Pardyprompt - Tumblr Posts
scared & scarred
Lying on the couch, scared of dying sane, drowning in spicy leather. Hungry fingers are yellow, but there are no cigarettes to be smoked. The thirsty throat burns, but there is nothing left to drink. To heal. Postponed trials leave bruises, but there are no words to be spoken. Letting the sun descend, afraid of heresy, breathing thoughts to be condemned.
© Margaux Emmanuel
the bus
Doleful faces at the bus stop. I was one of them. The clouds were vehemently spitting thick rain, smiting the cobblestones of the streets, and trickling down our wan faces. Drowsy, I closed my eyes and let the cadenced sound of the rain lull me to sleep. Alas, the bus of perdition came. I never dared to get out.
© Margaux Emmanuel
vacant soul
Suffocating in between four walls
empty
But inside me breathes
an untamed waterfall
clemency
in a timeless room
waiting to pull the trigger
around noon
children scream
stuck in a dark daydream
pills flow out the cracks of the door
while I am dead, suspiring on the floor.
© Margaux Emmanuel
wannabe ghosts
Specters
fruits of crossroads
wilt from bruises
deep rivulets
wrinkles carved into her face
hungrily
smile at the lost muses
nebulous eyes
hunted
haunted by ghosts
virile oaths crumble to lies
piteous floorboards are waxed
feverishly
discoloring jeans
a discolored organ pumps blood
mechanically
the door will open
free a flood
yet
a fire alights
begins to kindle in her lungs
reminds her
of all their damned tongues
forgotten Prozac
unearths an amnesiac
she gets up
discovers the phantoms’ tombs
abandoning her scars, she runs
realizing that there’s much more to a woman
than a lifetime
of sewing the dead’s
loose thread
© Margaux Emmanuel
a bird’s haiku
Serenading sky drunken poet in disguise clouds blinded by lies.
© Margaux Emmanuel
sit on a tree, free
Tagging the streets with trembling hands, afraid he’ll break the lace.
Digging in the wind with trembling hands, knowing he’ll capture my pace.
Flirting with bridges with trembling hands, laughing
he’ll remember this face.
My hands stopped trembling
it’s a chase
I whispered
the agony of the race.
© Margaux Emmanuel
breaking shoulders
Fingers drummed against the edge of the suspicious table. A habitual visitor painted my face crimson. Oh dear. The leather of my suitcase unearthed my skin. A sort of wet substance trickled. Couldn’t really notice.
What’s in this luggage?
Won’t say, sir.
May I take a look?
Perhaps not sir, perhaps not.
Why not?
Because some things are too heavy to look at. My cheeks won’t seem so red. My eyes so blue. The leather so brown.
Everything’ll seem black and white, sir.
Black and white.
© Margaux Emmanuel
forever & never
Underrated hallucinations of an untuned heart
your dusty curls slither through the prairies of my skin
your grey eyes are cracking, thrifting apart
ambling through the arid meadows of the past
yet your marshlands smoke sin
the fog unfolds
much too fast
and the fiery mirage of you
burns away
oh, the reverie of the downcast.
© Margaux Emmanuel
watercolors
A failing heart is brushed with the dust of silence
a shadowed mind shudders at a patient blindness
an orphaned violence
the whistle of our thoughts trickle
drip
while I fill the crevices in the canvas
with the remaining paint of your dying lips
for no sane words can describe my heart
sailing these fugitive waves
too strong for art.
© Margaux Emmanuel
the streams downtown
I found the rip in this ocean, while intently watching the dance of the waves’ froth. The water has been pouring onto me, feeling the depression of my collarbone, stroking the tear in my skin, echoing this hollowness inside me, for much too long. Swimming back to the rip, to stop this flow once and for all, means letting it caress my heart while I drown, letting forgetfulness take his seat. I found the rip in this ocean, and it’s intently watching me.
© Margaux Emmanuel
howls of the lost lunatic
the ecstasy of forgotten time
of the void impalpable by feeling
of this cavity in my heart
this disaccord of light
that bleeds through the dark
that touches the depths of these caved in walls
that touches despair’s budding shadow
soaked in this arid guilt
while we’re pushed in the gulf of hysteria
searching for the words
to our own lost poetry.
© Margaux Emmanuel
kaleidoscope
The wrinkles of youth were playing
in the garden of adolescence
where stubborn roots make their way through infinite bouquets
of blades of grass
piercing the innocence of the horizon
wandering hearts
that have bled before
meet in this verdure
to bleed together
while we wait for a boat on the shore of a lake
on the shore of life
to come retrieve yesterday’s dew
because the unspoken’s remains
dwell in us
dismantle us
at every quiver of the waves
at every shiver of the waves
pieces of faith bloom
only to fade
when will the flower skim the greenery?
