_elixir

it's astronomy, we're two worlds apart

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  • _elixir 4w

    It's good to be back *hopeful sighs*

    #temp

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    But mom you never taught me when
    to hiss if he bites my neck
    twice?

    ©_elixir

  • _elixir 10w

    This is for the popular saying which states 'Men don't cry.'

    This writeup is after my understanding for the quote by Khaled Hosseini-

    'A man's heart is wretched, a wretched thing. It isn't like a mother's womb. It won't bleed. It won't stretch to make a room for you.'

    @_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ @_firefly @natasha_a

    #argument

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    / O H B U T A M A N /


    'Oh, but he is a man. He doesn't c-r-y.'

    Faded c r i m s o n
    streams cripples along
    the veins of his legs as
    the hot water soothes,
    m e m b r a n e of the
    strands falling aloof.
    The night are colder
    as the f o o ts te p s
    in corridor receeds
    frequently. Someone
    tell him, the tone of
    mask is darker than
    his p a l e white skin.

    Oh, but he is a man. He still b-l-e-e-d-s.

    Feeds the fire inside
    a snowman who wails
    as infants next door
    are so cold. The echoes
    now shadows his youth,
    tequilas fills t h e s e
    lungs k i l l i n g the
    chinese lanterns inside.
    Six stitches can speak
    m o r e of his bravery
    than one dark headline
    from hamlet street o f
    an i n n o c e n t girl.

    Oh, but he is a man. He is w-r-e-t-c-h-e-d.

    Fantasy of a drowning
    man, scrutinised eyes
    oozing o u t for all the
    shaved g r a v e s and
    fallen cascades. T h e
    forest trembles along
    his feet but is scared
    of another wound as
    the r a g e of ruined
    kingdom softens after,
    for a crying calf. He is
    still there, with beetles
    in his colliding embrace.

    Oh, but he is a man. He is the g-o-d-d-e-s-s.

    ©_elixir
    Oh, but a man| 20.09.21

  • _elixir 11w

    My exams are taking the best of me *sighs

    This goes from left to right.
    @_firefly @_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ @the_lost_melody

    #senses

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    S E N S E S // S I N S

    Velvet s t r i p s bound with stairs
    p r o v i n g his h a r s h feet,
    as a glass twirls the wine inside.


    I feel nauseous by traces of it,
    as my bare feet sticks to the floor.
    I wonder where my daughter is.

    Stiff m u s i c pushes my strands
    b e h i n d but it is f a m i l i a r,
    along with her muffled screams.

    T h e curtains are all r e e k e d,
    unsettled a s their back collides,
    mother's vase and groomed lilies.

    Our s t o r e y tastes like chenin
    but fermented, has been six years.
    I wonder which closet she chose.

    He is trying to mantain himself
    but the pupils dilates frequently,
    I didn't know, he loved p u r p l e.


    I wish my senses were as numb as,
    lavenders in his f i n g e r s and
    sincerity in his echoing m o a n s.


    ©_elixir
    Senses and sins| 12.09.21

  • _elixir 12w

    References:-

    /The lines mentioned in brackets are lyrics from different songs/

    'You can't go to bed without a cup of tea'
    Little Things- One Direction

    'With runaway father and mothers who drank'
    Astronomy- Conan Grey

    'Your quite sorrow, shake me up'
    Louder than bombs- BTS

    'Love you like I'll never see you again'
    Arms around you- XXXTENTACION

    'I see pinocchio wearing a poncho'
    Tokyo- RM

    @writersbay #writec

    @_firefly Because I want you to read this *puppy eyes

    @/writersnetwork Thank you so much for the repost(03) T_T

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    I N S E C U R I T I E S

    / You can't go to bed without a cup of tea /

    Ponder about chanting
    lips as she breaks a
    cookie,

    compliments my slim thighs
    yet often dislikes
    hers.

    Holds seven kittens
    on her lap, shouldn't
    she be proud?

    Because when I stripped,
    my dog couldn't
    recognise.

    That day, I was
    an anorexic.

    / With runaway fathers and mothers who drank /

    Whispers of his secrets,
    echo throughout
    the hall,

    as people paint the
    fences, all
    grey.

    Gets the bigger piece,
    shouldn't he be
    thankful?

    Because when I won,
    he didn't check
    the roll.

    That day, I was
    an orphan.

    / Your quite sorrow, shake me up /

    Hands travel to snooze
    the buzzing
    alarm,

    an alarm that was never
    meant to ring at
    two.

