Every Line On My Lipsevery Permanent Scarevery Wrinkleeach Smile Linehas Your Name Etchedinto The Crevicesand

every line on my lips every permanent scar every wrinkle each smile line has your name etched into the crevices and your name echoes deep within their bounds.

if only you would attempt to taste that name of yours which you utter with such contempt and such unfamiliarity you would discover the sweet delectabilities the passionate, rich tarts and the homely, comforting intoxication that your delightful name is painted of.

as i am drenched by the rain, blanketed by its cold protected by the piercing of its bullet drops i can only reminisce about the cold, piercing voice that whispers in my ears about how it hates me with a fierce passion.

yet its hands always seem to find ways to bury themselves deep within me and leave 'love' buried within the holes they dug into my heart.

did you remember every word every sentence you said to me and look back at the harshest, most piercing of words as if they were deep, unbridled confessions of love and lust? did you hate yourself want to bury yourself into the darkest, most unknown corners of this planet simply for falling in love?

i hate you, i love you, i don't know who you are.

A Glimpse in The River

(this is a repost of some old work. sorry if this isn't to your taste and let me know if you'd like to see more or if you'd prefer to just read my 'poetry'.) (thank you for your valuable time and support❤️❤️.)

Day of the Mirror

The feeling of hitting wet sand while running. 

Your sunlit face tells you it's a hot day out, while the rest of your river-water-covered body tells you it's cold.

Your timid, nervous face looks at you from within the clear river water.

Could this day get any worse?

Maybe it will.

Day of the Self

A large and dark-grey ceiling hangs over a room of three completely white walls. The roof overhead is heavy and hangs directly over the heads of those below. It is lumpy, uneven and covered by a thick veil of perpetual gloom.

The strange thing is, the ceiling, as horrible for a stable structure as it is, continues looming overhead with no sign of ever bursting and ending the misery it is put through, resulting in the very thing causing others grief and disappointment.

You look at the ceiling and try to understand how it came to this situation. You wonder what the damage is and try to look for answers. How much ever you try, the only thing you find is grief. Layers and layers of suffering, misery and soul-emptying loneliness.

The walls feel solid, yet the sense that they could easily be torn down slithers up your feet, creeps up your arms and worms into your mind.

Day of the Odd

Is it possible for everything to seem out of place in an area housing nothing?

Can one feel as though they are getting suffocated by nothingness?

Why should life make its hosts feel like it wants to suck out all forms of reality from the hosts themselves?

A house with nothing to show must have nothing to hide.

Mustn't it...?

Day of Discovery

A house made of only a room with three walls.

A house whose broken fourth wall is unable to keep the house bound together.

A house with a weak base.

A house that has no doors.

A house whose walls are not connected closely with each other.

A house with nothing to show.

Except for an invisible window.

Will the window leave a tiny crack?

Can I hope for some light and warmth in this darkness-ridden world?

Day of Redemption

A small window creaks open in a dark and empty room, allowing a small glimpse of the world outside.

The cracks in the window are no source of hope. Instead, they are the exact opposite. They reveal a meek world filled with unpleasantries. The world they overlook is bleak, meaningless and a world that follows pointless objects in the pursuit of what it calls happiness.

Reform of a specific blind hope is in process. It was mistaken to believe that simply because there is another world out there, it would be better than the one I am subjected to live in.

We were told that there is always a better world out there.

That was a lie.

While looking through the crack in the window, my hands drift over the walls. They feel strange. The walls feel solid and as though they have been up for several years. What lies outside is only a limited, narrow view. The world seems completely empty, apart from a few disappointing, uncaring people pursuing pointless endeavors.

The small and limited room seems immaterial. The room is off-putting, with the way it warps the sense of one's reality. It feels unreal, yet forces you to think it is the only reality you can attach yourself to.

If you don't, you'll just end up going mad. Or at least, that's how you see it.

Break Day

A crack in the walls appears as a pair of deep, loving green eyes peek through. The gap widens further and further. You notice the bearer of the dark green eyes is the one breaking the walls with her sharp glance and strangely gentle-looking hands.

She enters the wide hole and beams at you. She sighs in slight exhilaration. She moves closer to you, grabs hold of your hands and seats you onto one of the most comfortable-feeling armchairs you have sat on in a long time. She seems to conjure it out of thin air. You knew the chair wasn't there previously.

This feels good. The chair feels good. The air feels good. Her gentle grasp feels good.

You see the tiniest sliver of sunlight. You smile to yourself, one of the first smiles you have had in six years. You finally feel some hope for yourself.

You can do this. Maybe, just maybe, the window leads to somewhere good.

Present Day

"Aris? What are you doing here?"

"I tried to do the only thing I could. Escape. Leave the torture I was subjected to and fade away."