© Margaux Emmanuel
whisper
Stolen flowers from the cemetery
answer sorrow’s questions
as the thin plumage of reality wearies.
© Margaux Emmanuel
bullet eclipse
an asylum for doubt
a saturated drought
where your eyes spiral down
my arteries
unspoken words amble upon a shard
of reason
of treason
inoculation
against melancholia
palpitations
holding hands with dementia
I can now hear
the moans of hysteria
© Margaux Emmanuel
bittersweet
Swirling in the ashes of honey, I awake crying under a bridge. A blur of roses forcefully blooms in my lips letting faraway delusions plague me in the twilight. When the crepuscule flees while passionately kissing the horizon, when there is nothing to write, nothing right and nothing to feel, where do the lonely petals of sentiment go? The scream of silence reigns, misunderstood. My reflection in a tearful cup of tea has suddenly dulled reality.
© Margaux Emmanuel
sunflowers in the attic
to paint a tomb
in the prose of life
to caress a wound
with the edge of a knife
to write letters to the dead
in a mosaic of hurt
to start bleeding dread
waiting for an answer
to appease the thirst
to feel the verse of your lips
follow the prosody of my skin
to let the streams of your tears
carve pain on the breath of chagrin
why is your name scribbled on a grave?
it channels in the streets of this morbid haze
where I can feel your cold pulse
your screams
your presence
absence
echo in my veins
sewing a lace insomnia
dissecting a lacuna
searching in the emptiness of my heart
until it rips apart
breathe in
breathe out
you have blinded me
from the compass of existence
diagnosed with a troubled
broken
spilled
pen
the only solution
is to burn the paper
burn me
© Margaux Emmanuel
In the remainder of the tepid alcohol languishing in the flask of your eyes, we drink to the lost silhouette of love, burn our photographs wedged into the yellowed corners of our thoughts. We settle for cemented happiness, contemplating life through its glass corridors where mold is hidden, where I can feel the cracks of our suffering, where I can sense our hands dismembering our own poetry. When empty phrases harrow insomnia, I tape blossoms, breaths of life, to the pages of our unfinished chapters. But the trees’ barks where our initials dangle, imprisoned by a blistering heart, are peeling. I have just realized that flowers wither.
to slip on drunken petals
© Margaux Emmanuel
The way your eyes speak, hidden under those sunglasses in the ink-seeped night, where I can see the reflection of our nightmares’ neon headlights, where I can see a hanged man, life tugging at his throat, his foggy, unstringed eyes peering at the existential questions left at the gallows’ steps. Astray in the poetry of half-alighted movie theater marquees and of weeping red diner booths paralyzed under the sterilized silence of the blinding white lights interrogating and polishing the checkered floor tile, time stops. With blood-stained eyes and a delirious steering wheel, quarantine my heart and let me sleep.
roadside mirages | © Margaux Emmanuel
You ran away when you were seventeen sleeping weeping in blurry cars and in eerie inns with no address no name trapped in time bordering the highway where you wrote to me poems in Latin stamped from the basement of my mind inspired by a denuded flower whimpering in a glass bottle of Coca-Cola beside a clumsy kitchen sink. You’re a vagabond tragedy a vagabond prodigy dipped in the paint of a raw sorrow quoting Virgil sitting in a bumper car sleepily howling Roman odes at a hollow night sky with swollen knuckles swollen eyes from trying to twist a drain of logic a faucet of amnesia only to find a leak of pain. I see you lying on the thirsty sand your eyes closed your lips apart morose saliva trickling out onto your chin a ripple of water comes to stroke your feet telling you to wake up but you don’t. A broken vinyl scratched from loving too hard.
headache | © Margaux Emmanuel
A damp seaside cottage bathed in a picturesque pastel yellow paint peeling off the walls cracked windows shattered bottles screaming on the floor a story that you’ll never hear a silent porch bearing a lonesome rocking chair where tears used to stain her floral dress a sore giggling wind brings along an exiled melancholia unloaded memorabilia and then there’s you, collapsed on the dangling shingles tumbledown eyes peaking out of streaks of wet hair humming an outdated tune from the pit of a golden lacquered heart sluggishly tracing the words your mind’s waves cry. Sometimes you sink into their foam with your lavender socks and then the bitter water licks your neck and you forget the punctuation of the days that strut by and on that rooftop overlooking your splinters you shrug starved by the discolored key waiting under the doormat by the flower petals lingering around the gutter maybe it’s okay to die a little younger.
golden lacquered heart | © Margaux Emmanuel