    Toasts the glass together,
    shouldn't they be
    happy?

    Because I only carry
    a sleeping tent
    for one.

    That day, I was
    narcissistic.

    / Love you like I'll never see you again /

    Desperately marked his neck
    with hues that collided
    our sky,

    as low grunts make their way
    to the woman standing
    at door.

    Could tell the taste of wine
    in his nails. Shouldn't
    she be blessed?

    Because when it flipped, the
    sand came from
    graveyard.

    That day, I was
    a slut.

    / I see pinocchio wearing a poncho /

    They smell of footprints
    fading by the
    horizon,

    as I press them inside our
    diary of wilting
    pasts.

    I searched for decades to get
    your address. Shouldn't
    you write?

    Because I still wait for the letters
    you promised, you'll write
    to me.

    Because today, I was
    insecure.

    ©_elixir
    Insecurities| 02.09.21

  • _elixir 12w

    A little reckless today.

    @_firefly

    #dejavuc

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    / Let's pretend we had one /


    R ambunctious waves with
    E xtremities of cursives,
    C urtful mementoes of
    K een holdings coupling hearts.

    ~ Only to get that
    D e j a V u~

    L et them depart,
    E goistic strokes yet
    S ettled ink of lilies and
    S erinity of their gallantries.

    ~ Our last, our last
    D e j a V u~

    / There is no more of it /

    ©_elixir
    deja vu| 01.09.21

  • _elixir 14w

    I don't think its eligible for #perspective.

    But the Pre Chorus and Chorus are two different perspectives of same thing.

    /If 'Gone' by 'Rosé' was a song written by an insomniac stargazer longing for someone./

    This fits with the original instrumental and tone.

    #rewritx_eli

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    [Verse 1]
    I thought it was for good but it feels I really lost
    Mother sings me lullabies but nothing seems to work.
    Oh, yeah, my wounds are still bleeding, oh, yeah, yeah
    I see the skies fading, that has always been the cause
    I wanna grow a lily yet broken has been spas.
    Oh, yeah, yeah, I really wanna grow it, oh, yeah, yeah

    [Pre chorus]
    Do I have to be the one?
    To repent for your reckless love
    Tell me, do they call you desperately?
    'Coz I am all alone praying for it.
    You bruised my stars and left me none,
    with odd peonies under burning sun.
    Now I am rolling on the bed,
    waiting to be dead. (dont wanna blame you)

    [Chorus]
    Let's sing a poem that's sad yet true
    I can't fall asleep, can you?
    I stretch my arms to feel your face but
    now it's all blue.
    Hope for you to find someone new
    'Cause I am still not over you.
    All these songs, don't really help me 'cause
    you're their part too.

    [Post Chorus]
    Even though, you're go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-one
    Even though, you're go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-one
    Even though, you're go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-one
    Even though you're gone
    I'm still praying for one.

    [Verse 2]
    Now that dawn has come and my hate is  gone,
    I'm standing all alone and I'm gazing for something.
    But its all empty.
    These fireflies follow, hope it to feel like home,
    too much craving for a rainbow, I feel so used.
    Should I stop thinking about you but I refuse, yeah

    [Pre chorus 2]
    Do I have to be the one?
    To beg you for your toxic love.
    Tell me, if it's really easy 'cause
    I'm all alone praying ugly.
    'll let you bruise my stars for fun
    If it only takes for you to come.
    Now, I'm rolling on the bed,
    waiting to be dead. (should I blame you)

    [Chorus 2]
    Forget this poem 'cause it's true.
    don't wanna feel the pain, do you?
    The strings have been broken but I am
    still holding onto few.
    Please don't find someone new.
    'Cause I still hold the most of you.
    Still waiting here, I hope you ain't gone 'cause
    my love is here too.

    [Post Chorus]
    Even though, you're go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-one
    Even though, you're go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-one
    Even though, you're go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-one
    Even though you're gone
    I'm still praying for one.

    ©_elixir
    Gone| 23.08.21

  • _elixir 14w

    This is written from the point of view of an alexithymic person who has a unique fancy for skies. This is long. You can go and get some coffee.

    Alexithymia: Inability to identify and describe one's emotions experienced by one's self.

    Shoutout to these people who makes this place a home:

    @woodnote Thanks Wood for always being here and for giving out positive responses to raise our spirits above. You are doing such a great job by bringing writers together and appreciating the emerging ones. Thank you so much for making this place feel like home.

