floating in the abyss.

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  • zohiii 2d


    @miraquill @writersnetwork thank you. :')

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    a blue tinted bird perches on a birch,
    I sit watchful as it sings a free verse;
    it hums a taunt of its freedom and such,
    I dream of wings but dreaming is a curse.

    so little a life and alone in the sky,
    how I will I could have a bit of its sight,
    but only in my imagination I soar high;
    my feet are tied but I crave a brave flight.

    it all comes down to be or not to be;
    many a men strip off their fervour and sigh,
    and live every day afraid to be free,
    as their hearts become too heavy to fly.

    in fear lies caged the plume of free will,
    the songbird flies far but I sit very still.


  • zohiii 9w

    a furlong of land, an ocean of emptiness

    this skin has grown fairer,
    as it hoodwinks the blackness
    shrouding a shrewd heart,
    but whose cruel scheme
    was it to fortify one red rose
    inside a prison of thorns,
    because it's sad when
    beauty decays.

    the mirror had a selfish
    face and it was hard to
    distinguish whether it had
    perspired or bawled,
    but two breaths out of
    rhythm and that was more
    than enough time to
    mope about suffering
    because everyone suffers;
    it doesn't have to
    stand out.

    there are some who live
    sharp lives on the
    tip of a needle without
    letting out so
    much as a sigh and those
    whining on soft beds;
    then become those who
    rejoice the sight of a
    nameless tree in
    a scorching desert,
    those who proudly claim
    a furlong of land at the
    mercy of an ocean of


  • zohiii 18w



    @writersnetwork appreciated.

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    trifling trials of a treacherous heart

    "what do I look like?"

    "—like someone I've never seen before,"

    a flurry ensues as they waltz and they wink,
    two black holes, yearning a light in the far,
    it seems that my search will fall and sink,
    with this old, bittersweet pain in my heart.

    when the promised winter slumbers deep,
    and the air in my lungs is coy and cold,
    whisper me whereof born was this grief,
    through your eyes, sew me a tale yet untold.

    if I were to embrace you with my own hands,
    the warmth will weep through the infinitude,
    to a broken mirror, your silhouette will dance,
    waiting for the tarnished twilight to exude.

    and it'll always be fair to leave me in the dark,
    there'll never be a place for you in my heart.

    "will you remember me now?"

    "I will not."


  • zohiii 22w


    yuuki: japanese for snow.
    yes, 'tis a poem for a fictional character.

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    a snowflake inside my heart

    we promised you
    not to shed a single tear of sorrow,
    but you know how
    inconvenient these eyes
    are sometimes;
    they simply refused to obey;
    but you'll forgive us for that much,
    because we forgive you for
    leaving us all behind.

    it seemed like the most impulsive
    of thoughts when you
    said sometimes some things
    can't be communicated
    unless you clash,
    but your war with fate was the
    testament that you fight
    for what you want;
    you collided against the unfair
    universe and you were
    stunning and brave;
    you seized immortality
    because now you live inside our
    hearts as the greatest swordsman
    to ever descend on this world;
    we want you to know,
    that you live on, always.

    I will forget the light of a
    thousand stars but I won't ever
    forget the way you
    smiled at me;
    and the sun was envious,
    because you were a snowflake
    it could never melt;
    you were resistance,
    you taught us how to live—
    even if you're going down,
    even if you're born to die,
    because sometimes,
    you can't have some things
    unless you're willing to
    die in pursuit of it;

    did you feel alive falling in
    the haven of someone
    you loved?

    yuuki; a snowflake in the orchards
    of spring to thaw your heart.


  • zohiii 23w


    *drum rolls*

    guess who agreed to have a collab with me? ;_;


    the title is from lana's love.

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    don't worry, baby

    “winter flakes, dead feuillemort leaves,
    you say there are things I'm yet to be,
    but there's no void that I'll leave behind,
    the world will still go on without me,”

    as inconsequential as we are,
    as grave as the truth of
    insignificance may be,
    in the lives that you've touched,
    a little something breaks,
    even at the mention of a world
    without you in it.

    “floating ash of pyres, cherry blossoms,
    when the flowers wither into their doom,
    why rage this ugly pointless odyssey,
    there's but gloom, gloom, and gloom,”

    autumn is a requisite
    for the spring to be cherished;
    it's because we hope, that we also mourn,
    but every tide has its ebb, my love,
    isn't the night darkest just before the dawn?

    “a hundred tears, and a moonlit lake,
    there's no brazen beauty now left untold,
    stringless kites never find heaven's halls,
    marigolds are pale among roses of gold,”

    I see your eyes, glistening and calm,
    yet somewhere containing
    a collosal storm;
    kites are loosened for them to soar higher,
    marigolds, atleast, are devoid of thorns.

    “there's no glory in living, and persevering,
    it's an endless lie of a bitter suffering.

    you say it's a world of hope and love,
    every moment a miracle worth rejoicing,
    if I, for once, gave in to your whims,
    a song of this so-called love, will ye sing?”

    if it's a hundred ways
    in which the damage was done,
    I promise love can be
    in a hundred and one.

    in this song of surrender,
    to make the chains stop hurting,
    if I sing along, will you choose to live?

