cloudy thoughts, unspoken words, found muse

the oracles of existential logic are currently out of prophecies

[coldbloodpoetry]

Now that I know, I know not knowing is a precious gift.

[coldbloodpoetry]

I don't know what I did to fate, but apparently it still had a score to settle with me...

[coldbloodpoetry]

I long to give you a sign of hope, that everything happened for a reason and has turned out well, but it would be just another false comfort to ease your mind.

[coldbloodpoetry]

holding on to the rotten petals like my heart holds on to the past

[coldbloodpoetry]

I watched a drunk bee slowly die. It reminded me of myself.

[coldbloodpoetry]

I hadn't said I had a headache. I did try to speak my truth, but in the end, I also was just a Girl, Interrupted.

[coldbloodpoetry]

You reached out for me, your hand trying to pull me back into existence. I wanted to lift my arm, extend my hand to meet yours, but I couldn't. You didn't care and lunged for me — but eager hands don't grab gently — and you squished my soul between your trembling fingers.

[coldbloodpoetry]

To give you your absolution, I would have to forgive myself first, and I've never been the forgiving type.

[coldbloodpoetry]

The cruellest thing you can do to a star imploding into a black hole is to remind it of how bright it once shone.

[coldbloodpoetry]

Trauma is like losing your whole skin, having your skin stripped from your whole body. Over time, you get used to living with your bare flesh exposed. You don't feel anything any more because everything that touches you hurts. And one day you end up in a therapist's office and the first one looks at you and says, the pain is all in your head. The next one takes a good look and is like 'Yeah, I see a little irritation on the skin, maybe a slight sunburn. I am gonna teach you how to put on sunscreen.' Don't fucking tell me to put on sunscreen, so my bare rotten flesh doesn't hurt as much. And you will try to put on little patches of skin transplant, each stitch to attach them hurts like hell, and most of them your body will reject, or the transplant will slowly get infected by the rotten flesh underneath and painfully die off. And some of the transplantation surgeries only happen in your cognition but never on your body. So don't you fucking tell me to put on sunscreen.

[coldbloodpoetry]

Maybe in another life I'll get to be a version of myself that hasn't been broken by sheer existence.

[coldbloodpoetry]

I've analysed all my pathologies only to realise over analysing is my only pathology.

[coldbloodpoetry]

Beginning of April and, once again, the existential dread is catching up with me.

[coldbloodpoetry]

They told me to write poetry to cope with my grief, but learning to express it in a hundred different ways didn't lessen it.

[coldbloodpoetry]

And once again, one has to state: humans in general and individually are a disappointing experience.

[coldbloodpoetry]

My friends always call me the grandma of the group. I now realize it's not just because of my retro fashion sense, good advice and the occasionally surprising snarky comments, it's the way I carry myself, view life and my compassion for the unknowing youngsters that's the same as of an elderly woman who's seen how ugly and meaningless everything gets once the passage of time robbed you of the love of your life.

[coldbloodpoetry]

The grief nested itself into my trembling hands, lumping leg and shallow breath.