Writer Stuff - Blog Posts

#87

I shall lay down in a field of flowers. Roses, daisies, sunflowers, lilacs. I shall lay down for a long, long while. Until the thoughts and screams in my head quiet down and fall eternally silent. Until all is quiet, as they die and fizzle out, like butter melting on a warm summer day. 

As I lay there, contemplating, and yet trying not to think, a hundred years will have passed. Perhaps more; I do not know. All I know is that enough time will have passed for the vines and thorns to grow over my exhausted body. Finally, the Earth will consume me, her child, and I shall be at peace. And I will drown in the warm soil, a welcomed reprieve from the cold, emotionless hearts of the people above.

It is more peaceful under here, more peaceful where there are no people to judge or ridicule me, to push me to live a life that was never mine to begin with. I can simply be a part of the Earth, and she, of me, as I lay here for the rest of eternity, and do not emerge.

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#86

I will try to accept myself, my heart, my soul. All those broken and shattered and jagged edges that have hurt others will not hurt me. I will not allow them to. For they are mine. And nothing that is mine, that has come of me, shall hurt me. I will hold them close, will hold them dear, and look at them. Truly look at them, and see what can be done. If I can fix them, or if I must start anew. For if I must start my journey again, this time, it will be the journey of loving myself and my body as I am. Every inch of me, whether ugly or beautiful, clean or scarred, I will accept myself.

I will not be afraid this time. Not of myself or the parts that I keep hidden. Not of asking for help when I truly do need it. For if there is one thing I have learned, it is this: there is no glory in suffering. None at all. And especially not when one suffers alone. 

It will take time to heal myself.

And that is okay.

I will tell myself I am worthy of love and all things good, that I deserve to be here. Because even if my mind does not believe it, my heart knows it. I have given enough, have done enough to be allowed to have a place here, in people’s hearts. I deserve to carve out a place for myself where I am respected, and loved, and desired. A place where I can be myself, where fear does not rule every aspect of me, where I am not overtaken by anxiety. A place where I can breathe. And it has come to my attention that maybe it is not a place at all, but a person. A person who sees me, jagged edges and all, and does not tell me to hide them away, to be ashamed of them, but rather someone who helps me love myself. A person who sees me for who I am, who does not implore me to change, to water myself down for those who cannot handle me. To those, I say: choke. Let them choke on me if they cannot handle my presence.

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#85

Delight and mirth dance in his eyes,

His gaze holds me in a vice.

And yet I do not break away,

Because all I want to do is stay.

Stay in his embrace, wrapped tight and warm,

As he holds me through my heart’s freezing storm.

A storm that wrecked and ruined and broke me,

He held my heart as it tried to break free.

He thrives in my fantasy, glowing with light,

Radiating warmth, my heart takes flight.

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#84

Confusion and sorrow,

Pain and guilt,

Made a home in my heart,

Tears were spilt.

So many that a river could run

And flow and weave through the Earth

With my regret and longing and need to see the sun

And with that my new identity’s birth

To see the light of day once more

As my heart yearns only for,

The need to seduce and beguile

Every man that does approach,

He shall be here for a long, long while

As I glare at him with reproach.

✦ ✦ ✦

His blood filled with opium and poison,

As I fill his heart with sweet lies,

Lies he has been dying to hear.

I fill his soul with honeyed affirmations.

I pour it in so delicately,

It feels as though his heart is being filled up.

It is. Oh, it is.

But not with what he wants.

This tightening noose

Around his throat,

As I leave nothing but a ruse,

A ruse built on deceit on lies

He calls me his salvation, when all I cause is ruin.

Because that is all I have done.

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#83

My heart has wings,

And now does soar,

Above the world’s

Highest moor

Above every glen and mountain and sea,

I feel the need to run away and be free.

Free from all that holds me back,

My people, my life, it does but lack

The feeling of anger and sorrow and joy

Until all I feel is the need to destroy.

The thought of sending someone a hundred goodbyes

And yet I know they are nothing but lies.

Farewells scattered on the winds like a storm,

The storm of my heart as it yearned for war

It couldn’t let go, it couldn’t understand,

The impossibility of you it did demand.

And yet it wished to fight for you,

And so I will until I am through.

Run through with blades and weapons galore,

Until nothing is left but my aching core.

It shall ache and throb so terribly again,

It shall feel like agony is yet to begin.