    ©zohiii & ©thegreymetaphor

  • zohiii 23w

    a canary's chicanery

    when did you tame
    your fists into not breaking
    the noses of those who tried
    to sell you the crap that
    you can't grow wings?

    it was sunday when your
    lips refused to kiss the sunlight,
    and you somehow became
    as still as the air before
    a thunderstorm;
    but I didn't have to worry
    about you because
    you said,

    "it isn't worth a catastrophe
    to dwell on ruins of what
    we couldn't be,
    sometimes we succumb,
    and carry on,"

    your parents said it was a
    strange disease that spread
    inside your heart,
    and your friends said
    you were your own undoing;
    an icarus who flew
    straight into
    burning annihilation,
    and when I whispered this
    to you, you said nothing,
    but it seemed like you
    were content that they think
    atleast you flew,
    even if for once and never;

    the poems you
    read reeked of the tragic
    glorification of sylvia
    and dazai's fallen angels,
    but I never had to worry
    about you because
    whenever I did, you said,

    "I'm a serene pond;
    your worries send ripples
    down my skin-"

    I'd exclaim,

    "calm waters rot inside;
    you rather seem an iceberg,
    visible utterly little,"

    "yes, that I am;
    an iceberg, a river,
    and all rivers run far and wide,
    collapsing into a waterfall-"

    it was then,
    I reckoned that your soul
    was deteriorating for
    the deficiency of the fluid
    that once coursed
    through your veins in surfeit—
    it was hope.

    and it was then,
    I learnt that god doesn't exist.

    it was monday yesterday,
    when bathed in moonlight,
    you leapt off from the
    roof of your workplace,
    a magnificent multistorey
    building witnessed
    your wicked chicanery;
    they said it took barely a
    few seconds before your
    blood spilt all over the concrete;

    even if for only
    a dying moment,
    did falling feel like flying,
    and when it did,
    did you smile?

    there were people with pitying
    glances but
    mine were filled with relief;
    and because it's a consoling
    thought I told myself,
    that when you came
    cascading down,
    you grew wings and flew
    somewhere far, far away.

    I know that it's probably only
    a fallacy but
    it's comforting,
    and I like to believe it,
    because after all,
    it isn't worth a catastrophe
    to dwell on ruins of what
    we couldn't be,
    sometimes we succumb,
    and carry on;
    and so,
    I'll succumb,
    and carry on,
    to live in a world where
    you were able to fly.


  • zohiii 23w


    “so tonight I'm calling all astronauts;
    all the lonely people that the world forgot;
    if you hear my voice come pick me up;
    are you out there? 'cause you're all I've got.”


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    talking to myself

    a short and shady survey in some
    virus-hoarded corner of the
    internet declared that I am an introvert.

    but what does the survey know,
    that I'm the saddest when I'm alone;
    the line between solitude and loneliness
    somewhere disappeared when
    glory turned into envy.

    now I hate chemistry but if
    my words aren't in perfect equilibrium
    while explaining this to you,
    there'll be an explosion of anxiety
    in my brain that I could have
    chosen better sentences and you
    could have understood me
    better and maybe we could have
    been friends and maybe,
    I could have felt less lonely.

    anyway, phew.

    have you ever met an introvert who
    craves crowds?
    supernovas succumbing in his head
    but he has to dance to the tune
    of a song that freezes his every muscle;
    feels lonely alone,
    feels lonelier among people;
    a prostitute changing the people he
    sees every night;
    wallowing in feuillemort cynicism,
    bordering on the hedonistic.

    hey there. that's me.
    a sad and lonely introvert,
    wielding a broken crown.

    nice to meet you.
    would you stay if I asked you to?


  • zohiii 24w


    thoughts I imagine would have crossed Ishida's (Koe no Katachi) mind, while standing on the bridge, deciding whether to end it all or not.


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    can we be friends?

    “back then,
    if we could have heard each
    other’s voices...”

    it's been a while since I last saw you;
    in all honesty,
    everything is going south since
    I last saw you,
    but a scum that I am,
    I won't complain— I don't deserve to;
    I've planned to cut the thread
    of my disgraceful being
    for a while now;

    the river of guilt flows beneath me,
    but the scum that I am,
    I am afraid to take the leap,
    and the horrible crook I am,
    I blame it on you.

    do you still remember when you
    stood infront of me,
    made signs in a language
    I didn't know,
    and I threw sand at your face;
    I have learnt it now—
    the whole sign language through
    and through and
    I understand that you brought
    your palms together asking me
    to be your friend;
    it doesn't matter now,
    does it?

    but still, on sleepless nights,
    I regret what I did to you,
    and I regret being rude to you,
    but the scum I am,
    I speculate often what your
    reaction would be if I proposed
    to be your friend right now,
    would you shake hands with me—
    a person who bullied you,
    and always made
    you feel like an outsider?

    the hearing aids I pulled out
    from your ears and blood dripped
    down to your chin;
    did it hurt a lot?
    will I ever be able to compensate
    for the pain I've given you,
    and the smiles you've given
    in return, will I ever?

    it's a curse probably,
    that I am scared to look at the faces
    of people and my only desire
    and escape is to
    cover my ears tight, extremely,
    or maybe a frail attempt to feel how
    you might have felt back then;
    I mocked you
    for not being able to listen,
    and now I don't want to hear
    anything or anyone,
    but the scum I am,
    if only I could hear your words
    of forgiveness—
    what'd I do for them,
    I'd die for you to forgive me,
    but what do I do to
    forgive myself?

