Thy nimbus clouds, why come betwixt mine empyrean stars, coruscating were they yesternight now is stashing in the elysian fields. Where's now thy deific presence, thy spiritual transcendence of tranquility?
Little quixotic diamonds are thou, thou the reason of my dopamine rush of types O, B, A, F, G, K and M. Light of thine, bloom my soul, arrive erelong as I may shed my existence and thou may prevail over every vision.
The meticulous emotions dripping with high viscosity from his honey glazed eyes proved to mesmerize all her arcane devotion. Perhaps, he possessed that spirit which is eminently innocent, a spirit of decorum and piousness always having a tint of careless satire. Strolling on a narrow street a scintilla of thought swiftly came dashing the waves of her curls leaving a selcouth memory on the walls of severed heart. Where he muttered teasingly in the hours of darkness; "Turn thine lashes behind." Her eyes cracked open with a zizz sound saying; "Oh darling, let me sleep." He caressed her cheeks extending forwards gazing at her temple and whispered, "Let me catch a glimpse of thy eyes, so I can dream of stars tonight." -Siddiqua
Though I never wanted to return here, idk what made me post this:/ Hope y'all are doing well. Thank you soo very much for asking about my whereabouts, I'll surely reply to everyone of you. Have a great day ahead!
I've absorbed Z I L C H - The very first attempt was a succulent cowping out of a cerulean blue pot that I kept in the bathroom window. It drew a finger across the rosa salmon tiles on the walls of lavatory and cuddled itself to the fog on the glass, like it pecked the cosy dawn and the sunglare was a blush that whispered the leaves it was al right. At every feeding I saw the risqué intimacy that absorbed the water provided into the leaves, the stems and the coquettish flare of the petals cupped to feel. The roots in reaching and a vine crept down the windowsill to draw a finger along the entire vibrant plant, while the crown I was wearing slipped behind, my tongue held to the brightness of sunrise, tasting the prism of morning filled in my room. I open the cabinet of clothes and the light reflecting off the mirror cuts the plant down the centre. I can see a brown vein choking the stems neck. I noticed the petals withering slowly in a hush. I watched it until my lease is up, not realising to close the cabinet. Grabbing the plant, I move outside, clenched it's carcass by the nape, shouldered by the dirt and the water gushing outside the vase. I feel the brittle roots which are now still, broken at the touch, I hurl the plant off the porch and kept it near the street, where the light rain tries to make a spilling into the sewer gate, where this succulent might catch a fleeting breath, where it may be trampled till it crumbles and washes away, no longer RECOGNISED.
come as you are, as you will, your lips are drenched with blood from the stained bedsheets that you slept on, so peacefully last night; come as you are, as you will, I can drink the pain away that surrounds your decaying flesh, like the cherries, floating atop the cheap liquor — the glasses are empty, yet you're half-drunk on the recklessness of our love.
you've come, at last but you weren't willing to — because, you say that our love reminds you of those dreams, that you would never wish to see for the rest of your seven lives. take a leap for me, dream of the little nightmares, and in the process, lose yourself just enough, to be mine all over again; flip the page around, and you'll find me settled deep inside the cushions of your incubus, flavoured in Nirvana, nevertheless suspended from a headspace by its nether end — is it me, who's in your head, or, are you inside mine ?
hell-bent on leaving, you are, it was a mistake for you, to settle your sight at my abode; entangled in your hair strands, this horrid hopelessness, it will make the phantom in me, dress up as your fictive spouse in these tattered, dark-denims and, creep up to your car's rearview mirror, just to see you place your grim gaze with those colder-than-december blue eyes.
now, you watch me through the frosted glasses in my larger-than-life misery — during these frozen and rainy days, I wish for a heatstroke, or, a stone with your name engraved on it, throw it away, break the glass that I am caged in, make me believe that you exist, just like once upon a time, I was your make-believe lover. is it vanity, to wait on the day of your arrival ? visit me, for once and for all; destiny waits on me, like I do for you, you have paid the pivotal price, however, I still hope that you would be willing to come, just as you are, in the light of your demise.
we could talk about what went wrong between the two of us, by the dinner table at Dorsia, I had reserved your favourite spot at the restaurant, one week prior : at the very corner, next to the water fountain, away from the mindless chatter, the clinking spoons and forks on the plates. we could talk now, only if you wish to — formalities and appetizers aren't my strong suit, you can go through the carte du jour and, have something for yourself.
tonight, the cologne on my collar has been hiding the liquor on my breath, exceptionally well. as usual, you do not have a single clue, about me, or, about my whereabouts; you ordered just enough, to have my AMEX declined — and, that's fine, I'm too drunk, to gulp down whatever that you asked the waiter to bring. you're too self-absorbed to even look around, at the waiter whilst, he was clearly staring at your bare thighs; remind me again, exactly what are we doing here tonight ?
we were supposed to talk tonight, and, you're precisely doing what was asked of you, with everyone else inside your six-inch screen, but me. certain things which were left unsaid, they have found their new resting places, inside my chest; you never have your ears or, eyes opened, for anything, that I might bring to the table — you would rather be busy, with your friends, with the Bouillabaisse, with the glass of Château Margaux; pardon my french, it is just as wasted, as I am, if not more.
kindly look away from your phone for once, we could leave, if you wish to do so, we could hold hands like the couple we are, and walk to our ends through the church aisle. and, when you manage to look away, you would see me, drowning in a kiddie pool, six-feet away from you — apologies, you're way too occupied, to even lend a hand of help; you're way too occupied, to ask for space from me anymore; you're way too occupied to think about walking out of my life.
(everything's perfect for you, set in stone — an expensive dinner, wouldn't make you feel any different; we still speak in-tongues, me, with that same old slur, and you, with the thick french accent; I beg your pardon, madame, pardon my french).
I do not recall, what is it that has changed in me; waking up on your ancestral couch, it has been there for so long, that it might be haunted by the ghosts of your dead pet dogs. the walls are painted in a shade of grey, is it just my lessening affinity towards colors, or, do you see it too ? how long have we been asleep for ? the wooden flooring is peeling off, to show the truest color of mother earth. we had slept throughout, the earthquake; we were sleeping, as the wind swept away the ground off our feet; we would be sleeping, during the meteor showers — you would love to see your dead mother, only if she were a dinosaur.
a short one before the world ends, too bad, because we could never be a thing, to be considered in the grander scheme of things; too bad, that you puked all over your sheets, the haunted couch is your go-to now. here's to your stay, pretty please, have a great one — and, even if you don't, let me remind you of all the sins that you were so oblivious about; with each step, the planet shakes and dies a little more inside, you bleached your hair blue, because, that is exactly what I am sinking in; death would probably come to me, in the disguise of dreams : of all the things, that we could have been — I would be thinking of you, however, would you ever look back at me ?
Why the earth keep the moon bounded Putting it to the infinite carousel around itself Is all of this just for the appeasement of the mother earth That can't see its subject wandering free
Why can't it let humans float Must their feet stay stuck As if they are pushing their boat Neither it embraces us fully Nor lets us go wholly The deep loneliness of it Makes it want us to be glued to it eternally
The moon is to forever circle around it like a worshipper And us, humans have to drag ourselves all over yet bound to the Earth making us realize our limits as a mover
The narcissistic earth will never let anyone be free Unless the doom approaches And everyone will flee