Phoenix ; @inked-soull - Tumblr Blog

mindinthevoid

I explained my hurt, and still got hurt, so I learned to stop talking.

missinyouiskillingme

“But the past couple of days I’ve missed you so much it’s felt like missing you is all I am.”

— Elizabeth Scott

natkhat-sa-shyam

चाय का प्याला हो

या महबूबा की कमर,

मेरा हाथ हमेशा

उस बीच के पतले ढलान तक चला जाता है।

शायद यही मेरी फितरत है।

क्योंकि चीज़ों की असली नज़दीकी

किनारों पर नहीं मिलती।

चाय की गर्माहट भी

उसे बीच से थामने पर

हथेलियों में उतरती है।

और महबूबा..

वो भी कमर के उसी ढलान से पकड़ो

तो ज़रा और करीब आ जाती है।

जैसे रिश्तों की गहराई

शब्दों से नहीं,

पकड़ की जगह से तय होती हो।

कुछ लोग किनारों को पकड़ते हैं,

ताकि गिरने का डर कम रहे।

मगर मुझे हमेशा

वो जगह थामना पसंद है

जहाँ किसी का संतुलन बसता है,

जहाँ छूना सिर्फ छूना नहीं,

बल्कि पूरी मौजूदगी को महसूस करना होता है।

| shyam

unexpressedthoughtsanddesires

I am sorry

You arrive like a lit match

cupped in the dark palm of my phone,

your body stripped to the pale machinery of want—

collarbones sharp as razors,

I imagined mouth half-open like a wound asking forgiveness

before the knife descends.

I paid for you

the way women pay for candles in churches,

small hot offerings

to keep the loneliness from hardening completely.

Coins for illusion.

Bills for the soft theater

of being chosen.

And you—

God, you made it look holy.

The photograph bloomed in my hands,

your nakedness white as hospital sheets,

that practiced hunger in your message

like you had swallowed the moon

and found it tasteless.

I thought desire was permission.

Isn’t that the oldest lie?

The apple shining itself red

for the obedient teeth.

But then your voice—

that small animal sound,

caught under the floorboards of the call.

“Maybe,” you said,

and the word dragged its broken leg

across my conscience.

Maybe.

Not yes.

Not hunger.

Not the velvet eagerness I painted over you

to make myself less monstrous.

I have worn loneliness so long

it fits like skin now,

a gray glove stitched to the wrist.

I wanted your body

the way starving women want mirrors—

to disappear inside something beautiful

for one merciful second.

And what did I make of you?

A lantern to warm my cold hands.

A sacrament with bruised eyes.

Another lovely boy

learning how to leave himself behind

while strangers consume the light.

I am sorry.

Sorry for every time

my wanting entered the room before my tenderness did.

Sorry if my hands became another mouth

asking too much of your flesh.

Sorry if afterward

you looked at your own reflection

like a rented room

someone had dirtied and left.

Still—

even now—

your beauty stalks me.

The gold animal of you.

The dangerous silk of you.

I am weak before it

in the old biblical way:

salt pillar,

burning city,

man turning back despite the angels.

But tonight

I fold my desire shut

like a bloodied dress.

Tonight I promise myself I'll try no to use you anymore.

murderhusbandsblog

And isn't it just so pretty to think

All along there was some

Invisible string

Tying you to me?

secretumpoeta

I spend my dreams with you. My thoughts are tangled with wonderings of where you are and what you are doing. I try and concentrate, but as the sun rises and sets, so I am inevitably drawn to you. Every part of me aches to be with you. Your presence, your voice, your smile. I fear that I am in love with you. You have stolen a part of my soul and shall dwell there eternally. ~ B.T.

secretumpoeta

The stars haunt. The endless nights that I sat under this sky either with her, or dreaming about her. And now I find myself with countless reminders of who I was. And who I loved. I still do. ~ B.T.

secretumpoeta

I love too hard. Too deep. I’m tired of covering wounds with trivial distractions that are only temporary. Tired of playing a role that veils the scattered heart beneath the surface. I can only love one. Pour myself into one. My soul was not meant for anything else. It is that or nothing. Complete and utter solitude. I cannot bear this world without the heart my soul is tethered. But here I am. I fight the desire to go. Every second of everyday leaves a wake of longing. And I am drowning. Little by little, I slip beneath a surface and fear I am drawing my last breathes of you. ~ B.T.

selfcare-suggestion

*throwing gentleness, kindness and happiness at you*

mirethos

secretumpoeta

I wonder sometimes if I can quiet the darkness. The veil covers my eyes and I see only vague images of this reality. Lies really told to keep us perpetually docile and obedient. What happens when you remove the noise and see this place for what it really is? ~ B.T.

secretumpoeta

The thorn pierced, the blood trickled, and I am lost as to what my world has become. The pain that lurks at my core radiates through my entire being and I no longer want to be in this place. How does one love without being loved? I have found I cannot solve this riddle. I am left desolate and without purpose. ~ B.T.

secretumpoeta

The thorn pierced, the blood trickled, and I am lost as to what my world has become. The pain that lurks at my core radiates through my entire being and I no longer want to be in this place. How does one love without being loved? I have found I cannot solve this riddle. I am left desolate and without purpose. ~ B.T.

secretumpoeta

The thorn pierced, the blood trickled, and I am lost as to what my world has become. The pain that lurks at my core radiates through my entire being and I no longer want to be in this place. How does one love without being loved? I have found I cannot solve this riddle. I am left desolate and without purpose. ~ B.T.

shisasan

Franz Kafka, The Castle Originally published: 1926

poeticaphorisms

In the corner of the room

That thing I refuse to acknowledge,

Stands and stares at me.

That cracked conscience

I refuse to even glance at for a second.

—Its hands are bleeding,

Eyes with tears slipping down to the lifeless cheeks,

Its body clearly malnourished

—A thin frame barely there.

You'd think it'd be easy to miss

But its ghastly appearance forces my eyes to it

But I resist

I force my eyes away

Not focusing on it for even a millisecond.

My eyes, like a butterfly,

Never settling on a thing for more than a second

The conscience, like the hands of a child,

Struggling to grab me.

I cripple at the mere sense of it being anywhere near me.

I dispose the memory of its existence

Every day

Throw myself at things

But the thing never leaves.

So I named it

Instead of wishing for it to disappear

I cling to it like it did to me even before

hope not even death separates us

As I've now felt abandonment myself.

And so I caress the thin, pale cheeks of the power-hungry monster I always saw in the mirror

uschi-the-listener

trauma/addiction

he just couldn’t stay awake

poor addict

full of blood

pumping heroin

his heart

needed nothing

but surcease

after he finished

wiping his best friend’s

brains

off his clothes

face

hair

heroin is not

useless

.

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