Hello everyone, I've started an Instagram page called @scribblingpolarbear, i post there more often, a better fresher content, and would love to be in contact with my readers and friends with whom I lost touch and those who unfortunately left this place. I hope you're staying safe and having a day you deserve. No, I won't ever be posting again on mirakee. If you're struggling and have mental health issues I just want to share my favorite quote by Maya angelou " each storm runs out of rain" If you want to talk, I'll be there for you. This was quite the journey mirakee, not good, not bad. @miraquill@writersnetwork See you on the other side Be kind ~Avi
I don't know the smell of the dead, but I know what grief tastes like, and what it sounds like, like roaring and love spewing souls, like ghoul blood in a wordless mouth, I know what my heartache feels like, a thousand rusted iron locks Clanging at the violence of the (fate)ironsmith I know what my grief is, and will always be, The pseudo light in the deads' eyes Everyday in the mirror, It's inexplicably vast and unending as my love, I know grief. ~avani
My love isn't peace, it's war. The very act of stepping into it is violence, because missing you, is expecting music from hollow bells and looking back, in empty subways, hoping for shadows that never show up. My love is lying, like painting blue bodied muses, Silver, gold, bronze, and melting candles on floor, until it's steady, until you're warm until this house is ashes. //I love in deafening intensities, What you assume as monsters wailing, are the sounds of my demons worshipping you.// My love is parasitic, it'd never rest until the hurt in you, is the disease that kills me, and your lilac skin, is bleeding molten rose gold. My love usnt peace, it's war. And they next time, this hollow yawning void world wonders, why you never knew any of it is, because my love is war. And the blood I lick off of these swords, is of memories of love undying. My love is war. // I grow my love in hellholes, with portals for beasts and devil, So that I'd never leave you like they never leave me. // ~avani
People with mental illness, please know that your brain is an organ, like every other. If your kidney develops a stone, you don't blame yourself, organs can malfunction. So can your brain, you're allowed to feel, express. You matter. Even if everything tells you otherwise.
Fighting with depression is like a battle. Like, fuck you, I'm choosing to live today, and doing that for every day until things start healing. Don't give up. ~ matt haig ( author of reasons to stay alive )
Also, please limit the comment box to the topic, that way people will have easier access to things. Thank you.
Give me the instagram aesthetic love. I've never slept under the sun in fields, with grass singing melodies of heartbreak springs, lie with me, for you I might. The waters glimmer like your pearly soul, but I never dare to step in, never did I purify, sanctify my soul, ask me to, for you I might. Give me the boring love. I want to empty buckets of ice cream watching movies, crying shamelessly looking at dogs, sit in the couch, messy as my mind, instead of emptying mascara bottles, instead of dressing up but ending up regretting my life choices. Ask me to, for you I might do that too. Give me the trusting love. Get mad at me for buying a 10th dog or 5th cat, and let me, witness you love them more than you love yourself, because for you I might. I dont know, how to pluck stars, steal flowers, or run naked on streets for a bet, but I'll give you, a cracking hearth winter, sleeping til noon summers. Give me the cliche love The one of playing your favorite songs when you're not around, because for you, I might. Know all your sins, show you all my crimes, but love anyway, Bonnie and Clyde. Give me the extraordinary love. You. For you I'll do the same.
People single to an unhealthy extent mustn't write such posts. But fuck that. Im gonna mock this place until they cry. Miraquill enough?
The walls of my room are a screaming twilight and the epithelial within me, is raging iron the colour of the sunrays i feel is the stolen wealth of kings and queens the shade of my mother's children with true roots is ember and emerald.
My skin and mind fight with my bones, who quietly wait, knowing that they'll wither in the end. What is this war within me? ~sat chit ananda~ ~sat chit ananda~
I pray like the blue of their sky and bleed like the Tangerine of their sun and cry like their amaranthine love and they sit on clouds weave lives underneath oceans And smile, smile, smile at all so ever aubergine like broken souls
My throat and eyes fight with my heart who loudly reminds that its a famished cripple. What is this war within me? ~sat chit ananda~ ~sat chit ananda~
I'm forgetting you, the walls that felt like closing on me, Iron spikes like pins on this skin are melting away, how long has it been since I last saw you again? I can't remember I want to but it's not there. They say it's okay to let it all out, wanted to hold on to you, and it's all blurry now.