Agony of the soul and mind.

As it does hurt, and wound, and bind.

For this sweet agony binds me to your soul,

This suffocating pureness is but a toll,

On my conscience, shattered as it is,

It pains me to know, I’ll never compare to this.

This beauty and radiance and elegance that is,

Glass pierces through my skin, and hurts less than this.

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#82

I should like to be as wild and free as the Fae

Loving and carefree and whimsical by day

But sinful, dark, and depraved under the cover of night

As my true identity finally takes flight.

The identity that many do not know

It is hidden and coveted, the cause of my woe.

Woe that is painful and unbearably hard

To bear and deal with, relentless is my guard.

To protect my heart and my ever cracking soul

To shield it against all those who are bold:

Bold in love and bold in spirit

Bold as the daylight and those who believe in it

Believe in hope and a love so wild

Carefree and loving as an innocent child.

As pure and sweet and delicate as spring,

My love is but that; oh what joy does it bring.

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#81

My soul is the one that calls your home,

Racing faster than the winds and swifter than the storm.

It seeks mine out as would a lover,

It arrives quicker than the joy I discover.

As fated, do our souls finally meet,

Tangled as flames as they do greet.

They dance and rejoice and celebrate once more,

To know they are home, and shall be so forevermore.

But tragedy comes to the brightest of homes,

And as it came to ours, I felt it in our bones.

Slowly but surely it did creep in,

Infecting and poisoning all our kin.

Like black mould spreading over the Earth,

I thought it would end us, and ruin the birth

Of the child that was growing inside your womb,

It did eventually become a tomb.

The grievances arrived, one by one,

Until finally I couldn’t take it, and said I was done.

I was done, I said, and couldn’t anymore,

Not with the sadness, or the pain in my core.

I didn’t know what hurt truly was,

Until the desperation of being alive truly does

Hurt the soul and hurt the mind,

I fear I shall lose it, in due time.

And perhaps that time is not far away,

Not at all, when all I wish is to stay.

But this tomb of our life, 

This shell of sorrow,

Shall never compare

To the feeling of morrow.

To desperation and hope,

All at once,

To my heart’s cracking,

As it does.

It will continue to crack, until nothing is left,

Nothing at all, but a husk and a cleft.

A husk so deep, and dark and gray,

I doubt I shall ever see the light of day.

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#80

You are the north star, and I am merely a sailor, looking to you for guidance, and help, and support, those nights when I feel like the world is collapsing all around me, my heart with it. I look to you those nights I am alone, when I know I shall be blessed with your companionship, when I know that you shall never leave me. 

You are bright, and radiant, and wonderful, and so full of life. I am willing to become a monster to protect that light, to preserve that flame. I hope that it shall always be lit, and shall always be burning with passion, and love, and care. You bless us with light, with direction, and you are the brightest star in the night sky, the first thing I lay my eyes upon as the veil of darkness unfolds and covers us lovers with a blanket of passion. You illuminate the dark, but most importantly, you illuminate my soul. The dark, dead parts of it that I thought were well and truly decayed. The parts that I had locked away and never had the courage to open up again. But you, being the north star you are, helped me find my way back into the light.

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#79

I should like to have power one day. So much of it that it flows in excess, a plethora of it, an unending ocean. So much so that I shall be able to get drunk on it like the finest wine and richest cuisine. And I know that it shall taste better than any delicacy or lover I have had the fortune to taste. For it shall taste like revenge, and the delicious, constant taste of blood. Of the blood that I spilled, of the blood that was spilt in front of me, of the blood I had to sacrifice and leave behind to get where I am now. 

But that does not matter. All that matters is that I have managed to climb this staircase strewn with debris, this crackling, crumbling staircase of power. I am at the top. And I have no intention of falling. 

Then again, it does not matter if I do, for I have crawled my way out of hell to get here. I was born there, you see. I was forced to climb up here inch by bloodied inch, until I had blood dripping from my mouth, my hands and knees and elbows scraped so thoroughly I still see the wounds on those sleepless nights.

It is those sleepless nights one must watch out for. Those nights that consume you, and consume your soul, eat away at it like they have been granted the ecstasy of your heart. Eat away at it like the maggots and insects they are. And therefore these thoughts must be squashed and beaten to death like the vermin they are. Weeded out before they can truly cause harm.

For it is those thoughts that are dangerous, the ones that can change the world. 

