Let Me Drown In The Cold Wind Of Solitude A Shiver Of Pleasant Memory, I Feel The Heat Of Anger Subsides

Let me drown in the cold wind of solitude A shiver of pleasant memory, I feel The heat of anger subsides Although the path is destructive and forlorn A breath is what I need Relief from the crushing helplessness Wind was numbing and parasitic

For a bright second sun shines But then the betrayal resurfaces I plummet into the seemingly never ending tunnel of despair Tumbling and falling but I try to hold on But the shadow is all I can see and I can’t outrun it Because it is attached to me

These cuts and wounds of joy are treasured souvenirs They remind me of my loss,my downfall Their presence pains me But I couldn’t afford parting I love it I hate it The bittersweet memory

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6 years ago

I wanted to share this with you all.

Classical Music is something that makes me realize the power of a human mind. Just sounds and vibrations arranged in a certain rhythm can make us ooze with emotions.

It's beautiful to see how people can understand the meaning of a song, the feelings behind it even when there are no lyrics, no certain path to tread.

This prelude composed by Chopin is one of my favourites. It has a certain melancholic tint to it and , I feel, tragic undertones.

This piece makes me remember the losses along my way. I reminisce in the memory. I sometimes even get angry, when I feel the unfairness of the loss.

Listen to it when you have time to think and reflect. It may make you cry, it made me.


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8 years ago

They Change Us

From man To monsters

Frome monster To men

Such Mercurial Is Our Nature


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8 years ago

It was evening then. Just 7:30, but the night had already set. The dim streetlight cast a bluish hue over me. I was walking in the street, towards the pool side of the B block. I was wearing a hoodie,the hood covering my head. My gait and the hoodie signalled ignorance but I knew it was just a pretense. I knew it hid me from the gazes of other, it hid me from their faces, which told me what they were thinking, it hid me from thinking too much. Cold winter wind was blowing. I was wearing shorts and could feel it flowing around my bare shins. It flew through me. The coldness went through me like a ghoul. It sucked energy from me. Goosebumps signalling its departure. Leaving me momentarily empty. But I felt alive. The heat in me receded. The anger subsided. The cold wind felt fresh in my lungs. It chilled my nose. It felt tingly. The wind was addictive. I wanted more cold, more release. I wanted to feel it in my body. I wanted to drown in it. It gave me relief but took my life. While I write this my nose bleeds. I feel the red warm blood flowing out, dropping to the ground. Turning from deep red to ferric tangerine. The wind was parasitic.

7 years ago

Meant To Be Bad

An Angel

Everyone has one

They watch upon us, they say

Aiding us through strangest of means

But when your angels turn to beasts

And haunt your dreams

Darkness spreads everywhere, no way out

You must become comfortable in this hell

For now fury is your peace

Your demons, they can’t be drowned

And you start to sink in the black water

They are your salvation

What is there in morality?

Submit

You are meant to be bad

You shall so enjoy, you feel

Revenge from fate

Although this path is forlorn and condemned

And a transient relief

Who is to say I won’t succeed?


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6 years ago
Good Stuff.
Good Stuff.
Good Stuff.

Good stuff.

8 years ago

Words flow from the deepest gashes of our deepest injuries. If you treat the wound and let it scab over, The words won’t come anymore.

stay miserable because I like the way you bleed. (via housewiththereddoor)

6 years ago

Manifestation

When I was little, I would always draw the same kind of characters My mother once remarked how odd it was that, in the end, I grew up to look exactly like one of them A tall girl with long tangled hair And legs reaching down almost to the bottom of the page I wonder if that’s what people call manifestation Did I stretch my own bones with the stroke of an overzealous pen? Did I really have such power placed in my innocent hands?

If so, what am I to think of the darkness I dreamt since childhood? Of how lovely and comforting  the obscure was to me The inferred but unuttered The women that I would draw always looked to the side Beyond the borders of my colouring book With an odd knowing glimmer in their eyes A somber, secretive look Over the years my bones shifted to give me that same face An unreadable cypher I grew to be sullen, to silence more than I say Did I have a hand in it? Did I define my own features, Craft them in one fell swoop of a felt tip?

What made me who I am? Destiny or design? I never intended to play God But it seems I held my own self in my palms Like a block of clay Some kind of unconscious arts and crafts project. I must have modelled myself after all that I admired Rebellious and bohemian Enamoured to madness Distanced and calculating Less bridal than monstrous

I blackened my own heart with a permanent marker I told myself a story enough times That it stepped from the page to meet its maker It’s not that I wasn’t warned I am tall and brooding because I never listened to what I was told Careful what you wish for It might just come true The human psyche, a distorting mirror, a game of mimicry Monkey see, monkey do

I was a child with second sight Sketching her own future So I guess it is manifestation The mighty spell of magic thinking Almost as potent as a third eye Mother was right. I am fiction become flesh My life, a successful imitation of art

Inspired by @jmsapphire‘s prompt “Mold my clay heart” for @poetryclub13

6 years ago

Within the dark forest

A humid element and dense fog

Coating the perceived dark soil of my self

An uncured and unwilted earth

Too dense for a breath

In this hardened lump of clay

Uncultivatable since forever

A seed has been sown

The seed is of a need

Of a friendship and a love

Of germination

It belongs to a field

The soil is still set and hard

Tormented by torrents of rain and storm

Of high winds and meteoric stones

Infested with the dark worms of doubts

And the spread of pain's fungi

Rotten roots and corpses of rodents

A stunted sapling or death

Is meant

But

The tilling of the soil, the seed brings

A shelter from degradation

Slashing of the grey canopy

The soil softens

Under a new brighter light

A warmer shine

Creatures breath

The rot expunged

The seed warms up

Hope for an orange fruit


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a-souls-darkness - DarknessWithin
DarknessWithin

This blog is about the mysteries within us, within me. It has poems, music, pictures, short excerpts and art. This blog is primarily for me to share my interests and thoughts, hope that others can relate to it too. I would love for others to participate as well.

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