury anger fury rage anger rage fury rage an-
“are you angry?”
I see the sun. I feel the breeze. I hear your steps. I hear the wind. I feel the heat. I see your figure. I see your figure. Retreating. Retreating. Fading. Fading. I see you. I can’t see you. Anymore.
- Are you angry? by chd
I haven’t posted in a while…
Drunk on stars
who are loved by the moon,
held up by the sky,
and hidden from harm by the sun.
For only a moment
I feel cared for
by the whole universe
that once cherished the stars
that I now sip
so carelessly from my glass.
-Amelia J. Wilson // I May Have Been Drinking
We live haunted
and our own desires.
Poisoned slowly for an eternity.
Prisoners in our own minds,
trapped in our thoughts.
Lingering on wounds
that will never heal.
foolishly stuck in the past.
-Amelia J. Wilson // Peryle
and pink blush
colour the faces
covering the greivous truths
of abhorrent secrets.
Clouds of perfume linger
in the dead, cold air.
Broken promises melt away
as poison decays their hearts.
-Amelia J. Wilson // Bleeding
He is always the first person I want to talk to whenever everything is falling apart.
I’m starting to like you from far away
In light of the things you come to say
But I have to admit
I don’t know shit
About what makes you want to play
I try to cover
your whole body
with my hands.
To give it
managed to find
and gather up
from deep inside
But it doesn’t work.
I move on
to the next area,
the previous one
are cold now,
your own warmth.
I think this
is what love is.
Give and take,
and giving one another
warmth on the coldest nights.
-to my dear kitty, please stay with me
She became the awareness that woke me up
It is a unknown presence that is not visible
Only felt within
With no direction
Of where we may go off together
She asked me are you in love with death?
I told her no, I feel calm and safe then what life is offering me.
Skipping through dimensions like pages in a desserted book.
That’s where my mind is lost in the cycle of existence.
I’m not going anywhere
As I’m forced to stay
My mind is a collectors file of truthful, meaningful, lustful, loveful, dreadful and hateful.
I cannot see the future
Only the sky may alter
As the seasons change my paths
We are fading apart
I told you I loved you and all you did was turn your head.
No words had to be said
Waving from far away
I know it’s over
I know it’s over
Now I shall move on
Walking through this night passing
the street poles in the dead of night
Where i will belong till the next encounter
So let it be.
(Whistling through the night)
-Jeremy R. Young