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#78

A beacon of light, a beacon of hope,

I know not how I shall cope.

With the love you shower upon my soul,

It fills my heart’s aching hole.

The void that can only be filled,

When blood in scarlet rivers is spilt.

The city shall run red with the blood of the fallen,

The bright light of day shall lessen.

And grow dimmer with each passing day,

I know not how I shall find my way.

If I have not my beacon of hope,

I know not how I shall cope.

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#77

I do not care how many thorns you have for I am ready to be cut by them all, ready to bleed out with the wounds you gift me if I must. For I know that my blood shall water you. I do not consider it a sacrifice; not when it will help you in the smallest and most insignificant of ways.

For even if the way I show you my love is not filled with grandeur, know that my heart is. It is filled with so much love I feel as if I might explode, as if I might overflow with the amount of love which is flowing through my veins right now.

Know that I shall love you incessantly and without mercy, no matter that it might hurt me and wound me so terribly I might not recover. I shall not love as a soft, gentle flame, but rather as one that burns so wild not even the fires of hell can match my passion in strength. They will envy me for the power with which I burn with, envy my fuel, my catalyst that keeps me burning.

For what keeps me burning is you. The sight of you, the thought of you, the scent of you. It is you I burn for and for whom I will sacrifice myself without a doubt. It has always been you.

Have I belonged to you too?

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#76

Each note of the piano you play plucks a chord of hope in my heart and a ripple of love. Warm, resonant, and deep.

I realized one day that is all you have been born to do. To spread love.

And you have infected me with a disease so lovely and enchanting I am now addicted to the feeling, that high I get when you glance my way.

A lover’s glance, one which makes sure not to linger for too long. A hidden glance, for our love has the power to shatter and remake world should we choose it. A power only the brave ones know, the ones brave enough to love despite the loss, despite the war in our minds, despite it all.

Despite fate, we still choose to love.

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#75

Those stunning lips that I have heard both sin and solace from, that have granted me both pain and pleasure, that are as sweet as they are sinful, and kind as they are cruel. 

The ones that have comforted me as much as they have hurt, and filled me so thoroughly while also draining me to the very dregs of existence itself.

And yet when they quirk up into that smile, that special one reserved for me, I cannot help but fall in love with you all over again.

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#74

You’re worth more than a million stars,

And the heavens couldn’t compare,

To the light you cast upon my soul,

Illuminating it after centuries spent in darkness.

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#73

And in the end, it was those eyes I had come to love, and cherish, and adore with all my being. 

Those charmer’s eyes, those eyes that transported me to a universe a thousand leagues away every time I gazed into their unfathomable depths.

I hadn’t realised I was falling until I had already done so, and was chest deep in the throes of love.

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#72

No title, no crown, and yet you are my Queen. You are the one the land shall mourn when you pass, for you are as much of a part of this land as you are my heart, and therefore my very being.

Your love wraps around me like a vice, a vice so tight and firm around my heart and my ribs I cannot breathe, and yet I have never been so happy to be breathless. Never been so happy to be wrapped in a vine of roses, each suffocating me in its own, stunning, unique way.

And as your love drags me six feet under, I do not object. For getting the opportunity to see you, be it in this world or the next, in heaven or in hell, as humans or animals, I shall cherish it, and cherish you. It matters not to me what form you appear in, if you are the glimmering stars shining overhead and I the moon, ever so quiet and watchful, or you the dazzling and relentless ocean and I the calm shore that awaits your return, which cannot have enough of you no matter what.

For I am obsessed with you. Besotted, they say. I know. I know I am so deeply in love with you there is no other. There has been no other, and there will be no other. For souls were always meant to find each other, in every lifetime past and every lifetime that is yet to be. Our bodies may change, the vessels which our souls merely use to find their other half, but my love for you will not. 

It is not soft or gentle, rather it wild, and unrelenting, messy and chaotic. Just as you, just as your spirit.

And I hope that no matter what happens, that is what they cannot break. Your spirit, and your love for the unknown, you curiosity and willingness to learn. These things make up such a large part of you, I wonder who you would be without them. Certainly not yourself, that is all I am assured of. 

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#71

I will bleed whatever colour you tell me, to I will bleed the colour of your soul, of your eyes, of your lips, and match it shade for shade.

