wine_mirrors

youtu.be/vnEJhozn3J8

"So tenderly you watched me burn you watched me burn, oh"

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  • wine_mirrors 2d

    You're old, i realize
    As i watch your
    Bedroom become a cemetery
    Your pillow a headstone;
    Inscribed with sweat and spit.
    People come to pay respects
    Where your skin-coated bones lay.
    You're old, i realize
    As i listen to you talk about
    Rainclouds in the corner of your room
    Opened yet unread newspapers
    Lay on the floor; like swathes
    Of giant dead paper birds.
    You're old, I realize
    As I watch you crawl around
    Like a snail that had lost its shell.
    I watch your soul gasp and drown,
    In the muddled waters of time
    Under the weight of memories
    Tied to your feet.
    You're old, I realize.
    And that's okay
    ©wine_mirrors

  • wine_mirrors 5w

    Yes another poem about moon and scars and whatnot

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    We speak lies to the moon
    Never having loved her;
    Except as a mirror of
    Whom our heart yearns for
    And still we wonder
    Why she is scarred
    ©wine_mirrors

  • wine_mirrors 9w

    When dad left for the airport, mom went back to her room and prayed for a long time. Draped in her white prayer robes and covered in darkness, i swear she looked like a solitary astronaut in a space of her own. I always once thought the astronaut analogy would've fit my dad better but i realize now that it should go to mom. He's in a stationary position now, it's mom who has to move on and away from home. Because home is where the heart is, and i did see her heart climb aboard the plane

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    The lady astronaut utters
    A silent prayer for him,
    He who would seek her warmth
    In the malfunctioning heater of the bedroom
    That they shared once.
    Her forehead, held by her hands
    Like a ruined edifice only being
    Supported by its pillars.
    Eyes focused yet so lost
    On a dark ceiling,
    She utters a silent
    Prayer for him, their identities
    Entities, entireties and experience
    Reduced to a point in a cosmic canvas
    Like a faint blue pearl, encased in the
    Dark insides of the vast seashells
    Of space and time
    She yearns to cry;
    But then wouldn't her tears float
    To nothingness, unbeknownst
    Of its purpose?

    Hands mask her face, as she inscribes
    Light years in the soles of her feet.
    She prays for the future that was
    And the past that is
    ©wine_mirrors

  • wine_mirrors 11w

    #goldenc

    My first. Ever. POD.
    .
    .
    .
    THANK YOU @MIRAKEE XJDKSKSOSOWOAA

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    We went to the the beach today
    Swirling ripples of golden light
    Shimmered in silver pools
    As if the sun tried to paint her reflection
    In the clouded sea's mirror
    And it bewilders me, to think that people
    Prefer to see it with the lens of
    A phone camera than with their own eyes
    To reduce breathing portraitures
    Into bite-sized pixels and digital hearts
    The silences of the sea, swallowed by
    The sounds and snaps of the camera shutter
    Memories, stolen and kept hidden
    Leaving empty burrows and translucent
    Husks of our lives behind
    ©wine_mirrors

  • wine_mirrors 14w

    We gathered around the
    Pale limp body of a poem
    Its eyes open, mouth in a paralysed quiver
    Preserved in ink and formaldehyde
    As we watched in horror and fascination
    The professor sank a quilled scalpel
    Into its worded flesh, delving into
    The arteries of its art, devoid of passion
    The lungs of metaphors that make it breathe
    The treacherous silences that still sing
    With silent lips between its stanzas
    It made me sick, the study of it
    To look at it with likewise cold eyes
    To assign it with mere labels and constructs
    Without even regarding once
    That it had been a living thing, with
    Loud blood rushing in its pulsing veins
    That its very breath had been a roar
    Of the oceans and wine, of winds and time

    And then i noticed
    A glass tear
    Hanging from
    Its pearlescent blind eye
    Touch the carpet
    I realized that all these presumedly
    Dead poems weren't deceased;
    It was us who were killing them
    ©wine_mirrors

  • wine_mirrors 15w

    And then he realized that the moon
    Is a misshapen piece of chalk
    Leftover from all those pretty equations
    And complexly patterned poetry scrawled
    Across the vast blackboard of space.


    The sky taught him everything
    He needed to know
    ©wine_mirrors

  • wine_mirrors 16w

    Fill my pen
    With deleted screenshots
    Your white lies and blackmail
    And yet you wonder
    Why I prefer writing in red
    ©wine_mirrors

  • wine_mirrors 17w

    Merry christmas ya'll

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    I think it's pretty
    How she walks the fine line
    Between snow and sunshine
    ©wine_mirrors

  • wine_mirrors 18w

    I've put on so many masks
    That now I've begun to wonder
    Do i even have a face?
    Underneath,
    Anymore?
    ©wine_mirrors

  • wine_mirrors 22w

    "You deserve better",
    you kept saying.
    "You deserve better".

    You were talking to yourself,
    Weren't you