"But why? Why like this?"

"I don't know, Wisteria! It was the only way I could think of!"

"You know there was another way. You know there-"

"Wisteria, stop. I'm tired. I've been tortured for long enough now. Let me get just a little bit of peace in my sleep. We'll talk afterwards."

"(sigh) Alright. Take your rest. You deserve it. I'm staying here, though, and you aren't going to stop me.

17 years ago

A cosy cottage by the hills. A clear lake with little tulips and lilies. Little children running about the lake, all with about as much joy as you'd expect.

Could you think of a sadder and more painful sight?

A little child pokes her dear and delicate tulip head out the cottage window. She follows the children with dedicated and hopeful eyes, wishing desperately to be a part of their group.

She rushes out of the room into the kitchen. She chirps up, with her little baby voice,

"Maman, puis-je sortir jouer avec ces filles?"[1]

Her Maman smiles at her.

"Oui, ma cherie."[2]

The young cherie rushes out of her house, screaming as wildly as all the other children. Lost in joy, she has left the earthly world behind and ascended to a higher realm, that of Euphoria.

She rushes out with her newfound joy, experiencing it all in one go, unaware that that will be the last time she shares joy like that in at least 3 decades.

All the young children bounce about with joy, their delighted shrieks filling the meadows with pleasant birdsong. All of them jump into the lake and swim about for at least an hour, splashing with all the grace of a seagull looking for food.

None of them notice the smell of smoke piercing the air around them. Not until it's too late.

The little girl poked her head out of the lake to look at her Maman, but her eyes could only see flames licking the land around her. Frightened, she tries throwing some water outside. The flares die quickly, but she is still far too late.

The poor cherie rushes out of the lake, screaming, 'Maman!' No reply comes.

It never shall come.

Fearing the worst, she finds a pail nearby, fills it with water and runs to her house. The smell of smoke alerts her, and she throws the water, managing to put the fire out.

She rushes inside, hoping to find her Maman struggling to breathe but still alive. Nothing but a bit of her Maman's apron is one of the only survivors.

She does not make noise. She tries to will her legs to move, but they are frozen to the spot. She melts down and sits amidst the pile of ashes. She tightens her hold around the piece of cloth.

Unbeknownst to her, she has not escaped scratch-free. A part of her has burnt away in the flames, an essential component. In fact, it is the only part that ever mattered.

That part is a capacity to feel joy. Nay, it is the boldness to feel pure glee. And, by the time she regains that part of her, she will have been too late. She will have missed out on the chance to rejoice in the best parts of life. But she must know that there is hope for her. There is a cure for all afflictions and, no matter how late it comes, it will come, and it will heal her.

Present Day

Everything became hazy. My mind was heavy as is. The hospital beds were uncomfortable to sleep on, but my exhausted person did not care. I was just beginning to doze asleep when I heard Wisteria's worried and caring voice, barely a whisper now, say, "Thank you so much for asking me to check in on her. Poor girl, she's gone through so much. I'm glad she was able to get out alive."

The last thing I heard before dozing off was Wisteria's sobs as she grasped my hand tight. She managed to stop crying for a while, simply to tell me, "You shouldn't have gone through that. I promise that from now on, wherever you go, you won't go alone. I'm there with you every step of the way."

I give her a little smile. I forced my eyes open and managed to get some words out.

"Wisteria?" "Yes?" "I love your dark green eyes." "(shh) Save that for when we get home, silly!"

She smiles at me, pulls me toward her and clutches me tight toward herself. She holds me like that for some time, and I fall asleep in her arms.

It has been a while since I have felt such security, warmth and love.

It feels good.

(translation: [1] Maman, could I play with those girls? [2] Of course, my dear.)

i have always wondered how you seem to fool yourself thinking that there is 'no way' a being such as yourself could be loved.

i ask you, my dear, do you think it just to torture me so with your enticing, alluring, beautiful eyes with your full, arched, smiling lips and still call yourself an unlovable 'troll'?

imagine having the audacity to torture someone with intense, never-ending love and then state that you are impossible to fall in love with.

perhaps a madman was simply only madly in love and was left unrecognized.

luminous spirits

illuminated by the playful rays of sunlight the gentle lake of memories shines, a prism of magnificence hiding in its holds and folds.

each ripple of water toys with the light, letting the joys of the light's childlike demeanour etch itself deep within the previously hollow, paper-thin cave of boyhood.

every ray of light dances around in the ballroom created by the magic, ethereal walls of the childhood cavern, perfectly preserving every inhabitant with their effervescent auras diffused through the walls, painted onto them with the warmth of nostalgia.

as the dear cavern of the heart blooms and floods with the light that joy gives off the boy whose heart encloses that cavern has a painted, joyous smile with a smile 100 times more bright and luminous than any other.