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#70

The scent of fresh jasmine and the richest honey shall forever be engraved in my memory. Your scent, that not even the destruction of this world shall take away. It shall float on the winds long after you are gone and remind everyone that there was once some goodness in this world.

And then it was taken from me. Stolen away like it was not mine to keep it at all. And on those long nights I lay in bed, thinking about you to the point my pillow holds my sorrows in the form of tears, until these tears run large rivers and carve out a different geography in my heart, a hole the shape and size of you, that only your golden presence can fill. I think about how my soul was far too corrupted to ever have been paired with one so full of light. It seems as if the gods are playing some cruel joke on me, and I will wake up with a heartache so deep it shall consume me. I will wake and realize I fell into a love that was never mine. It is those days that thoughts consume me, flying around as though they are crows and they are waiting for my carefully crafted walls to fall down so they will pick me apart like the scavengers they are. Bit by bit until there is nothing left of me but the thought of you and I am a thoughtless, emotionless shell, a husk of what I was or could have been.

I can never keep them at bay for too long. No matter what I do to hold myself above the water and stay afloat, no matter what I do to not let it all consume me, it engulfs me like a tidal wave when I least expect it. And then I go under, twenty feet all at once. I barely make my way out, crawling and gasping for breath, the water already making its way into my lungs, until I go under once more.

And I do not come out. Not this time. I do not want to.

For I do not think I will able to handle whatever monster stares back at me in the mirror. I will not recognize my reflection, will not realize the infected and utterly debased creature staring back at me in the mirror is me. I will not notice how life has distorted me and my perception of myself it is like looking into a lake in constant turmoil. 

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#69

How much more can I possibly stain with my hands tainted of blood? My pillow I stain with tears, and your heart I stain with my bloodied, sullied, impure hands as I hold it close to my sobbing and despairing chest. I stain this world with my darkness, my depression, as it leeches out into the world like black ink through water, tainting, contaminating, ruining.

That is all I do. Ruin, destroy.

I have shed so much blood I could use it as ink, use it to write you confessions of a love so maddening it has long since consumed me. The fires of that love have burned me, and I have burned along with it. And yet those flames were sweeter than any delicacy I had ever tasted/ I was glad to burn, laughing and happy as my body, my heart, my soul became yours to command for eternity. 

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#68

I do not know what aches more: my heart from feeling too much or my mind for thinking too much. Perhaps it is my soul, which tires of these labyrinthine games, which carries the burdens of these past lives and lovers. The burdens of a life so overwhelming it will be a miracle if I survive at all. 

And yet I know that there is nothing waiting for me in the afterlife. Tell me, why are we so eager to leave this world when most of us do not know if there even exists another? Why are we so willing to disappear and give up all that we are, our very essence and our personalities, for the slim hope that there might be a world out there where we shall not be reocgnized or known? Perhaps we are enamoured with the concept of a new start, a fresh beginning. A new life, and new relations. But can we not have a new life without sacrificing the one we have already built with our broken hearts, cracked souls, and shattered minds?

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#67

My heart, my soul, my body are all so heavy. They grow heavier with each passing day, and my mind feels like lead. I am in a haze, in foggy labyrinth of my own thoughts as I make the same circles over and over again without realising. The gods look down upon me, laugh and joke, betting on what horrible, terrible mistake I shall make that will change the course of my life. They sit on their golden thrones remarking, how could she be so stupid? Surely she must have learned her lesson by now. Ah, but that is the thing, you see. No matter how many lessons you may try to teach me, no matter how many people have been sent my way to teach me the same lesson, I will love them anyway. I will fall for them, and fall from grace. I will love them as I have loved poison, and have been driven mad, half wild on the taste and thought and smell of it alone. Of you.

Soon, the bitter taste of the poison that is called love is all I shall crave, all I will be able to think about. I shall become addicted to it, as one might to alcohol. I shall not stop. I shall love incessantly, hungrily, without pause or fear, for that is all I have ever known and the only thing my soul can do. It has been made this way, you see. To give love to those who cannot make it themselves. And perhaps it is a curse to love someone so deeply they cannot truly understand the depths of it, but it might be a blessing too. To give love to the broken, to the mad, to those who despair and fear they shall never again come out. Perhaps this love is needed. But why must I be the one to give it?

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#66

My fingers grow numb without your touch, and not even the warmest of fires shall be able to rekindle the flame of my heart. 

You doused that flame when left, taking the fractured remains of my heart with you. Threw ice over it so my heart is as frozen and immovable as the greatest mountain.