    I stacked up the money from
    my part-time jobs under mom's pillow,
    and I'm away from home,
    standing on this bridge,
    at the edge of the end of
    this abomination;
    I can't live anymore,
    I don't deserve to;

    Nishimiya, I always thought you
    were the dumb and
    deaf one but it was always me;
    me, who couldn't understand
    you even when you opened your
    heart to me;
    me, the dumbest one,
    who was too scared to tell you
    what I hid inside my chest;
    you, who never heard my
    voice because you couldn't,
    and me, a coward;
    the weight on my heart is
    and I don't deserve to be
    around anymore;
    I can't see and hear people in
    corridors because I feel
    they're talking about me—
    there goes Ishida,
    the absolute worst who bullied
    a girl in middle school.

    do you remember the notebook
    you used for communication?
    I still have it, I flip the pages,
    and wail for my inability
    to turn back the time;
    I was supposed to die today,
    but the scum that I am,
    I have one more selfish wish,
    to see you once,
    I want to make you happy,
    I want to love you,

    I want to hear your voice.

    “...everything would
    have been so much better.”


  • zohiii 24w

    forever in neverland

    your hair strands whispered
    to me that you still
    believe in tooth fairies,
    and their fragrance implicitly
    made it known that your
    face gets painted in pastel
    disappointment when she
    refuses to appear;

    you are a sucker for fantasies
    and root for the characters
    with sealed lips and
    glued palms as if your
    guileless prayers could
    rewrite their stars,
    and the way you scrunch
    your nose with disgust when
    there are no happy endings;
    my tinkerbell,
    what sadness deep in your
    heart do you hide,
    that you desire the
    world for fictional beings?

    you utter the most superficial
    stories as if you witnessed
    them happening right
    before your ever-twinkling
    eyes and dress the most
    impossible of wishes with
    the name of hope;
    and the beguiling part always
    is that you believe whatever you
    say like it has the most
    probable odds of happening;

    I would lose reputation for
    admitting it publicly but
    there's something about the
    way you say it,
    that I'm almost compelled
    to believe there exists a
    place further than the edge
    of universe where it snows
    in summers with twin
    rainbows adorning purple
    skies and the sun doesn't
    melt the ice;
    it's nothing special,
    but there's something about
    you that makes me want
    to believe in lies;

    and they're going to call us
    children with abrasive
    imagination for the most
    part because they haven't
    seen what we've seen,
    and they never will
    for their spite and gravity;

    they'll all be boring and bland,
    and straightforward,
    and they'll always
    be afraid of dreams,
    out of the fear of being called
    ridiculous and insane;

    the ones who understand
    reality will laugh at us
    for being naive and childish
    but cry on the inside,
    because they'll never dream
    the dreams we dream;

    they'll never see neverland.


  • zohiii 25w


    the last line is a cryptic reference. thanks.

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    violet and bougainvillea

    you say,
    "she's only a girl,
    they come, and they go,
    but you don't throw your heart away,"

    the universe was wide enough for
    you and me to never cross paths
    with each other,
    and that would've been a tragedy
    more heartbreaking than
    any greek,
    and you refute me everytime you
    breathe that a person so
    extraordinarily simple can exist,
    and for all those times,
    I offer you a million bittersweet
    thank you's under my breath;

    you say,
    "you ought to have your guard up,
    high and mighty,
    because no person is trustable,
    they're abomination,
    built to backstab,"

    imagine a scared gladiator
    swinging his sword to survive,
    and he plunges it deep into
    the chests of men
    before they can;
    so timid, and so fearful,
    I blindly slaughtered everyone,
    until the tip of my ceramic
    blood thirsty sword touched
    your heart and I felt my
    whole body beating to it,
    you looked powerless
    but I still cried to you for help,
    because your silhouette—
    it was the brightest asylum,
    for my broken soul and heart;

    you say,
    "she's the speck of light in
    darkness that always abandons
    you midway;
    the risk is dangerous,"

    and how the most dangerous
    thing is to love,
    yet I'm sitting estranged on
    the ocean bed and you are
    the sunlight I swim upstream
    to and this small fraction
    is enough because the only thing
    at peril is me losing these little
    things that mean a lot;

    you say,
    "she's only a girl,
    they leave like autumn;
    at any cost, don't get attached,"

    but you always forget that
    I'm only a naive,
    stupid, little, boy,
    and I'm already in love;

    I want to eat your pancreas.