    @writersbay I want to thank you for your creative prompts and appreciation that you offer at this platform. Thanks for being a mentor and a constant change here. You all are doing such great jobs.

    @_firefly and @_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ I wish I could thank you both enough for being here and bringing hope everytime. I feel honoured everytime I come across your written pieces and I love you both.

    #city #romanticizec

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    City Skies

    'The shades of the skies are virtue of scattering sunlight detailed by respective wavelengths and size of the present medium. The science behind rainbow tinted skies is very interesting to learn.'

    'There must be seven different skies as there are seven different shades alluded in a rainbow. How fascinating. I envy people who can watch every tint across it.' She walks down the corridor with a visible pout maybe expressing her annoyance about the gloomy blue sky surrounding our city but they fail to understand its form everyday.

    The sky with blue lined extensions and a white base with perfect proportions of yellow and orange and a little red settling like freckles across my father's ears, maybe about the mother that lives next door who always sweeps the streets proudly as his son didnt forget to bring the eggs in.

    The orange yellow based sky with perfect tints of blue and purple clouds taking over the horizon, narrates about the victory flag guarded by the tallest lavenders of field which are watered by the people of that kingdom.

    The undistinguished one, where tiny sand particles traces your eyes with a red tint at the bottom as you wipe the particles out alongside the blue clouds as it reflects out from the tears clouding.

    The purple with white clouds often lined with orange and pink, reminds me of the ferris wheel we once took and finally touched with the perfect green blush, of her eyes as she watched the city falling asleep beneath.

    The yellow one with sun settling down the sea and red waves scattered as the actual angle subsides the critical one glazed of auburn cheering about the basketball match we won and yet of the trophy that lies near his grave.

    The blue sky with pink and golden extensions and white cloud marked with red linings of the locket she hangs around her veiny-weak neck as it holds her lover with caramel blonde hairs and coffee brown curls growing out of his forehead exposed perfectly.

    The violet skies with red cores and black outlines of that lady which stands as the victim with support of those brown railings and claims of the justice she deserves while scratching her wrist in order to fight her husband's intimidating glare.

    The red sky with grey clouds and black linings of the mother's cape who stood in front of those eight feet tall gates screaming with her sore throat with her fists raised as her daughter was flashed today on front page of national newspaper.

    The black sky with visible white clouds near the moon and distorted shapes of the little ballerino whose limbs have been tied to a wheel chair as crimson lights directs over her white stitched dress.

    The indigo sky which directs the most beautiful painting for veloré city as the sun sets about forty five degrees up from the horizon shining on the giant silver bell which supposedly hasn't been rung since a decade as it lies about two centuries above.

    Today the white sky with visible yellow and orange tint alluded with pink phosphates and green nickel guiding of the destination everyone has longed for since eternity yet never walked.

    'Don't ever let anyone convince you that city skies only exist in seven shades. Oh sweetheart, I will show you they are as many as there are stars.'

    /Excerpt from the book I wish to write/

    ©_elixir
    City Skies| 19.08.21

  • _elixir 18w

    I don't know what is this.

    #decay #wod

    @_firefly

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    The purple dahlias sprinkled with pixie echoes along the river, how beautiful.

    Here once laid a girl with perfect curls
    and crown of lavender fixating his eyes.

    Is it finally over when a human dies?
    Is it finally over when a flower decays?

    I refuse to believe it is.

    A torso may rot but it's emotions don't.
    A flower may fade but it's essence doesn't.

    They grow. As a rose which tells the truth.
    As a lily which whispers stories to insomniac.

    As a marigold which gives dusk a company.
    As a hibiscus which serenes an anorexic.

    As a tulip which cures a wolf's scars and
    as a blossom that falls to calm his anxiety.

    As a peony which evens his open window and
    as a sunflower which leads home in winters.

    They grow out.

    So next time when you see a wildflower, try
    to stay quiet, a warrior might be sleeping.

    ©_elixir
    They grow out| 26.07.21

  • _elixir 18w

    /I feel so lonely, like childhood again/
    ~ Anne Carson

    It's long. Take your time.

    @_firefly @_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_

    #journal #wod

    Thank You So Much for editor's choice (01)❤

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    "Passengers please notice. The train to catharsis has arrived on platform eleven past eleven and will leave to its destination in next seven minutes."

    'Spread the cut slices neatly with butter, slices of biscuit between every two pieces and a very thin slice of white meat of howl.'
    She repeats steps again for her daughter so the later could carry their legacy of making sandwiches since 1844. Trembling of her fingers become audible as she recites biscuits because rise of Wilson is not so far.