You left me with despair, and hope, and pain, and everything in between, another thousand emotions my broken soul cannot name. All it knows is that I belong to you. With you. With you at my side, and our reign eternal.

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#65

My fingers grow numb without your touch, and not even the warmest of fires shall be able to rekindle the flame of my heart. 

You doused that flame when left, taking the fractured remains of my heart with you. Threw ice over it so my heart is as frozen and immovable as the greatest mountain.

You left me with despair, and hope, and pain, and everything in between, another thousand emotions my broken soul cannot name. All it knows is that I belong to you. With you. With you at my side, and our reign eternal.

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#64

Is solitude, and despair, and loneliness the only thing fate has in store for me? If so, I scream to the heavens, claim me. Claim me now, end it here, end this suffering.

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#63

I cannot tell if it is a blessing or a curse to have loved and be loved so deeply that it fractures and remoulds the shattered pieces of my heart, my soul, my very existence.

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#62

A/N: The first sentence in quotes is by Enrique Gonzalez. Everything else is what I've written from my own imagination based on this quote.

“I give it up to you, here is my heart, here is my blood.” Do with it what you will. Step on it, crush it, blow it to smithereens. And still I will love you, as the waves love the shore, incessantly, without purpose or reason. I will come back no matter what. No matter that you are not good for me, no matter that every interaction with you leaves me breathless, and panting, and the absurd and overwhelming need to see you again. No matter that I must heal from every time I see you. I shall sacrifice it all to see a glimpse of you, a glimpse of us, a glimpse of what could have been or never was. 

Enrique Gonzalez Martinez, from a poem titled “Last Journey”, featured in Anthology of Mexican Poetry

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Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#61

I remember a love from my childhood. Sweet, pure, innocent. I do not know if I shall love the same ever again. If my love has now been tainted with the vitriol I spew to keep everyone and everything away from the rabid monster that I am. That I have become. A raging, snarling, hungry beast whose rage knows no bounds. Perhaps she was born from the dark depths of my mind, those crypts that I insisted on isolating myself in. Perhaps. I do not know. I do not know when that happened, only that it did. That is how much of life seems to be. Then again, life does not seem like very much at all.

They made me like that, I say, because it is easier to put my blame on someone else than own up to my own failings as a person. A friend. A sister. A lover. Those words now seem foreign, like the ashes of love on my tongue. I know that I am undeserving of such titles, and will spend the remainder of my worthless existence, my fragile, mortal life, trying desperately to make up for time lost.

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#60

I mourn and grieve and feel so deeply I cannot decide if it is a blessing or a curse. Happiness feels like bliss and elation and heaven, as though I am drunk on the essence of joy itself. But when the dark clouds start rolling in, I transform into a rabid beast. A monster not capable of love nor joy; one only of hate and destruction, leaving nothing but ruin in its wake. As though I have been crafted from the depths of hell itself, and my sole mission is to make those around me suffer in pain and agony, make them feel misery the likes of which I relish in. Relish the way drips down my blood-stained mouth, running warm and familiar over the grooves of my teeth, turning them scarlet forevermore. My tongue knows the coppery taste of it, and my body screams at me to drink the blood of the fallen, of those I have felled, drink until I can no more, until I am sick of the taste of it. I do not think even God will be able to absolve me of this sin. I do not know if I want Him to. If I deserve that rare mercy reserved for the gold-hearted. I may be a great many things, but that is not one of them. Bloodthirsty, evil, vile, wicked, foul. Those are the names I have heard hissed at me, both in front of me and behind my back. I do not care. Simply do not have the energy to do so. Let them believe whatever they think is easiest to believe. I tried telling them the truth once. Screamed it so loudly from the rooftops into the world it would have been impossible for even the Gods themselves to ignore me. And yet they did. 

Now, when I bring Heaven to its knees, broken and bloodied and bleeding, when the Gods can no longer ignore me, treat me as if I am nothing but a peasant, I shall take great pride in knowing I have made them suffer.

And as I slit their throats, one by one, their blackened and charred ichor running down my hands, my soul will be at peace.

For I will have had my revenge.

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#59

Perhaps I love sunsets so much because they too, bleed in a thousand different colours, precisely how my heart does for you.

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#58

The comfort we find in being lost is quite odd, seeing as all we really want is for someone to find us.

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