fireblast_

www.instagram.com/fireblast690/

I write so I remember to forget you.

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  • fireblast_ 3d

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  • fireblast_ 1w

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  • fireblast_ 2w

    I can't explain

    how deeply

    I've been touched by those

    who do not want me.


    @fireblast_

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  • fireblast_ 2w

    D E A T H
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    1. You're so lonely to touch something that touches
    you back, yet all night long you hear the rain pattering dismally against the panes. In the morning you stare
    at the Sun for too long that it blinds you. You walk past city apartments with window-sills full of plants, and you always turn back to look at them, and suddenly all your bones start to crack under the weight of all the lives you're not living.
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    2. You wake up from a deep slumber with the impression of a carpet on your bare knees and try to make sense of your suffering. You stand in front of a bottomless mirror and wonder if that's how you look when nobody can see you. If nobody knows you're alive, are you? It's like feeling as strong as licking your blood out of daggers and as fragile as sanity on the brink of madness. You know, some days you're nothing but the sound of the world ending.
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    3. You live in the beauty of an unfathomable mistake where everything dies on the creases of your lips. You write cliche poems and read them to a stranger who doesn't read books because it's easier to explain your reality without dying in someone's metaphors.
    Everyone knows you breathe in spaces they can never touch because you're the only language you can write.
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    4. You love the soft shade of the boy next door who never looked back at you. You realized it a long time
    ago that there are worse things in this world than dying because life oozes out of your skin when he tells you he might fall in love, but not with you.
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    5. Poetry breeds lilacs out of your dead veins, you exist but not outside this poem.

    @fireblast_
    (Art and poetry)

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  • fireblast_ 2w

    I was a poem you never read,
    perhaps, you were a poet
    who never wrote.

    @fireblast_

    (Art and poetry)

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  • fireblast_ 3w

    You're too scared to come closer to anyone,
    maybe the idea of losing someone terrifies you
    more than being alone.

    @fireblast_
    (Art and poetry)

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  • fireblast_ 3w

    Sometimes silence simply means that no matter how much you'll shout, it won't change the fact I'm right.

    ~ fireblast

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  • fireblast_ 3w

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  • fireblast_ 4w

    "There's such divine violence in forgiving someone you've once loved for not loving you as much as you did"

    The world was unkind to me. I wanted people to shudder when they hear my name, but I never had those hands that could set someone on fire. I think my tongue had too many safety muscles, it kept touching the cuts in my mouth rather than uttering words that could crumble someone's heart. I remember waking up one August afternoon to the sound of rain in my grandmother's house and telling her when the sun rose up just over the balcony that I didn't want to fight anymore, and I remember her smiling at me and putting my curls back in my ponytail as my dress flared up in the bright sun under a rose archway. "World is fleeting my dear" she said, "It's never gonna forgive you for being yourself, It's you who has to forgive and you'll slowly learn to live with it that sometimes you've to keep moving on without people being sorry for all the wrong they had done to you" I never quite understood but then you came around, you told me about grief and how it deepens with every passing day but it's fleeting just like my grandmother used to say.

    You were kind to me, and I wanted you to feel love when someone calls my name rather than to fear my existence. My tongue never had to touch the cuts in my mouth around you, but you left without any warning, and it was me who had to forgive you for loving me. I wanted everything to be still, just as you left it, so to this day, I haven't untangled your earbuds. Your hair still in the brush, your clothes are still disheveled as you're trying to find your old jeans. I've cut the tree down on which you used to write poems about me, in case it grows back.

    Years later, I remember waking up in my grandmother's house to the sound of rain but she was not there to hear me say, "I don't wanna fight anymore" but I know if she were, she'll say, "There's such divine violence in forgiving someone you've once loved for not loving you as much as you used to, "The world taught you about grief and he taught you that absence is another name of it"

    @fireblast_
    (art and poetry)

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  • fireblast_ 4w

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