Messy Stuff

Someone once told me to pour it all into words

[weltenwellen]

E.E. Cummings, Complete Poems, 1904-1962

[hsinhuas-moved]

if you’re a poc and you write, reblog this post and I’ll check out your blog!! I want some more writing mutuals!!

[fading-shadows]

They say Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul (that pricks and stabs your skin, it claws at your heart) and sings the tune without the words (uselessly, foolishly, stupidly you listen) and never stops at all. Hope, hope has long since soard above this city’s walls. It wasn’t welcomed anymore. Hope is the poisonous song you hum under your breath, never dare to sing it out loud because it’ll corrupt your mind.

O hope with fickle wings, grow another stronger pair and come back again. A kid holds a tattered teddy bear -arm about to fall out, cotton peaking through the last two stitches that hold his arm in place- asks me about his sister. Says he’d give his only friend away to have his school back. The teddy does not cry, his buttons of eyes has long fallen out. Silky lies spill from my mouth, needles pricking my throat. Honey lies, because honey is what kids deserve (honey; hapiness, hope, help) lots of it. The teddy’s arm fall to the ground. Small Men don’t need teddy bears afterall.

O hope please come back, for the truth is uglier than the cruelest honey lies. Lies leave a sour taste on my tongue, while truths burn and scald. How about a bland taste as a start?

The teddy does not cry. The city laughs in the background sinsterly sweet. Sweetly sinster.

[fading-shadows]

Burn this city, let the angry flames lick at the edges of the sky, let the smoke and ash taint the clouds that mock us and shit on us; violet red showers we don’t need. There’s blood in this kid’s eyes (where’s my mum he asks. Let’s look for her, i answer. I know time will pass and we won’t find her. Im a big boy I’ll find her in no time. He smiles. He won’t. But this boy is already a small man, he’ll have figured it out by the night anyway. Instead i pat his head, you’re a big boy. I say. His eyes shine) ; there’s blood everywhere. The city laughs in airstrikes, gunshots and tears.

Burn this city, let the flames dance and cackle, flesh, more flesh; it sings, burn it and let the sea extinguish the heat, sea of rage. O sea of rage how your waves dance and crash to this sonnet of madness. Drown this city and its ugly laughter (its cries, sobs, tears.)

Burn this city that has burned your heart, bleeding tar on the concrete instead of sticky red (sickening red everywhere), feeding on the pain of said fickle thing: O fickle petty thing, do not despair, I’ll chew you up elegantly. Burn, burn this city up. Claw at your heart (before it claws at it), throw it away or put it in a jar; it isn’t needed in here. No one with a heart can survive this city. No one with dreams.

Burn this city, burn it down, burn it up. (This city never burns; it burns our hearts.)

[fading-shadows]

This city suffocates me; it’s everything you never wanted; it’s tiredness that refuses to wash away no matter how much you sleep. There are streets you avoid because a walk down a memory lane is nightmarish on these paved stones, weaved out of wearness weaved out of sadness, fed on hunger, fuelled by anger and haterd, here sees blood, here sees distrust and never, never enough hope; run run run, it whispers, there’s a dead end; it mocks

But it enjoys your fear and sweat because it’s not the sweet homeland it used to be (It’s not the sweet homeland everyone makes it to be) it’s too much crumbling buildings (under the weights of crumbling hearts) crushing crumbling hearts. The silence, the silence that follows (that lingers, that clings, that claws) is deafening. Screams pierce the sky but it’s still serene. Beautiful things can’t get tainted here. It already is. Has been since six years. Run run run; it whispers. It’s no use; it taunts.

The sun shines beautifully. The city smiles. Sinsterly sweet. Here comes the crush of dreams. Here come blood and tears. Sweetly sinster. Sinsterly sweet.

[fading-shadows]

“My skin prickles at the mere mention of your name, storms brewing and raging between my aching bones, suffocating whirlpool of tears and harsh breaths. December rain has never felt so cruel - Did you really have to go away?”

— 1:07 am thoughts // i understand now what u meant by saying hurricanes should be named after people

[arwaawrites]

Hearts of stone

[arwaawrites]

There's a smile on the bed, i dont pick it up, it's crooked just like the one you adorn

You speak; words tumbling out of your mouth and over my head, it sounds like the premise of something ugly it ricchocets off the walls and pierce through my skin

I have never been fond of apologies, even less of insincere ones

I pick the smile from the white sheets, it bleeds a violent shade of red-its a smirk now- and pluck it away.

This room becomes too much; slaughterd smiles and venomous words; a graveyard of hearts.

I dont know how we reached this, i dont know how to fix it, this thing that breathes It breathes and grows and feeds on my anger, ugly thing that only knows how to fester, it wasn't loved properly, it wasn't loved at all so it only knows how to scream.

I look at your smile and i wish to claw it off and tuck it away in my pocket so every time i feel weak I'll remember the thing that only festers and I'll feed it to it

This room is a graveyard of hearts that weep - Despair is an ugly thing that only knows how to fester

[arwaawrites]

There's a storm brewing under my skin waves of anger crashing against my ribs, of sadness, of despair Mama once said 'Do not still your flames' Mama didn't have to deal with winds lashing her heart Sit still poor heart Beat tight (tight?) Mama didn't know the taste of insanity that licks at my frayed edges Mama doesn't know madness has never loved tenderly Mama will never know how can i tell her? - my flames only seem to burn me insane