Changed all you pretended to love cry me a river, but i know you won't I don't like changes, butchering me, these changes and I'm letting them. I'm forgetting you. It's alright. I'll be okay.
I can't write anymore @_firefly not here at least.
Is this what healing feels like?
But seriously I'm sick of reading that crazy lovesick shit these 16 year olds keep writing. They love the moon, but fuck they don't even know the names of craters on the moon. Matlab aesthetics ko bhi reuse recycle karte rehte hai and mirakee chooses the best out of waste.
I do not fancy this loneliness, and this deep pit pitiless people dug and buried me under, with the hearse of a hoarse voice from calling, calling whom? Nobody. The darkness weeps along with me.
I cannot accept this heartache, and this clot of blood and uncalled for delusion - hope that coerces me to exist, existence someone else put me into, but what is it even for? Nothing. My myogenic sinks deeper into my hollow mercury soul.
I do not relish this loneliness, and this freezing, craving day 22 of January, that proves I encircle the sun every year, and yet, remain so gloomy, but why am I even this way? Worthless. My velvet bones waiting to wither whisper.
I mustn't accept this heartache, and this coal born from my tears, until it has blossomed into golden and crystal blues, which shall also be, my own doing, but what do I wait for now? Dawning. The wildflowers on my grave warble. ~ avani
I don't know why you relate to this, but I hope your pain eases soon dear reader. ✨
They say I deserve the world, but I'd be more than happy to have a cupcake right now. I'm disappointed with the reach. :( #runaway_11
Do you know what you smell like and feel like, sound like. The unassuming liars, and the pretentious sweethearts, who came long before me and left with your love, they'll call you heaven your tears would just be tears. To me, you're something beyond, outworldly, and maybe all of this has been said, said by better people but I'll say it anyway. Your tears are acid on my skin, your rage is lightening terrorizing gods and I'm just a tiny fragment from you. But tell me, the dearest to me, what must it be like, to be you? Teach me, would you please, To sew together the black clouds with silver twine and handle gently the hostile ocean of pain, to share a soul with nature, that she blooms mightly so and dance along the breeze of golden skies. Did I ever tell you, the house is quiet when you are, its peaceful when you sing. Did the gods teach my grandma, oh how she carved you out of diamonds, a butterfly soul, pearly eyes and opal skin.
What must you be like, when you were where I am today, did you caress the broken shards of nature sang and woke lives, were the open grounds a place to sleep, with the sun sheltering, nourishing your flourishing youth. All roads that you as integral to me as arteries That pump the blood that flows straight to the heart of me, You're my Arcadia. I'm here forever, for you.
#runaway_11 Nana, your daughter turned 50 years old today. We love her. I do. Beyond everything.
Happy birthday my precious. ♡
The lines "all roads...heart of me" are taken from Arcadia by Lana Del Rey
Yesterday, my dear I stared at the empty skies with an empty soul and a hollow love, she threw a quilt of sunrays on my cold body, but it didn't breathe life in me, the way you did.
I went to the trees I buried my agony under, They were blooming, Even while you were asleep, but, my dearest, they seemed a little happier when you were there.
I sang to the hunger of my hunters they, my darling, they wept, they begged, and begged for mercy, I rejoiced, Does it make me a monster my dear, that I rejoiced at their tears, the ones they owed to me?
I touched the glass bottles and the scathing acids staring at my soul they felt the same, but back then, I'd run to you, and you'd own my cascading tears, and I'd borrow your soothing silences.
Yesterday, I gazed at the sky my dear, and sat on the benches you touched, They felt more me than you. The trees were dressed in honey gold, August left, September wept, And I was the happiest girl in this world. But my dear, Only when I'd lose myself, I'd know my value.
Yesterday, I lent my shoulder to the sky and she shared her grievances with me, Until she parted for now, unlike your one forever that turned out true, my dear, unlike you. Today I crushed the pedestal I put you on, Burnt the temple I worshipped you in, Befriended the skies I looked you in.
I'm an angel weeping in these ostentatious grounds of autumn but I'll tell you the truth, The wounds of August are bleeding still, but September is healing what we can't see. ~ avani
I am watching the painted sky depicting tranquil beauty in the shades of golden and lilac. The saffron sun is submerged deeply into the running ocean behind the skyline. Melancholy residing in my eyes, flows out as stars, that decorate the dusk, wrapping it beneath the thick scent of casa blanca lilies, blooming under the moonlight.