    I lean back. It has been a while since I felt green, had to run an extra mile because the old man was sick and I needed a bernard's lily. Cath-174 has arrived but I don't want to leave here. Generally, a st. lily has six petals, six distinct colours of my childhood elegantly arranged with yellow tubes emerging from centre.

    Wiping off the water dripping from face with a towel harshly because bus was outside and the door wasn't painted yet. Stumbling upon lego pieces, I failed to collect the night before; yelling at her cooking because the sun was on peak and she was stirring curry; collapsing because of waves leaving out as physical was our last period. It has always felt like that, like red that creaks from her lips as she has been biting them since.

    Cheeks squeezed against leaves moved with sharp tips, alluded formulae of trigonometry. Fingers inside chattering teeth as father was home and I failed Newton; sounds of grandmother heaving while her strands were in my hand; tensely strangled earphones hitting edges and we had guests sitting in balcony. It has always felt like that, like grey that sticks to his palm as he climbs down the stairs.

    Relieved sighs as her sister was missing and I was being interrogated. Swinging to and fro while no one remembered meteor shower at three; slight pain in jugular as he stood on railing admiring the stream; hiding fireflies securely in two small palms and peeking from space between thumb and first finger. It has always felt like that, like blue that floats around the man pressing his ear against the rail.

    Immersing bare feet in flowing river after running an extra mile because we ran out of woods last day. Stepping on fallen autumn leaves and giggling when they rasp under dancing toes; kneeling on temple stairs to hear him chanting prayers at six in the morning; conversations with strangers leading to home. It has always felt like that, like green which reflects in her smile as she hugs her lover tightly after seventy nine sleepless nights.

    Glancing at window panes to confirm my existence as I slept for three days after coming from therapies. Tracing the walls while walking to feel my skin; covering the ears tightly as she shouts at him for spilling the milk; turning on of the streets lights as I walk back to the apartment. It has always felt like that, like black which glances me in the eyes as he waves his arm cheerfully.

    Oh, how I wish someone could come and stop me from reversing the pages. I am supposed to carry white at father's funeral today.

    ©_elixir
    Colours of childhood| 23.07.21

  • _elixir 19w

    /I hate the beach but I stand
    In California, with my toes in the sand/

    #woundsc

    @_firefly

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    Opposites Attract

    'Oh but, you will fall in love with him.'

    An undyed stream that follows from his clothes (which he was too tired to throw in laundry) has now sticked the skewers to wounds. Lines of frustration engraves on his forehead as his feet panic to find car keys. Oh, how I wish I could tell him, they slid inside a vase by the window after rolling down our grey curtains but I like how he limps with a bacon in right hand and a waffle in left. He has been a good husband. Doesn't mind if I wear shades, long sleeved hoodies, speaks to mother nonchalantly and remembers to take out the garbage before I wake up every then. Quite intimidating, I wouldn't lie about how my eyes sometimes get stuck while water drips down from his hair to the towel tied securely around his waist. And it seems unfeasible now that every maiden with distinct perfections ring our door bell but he kisses my cheek before bidding a goodbye in his husky voice. A man of consummate talents but he never understands, why I cry at night thinking I could have met Shakespeare just once, only for few minutes so I could've made my name known to him. He doesn't understand why everytime 'The night we met' comes on, I change it to 'Ends of the earth' and dance to it. I am pretty sure about the fact that he considers me a fool since I bawled yellow when asked which colour rain was. I have written him a ballad every night, has been around three hundred days since I first slept on cosy mattress but has always wanted to hear that pathetic eight letter sentence. I learnt a lot of things from my mother but I hope she could've taught me how to be a good wife. How to love a man like him. Because I can't when she lives just across the lane and takes her dog out every six in the morning. She is everything he desires, a corset waist, slim long legs, hazy eyes and a coquette business woman. I remember you were proud of your decision seeing the gifts he bought me but mother I hope you could've removed those black glasses and see purple bruises encircling my eye. I hope you could've rolled up my sleeves and traced your fingers down where his teeth once were. For once, I hope you could've questioned him about taking out garbage at six in the morning. But I don't blame you for you've always covered yourself with heavy make-up. Now we are here at a party and you smile watching him holding my waist but I hope you could know he is pressing my wounds of last night's whips so I remain an obedient wife and doesn't spill the tea with your friends.

    How could I love him mother when he is standing behind your husband, upstairs since the event started?

    ©_elixir
    Opposites Attract| 15.07.21