titsay
Kiana Khansmith
d e v o n
todays bird
almost home
Peter Solarz
i don't do bad sauce passes
★
pixel skylines
noise dept.
hello vonnie
Xuebing Du
Three Goblin Art
NASA
Monterey Bay Aquarium
izzy's playlists!
Origami Around
sheepfilms
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dirt enthusiast
seen from Switzerland
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@acaana
Unidentified Cancellation
Unidentified Cancellation Soft and pliable as cold, damp earth, ability to mold new life into sharp as vulture’s talons. Gripped sharpness rips right through both corners of a mangled smile, no more. Dead as Winter’s frozen ground, null is it’s void. Found on Pinterest
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Suppressed Zephyr
Toothless,we carrya bottleof wind,held withinBohemian crystal.Cracksvein and spreadthroughOctober’s gold.Shattered contents—a gust,sweeping throughstately aspens,merging as onewith a weakColorado low,which grows strongerwith each hour.From west to east,raping the countrywith the season’sfirst snowstorm.How surrealis the air.Heavy snow—clouds seemingly, nearlytouching the ground,while giving…
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Paper Cut
Stifled by the palest pink paper roses, their sharp edges drip crimson from a thousand splintered deaths, from a thousand more wounds that happened—wounds that never healed, that never closed. My heart, it has been pierced over and over again; now it, I, in mind, are lost in limbo, numbed by boundless grief. So much loss. I can no longer hurdle the challenges and the obstacles because I see no…
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Which activities make you lose track of time? Playing on my PS5
Quiet is the Ribbon
It was a hazy day,the day which I sauntered by.I heard, on that day,a keening—full of fury, full of dread.It brought my hands to my ears,such ferocity.My friend, it didn’t sound human. Closer,my feet, they betrayed my mind.I should have turned the other way.Yet again, my curiosity evincedto my practical sense—to look, to see. And see I did.What was it I witnessed?Female, I think—hard to…
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The Genuine Heart of Sadness
The Genuine Heart of Sadness It is said that in difficult times, it is only bodhichitta that heals. When inspiration has become hidden, when we feel ready to give up, this is the time when healing can be found in the tenderness of pain itself. This is the time to touch the genuine heart of bodhichitta. In the midst of loneliness, in the midst of fear, in the middle of feeling misunderstood and…
Walking Empty
Often of late,within the deepnessof my sorrow,there is a wake in my stead.There are voices—conversations of bleak sadness,the kind found during vigils for the dead. It doesn’t make any sense.I’m definitely alive.I feel utterly, inconsolably wretched in my grief. The murmuring…Will they ever ceaseand let me sleep in peace? I see no faces while sleep evades me.Only their incessant murmurs—“Will…
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My Lachrymose Heart
Have you ever wondered if you were born tired and unhappy?I do—often.My soul, it is weary.Feels like eons that I’ve beenbeen carrying the burdensomeweight of despair.Oh, the despair—it is unfathomably heavy.The suffering,the eternal suffering—sacrifice upon sacrifice.My steps, they did—they led me more thanI can countinto what I canonly describe asall-consuming fire.A fire so blue—at first, feels…
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Soul Weary Escape
With purposeful reflection,I meet my own gaze.A forlorn expression challenges my blank stare.Through the deep crevices and discolorations upon my aging face,I feel little over all I’ve overcome. Sure, every line on my face has a story,while every gray and white strand—a mere bleak reminder—of a life filled to the brimwith difficulties I chose with great care. Sure, I’ve overcome much.I’m fully…
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Echo's Loss
Eye twitches—overtired,you see. “Don’t worry,”they say. Others, they ask:Are you worrying? Nay,not really. From roomto room,the narrow paths—each leads me,takes meto a whole lotof nothing. Echoeswould be heardif the roomswere empty.I hear an echo—only I can. What I feel:I feel lost.Lost inside—inside the wallsof my own home. Each room—full.Full of life,of livesnow absent. I don’t know.I…
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Suppressed Fury
The unrefreshing breeze—it flows alongthe staleness thathigh humidityunfortunately brings. Instead of thesweet, sweetfragrance ofblooming treesand well-gardenedflowers grownwith ardorand affection,it’s a smouldering dampnessthat greets me today. Today, a dayunlike other days—not because thosedays are done,done and gone.Sadly, no.Today bringsa renewal of griefand its close relation—sorrow. Too…
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Most delicious to me
What’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten? Moussaka, it tastes so nice.
Heart Asunder
On trembling lips,the flood—those tears—they forcetheir way,without asking,without a care. I thought—thought I was strong.I thoughtI could repress,to shuntheir existence. But my heart—my heart,it split wide open.The intensity,the depthof my longing,of my yearning,of my missing—my missingofeverythingdear to me. Of the losses—the onesI still haven’trecovered from.Much—too much—seeminglyall at…
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An Enigmatic Cycle
Confounded, I amin the heatof my own confusion. Why,oh whyis sleepeluding mefitfullyfor so long? Honestly speaking,I feel this to bethe fretfulwork of myheartfelt sorrow—that, artfully,ironic is thatmy sorrowhas buried—no, woven itssneaky tendrilsof doomed miseryinto everyfiber of mywhole being. My fatigue—it,it faithfullyruns deep.Similar to thatof a well—a bottomless well. Oh yes, indeed,I…
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No One Knows
Just because I can laugh or smile doesn’t mean I’m not crying inside.I’ve become pretty good at masquerading my truest feelings. It’s not that far-fetched, actually. There are years of hurt, of pain and disappointment.I’ve suffered loss—oh boy, have I ever. I’ve known rejection from family, so now the only family I have, I helped to create.Storms blasted my doors, knocking me back. Life, for…
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A Pastoral Ode
Lily—how robust she is, like that of the hardiest chrysanthemum, I do swear. She too, deeply similar to a perennial—a bloom that demonstrates integrity and poise, weathering every season’s storm just like nature intended. She is Lady Lily to me. There she sits beside me, enlightening my view. The scenery prior to knowing her pales in comparison. To know my Lily as I see her is to know nature. I…
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Succor to a Wisp
So many passersby already.So many rushing here and there,meeting and greeting—all eager to readutter nonsense foundwithin these newspapers here. It was on a mist-formed morningthat I spotted Norah.What a vision she wasto my own worn-out sights. I could see, you see,because I am inherently attunedto those afflictedby the calamities life can—and without prejudice or decency—provide. Norah’s own…
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