I stand against the wind caressing my crimson cheeks with gentle metaphors embodied in the high palm trees. Your name I wrote on the sand washes away as the waves hit my frail feet, again and again, reminding me of all the hollow promises of always that you made. It leaves me empty with nothing but tears in my eyes and pain in my heart.
Two things are eating my soul, this full moon night and your absence. I write nightime poems, describing your beauty and how the moon sang rhymes for it. Broken stars do not fulfill my wishes anymore because if they did, you'd be lying here, next to me, curled up in my yearning arms. Darkness of the midnight blue, runs in my veins, robbing me of all the happy moments we shared.
I am the midnight of forgotten memories hidden in your heart, behind the veil of your love for her. And you are my most beautiful daydream, with those pastel clouds and candy pink skies. And we, are my only fragmented forever and its pieces still lie in my incomplete proses, longing to be concluded.
The dark sky above my crimson heart pours down rain of shards of agony over it, where your fragile palm used to rest once, carved in the silhouette of my name. Transient pain transcends over my tears flowing out of the melancholy residing inside my scars that you used to decorate with devouring flowers. My fingernails are festooned with hopelessness festering in my bones, where used to reside the love you gave. Your name still blurs the vision my eyes while my ears are stained with your voice echoing with the promises of always.
~ I thought that love would last for ever : I was wrong.
What is magic anyway. If it isn't us. And before you realise it I'm turned into a memory. A memory which cries silently at a distance. You would try to run towards the voice but I'll fade into apocalypses.You might come at me again, and until you're finally on your knees, we'll be dusk and dawn. You may aggravate and disassociate but then I'll hum you in a song.
We're both survivers of itchy nights. You're on one and I'm on the other side.
I see you've bandaged flowers on your wrist. Is it to hide the cuts or you just feel beautiful? Must be the latter. I'll blow some winds your way. So let go of the guilt that's weighing you down. And I'll be a little selfish here so I'll knock down your crown. I'll make you fit in and give you just enough self doubt. What is magic anyway. If it isn't us.
I like miles. So I'll maintain a distance. I'll sleep on your side and never finish my sentence. You still remember don't you. The boy who shivered at the end of NH-42 and there was something he wanted to say. You were crying and so was I. Until we both grew cold without any goodbyes.
You had cried an ocean for a feeling which was lost. It could have been love. But you had cried all night long.
It's sound of death. It's scary but trust me it fades in an instant. So until we meet again, I'll sleep by your side waiting to finish what was started long back, until you're dust, and until you'll ask me to stay back. Let's live again. After all we're magic.
A chunk of meat suspended in a rock which is orbiting a literal fire ball? In a galaxy spanning to vast and unfathomable distances.
What am i? Among the quasars that scintillate four trillion times than that of the sun and Giant black holes that gobble up light in a flash and bend the fabrics of space-time.
What am i? Amid this grand circus of life. Amid all the hollow and shallow dreads of existence. Amid the perplexing carcass of gloomy reality.
What am i? Nothing.
I am nothing but the decimals between one and zero. A scruple of conscious matter fluctuating between nothing and something. A void trying to fill its own emptiness. A tragedy parodying a fortune. A beginning in the course of its own end. A book deserted in the middle of a busy street. Waiting to be read. Waiting for someone to rummage through my mess. Waiting for someone to read my story.
A story carved on the face of time. Of edges, mountains and rivers to trains, cars and office cafeterias. My entire existence can be compressed into the micro strings of DNA. Forged betwixt hormones and genes. And my life, a quaint burrow of a rabbit trying to hibernate and survive a dreadful winter.
I grazed at the surface of my own ridiculousness until i could finally convince myself not to. I trembled with fear in my eyes and an lump in my throat, Too busy to see that a cheerful life is a guile tint on the glass of reality.
Did i turn myself into it. Was it a deal? Maybe. The only thing that changed was time and do i have to tell you that time then changes everything? The involute becomes the absolute. The sight becomes the scene. The portrayal becomes the reality. I becomes us. Yes. Us, but without you. Us. But without all the songs and shillings. Us. But without all the poems and writings. Us. But with a pipkin of love lavish in pain. Us. But with a smudge on a letter without your name. Us. But with a sparkle on a sky of hue It's always us but without you.