Lila

any pronouns. 22. just a person writing stuff. the pieces are not proofread. i hope you enjoy your stay here, however brief it may be. ‘Katarsis’ inspired

[lilakessler]

to mom

i used to wonder what your love language is. surely not physical touch, seeing how i recoil from the sole thought of contact with you. not the gift giving either, god knows you love surprising your friends more than you do your children. oh, acts of service! ah well, scratch that, the only acts you’re doing is the imperative ones. words of affirmation? …no, words of disapproval, disappointment and dissatisfaction. yeah, that’s more like it.

your love language is verbal violence.

you throw your harsh words at me, like a game of darts, but you never miss. and after every successful game you pretend like i don’t have dozens of arrows sticking out of my body. but i feel them piercing my skin for days on end.

mom, im tired.

[lilakessler]

You’re a play without the director, in front of an eager audience. They expect flawless–you can only do perfect. It’s not good. Never has been. They blame you, throw things at you. And here you’re trying to find the missing director. He is responsible. Always has been. Without him the play has collapsed. Nobody can guarantee that his presence would change the mess. But without him–there is someone to blame. Yet, only you are able to see that–the emptiness, the void under your feet. Like a ghostly presence that turns you into a mad one.

[lilakessler]

cw: sh imagery

the glass breaks, however, there’s no broom in your hand. not yet. the perfect candidate has yet to be found. your gaze flickers back and forth between the pieces, evaluating the hidden potential. sharp but not too sharp to get out of its constraints; big but not big enough to catch a stray stare. and there it is—a perfect match. the rest is discarded.

and so, the painting process begins. not too deep, not too quick. slow down, revel in the moment—notice the pinkishness, the slight bump. leave just enough to satisfy and not enough to draw attention. cute little claw marks, in case of any confrontation. aren’t you just a talented one?

[lilakessler]

death doesn’t come knocking. it goes right through the door without a trace but before you know it—the door bursts into the smallest little pieces, turning the entrance into a massacre of your soul. there’s your liver, your lung..and your heart—still beating faintly. you believe, pray, you can stitch yourself together but the thread snaps the moment you prick the tissue. you then crack your ribs and tear your chest open, piling them all into the empty void but your body rejects them. they’re expired, rotten. you pick up the remains of your heart, barely sensing the heartbeat—yet you embrace it anyway. your affection could never compare to the warmth of your inner flesh. you’re hollow but you can’t let go of it. there’s a glimmer of hope inside you—it’s going to come back to life, you’re sure of it; and just like before, it would beat joyfully in your chest.

days, weeks, months—you hold it close, it’s unrecognizable anymore, maggots are feasting on your heart. it wounds your very soul..but there’s nothing left of it—can a void ache?

the larvae reach your hand, your neck, your face..they eat the alive ones, too? are you even alive? only you can tell.

[lilakessler]

countless fingerprints plastered on the hard cover. tender embraces that linger for decades, combined with the harsh grabs that could only leave never-dying scars. the yellowed pages decorated with dried tear drops on one particular page, that smudged the letters yet left a different kind of scar where flowers bloomed. it lives on, gifting the future fingerprints a chance to learn its story, if one were to listen closely.

so you open it with an odd gentleness, the fingertips caress the smudges—studying each imperfection. the rough edges, torn pages—all tell a different story. your gaze lands onto the next page—different from the rest. a flowery scent fills you, invites you to learn its past, its present, and its future. the page is still warm to the touch, as if you can hold hands with the previous owner—feel their pain. and now it’s your turn to tell your own tale.

[lilakessler]

Ten. The pen is picked up, full of ink, it desires to be used. Hear its prayer, fulfill its purpose. The writer has no other choice but to oblige. Nine. With a slight tremor in his hand, the pen makes contact with a blank page, soon to be blossoming with another soul-wrenching piece. He makes no move. Eight. The room shrinks, the walls approach him with determined steps that echo, ring in his ears. Seven. He holds the pen tightly, as if it will escape the second he lets go. But both know it’s a lie. Six. The sound of his heart beating suppresses the marching of the walls, their chant: “Fulfill your task”. He can’t. He can’t move his hand. Five. The pen itself looks up at him with worry. His throat is dry. Four. The walls are getting closer, demanding to witness the completion. Three. The sweat drips down onto the page. Two. His legs weaken. One. The walls whisper in his ear “FAILURE”.

Zero.

There is no writer anymore.

[lilakessler]

i mourn her every day. she was everything to me – a dream that haunted me, a desire i could never reach. i let myself grieve, let myself feel her absence. but even after years of trying to overcome it – i always come back to the fantasy of her.

i can live perfectly fine without her, i tell myself. but her absence is much harder to ignore. there’s nothing – a deafening pit – following me. i can’t see her, i can’t hear her, i can’t touch her.

fruitlessly trying to build her out of whatever i have under my hands. but it all falls into that pit. i don’t want to blame her. i can’t blame her. after all – she never existed in the first place. she was never real.

but that void is. he is the culprit. the murderer i crave to find and punish. but for now all i want is just one conversation. i want to give him a chance to fix me, to let him undo his mistake. i’m sure, this is just a big misunderstanding.

and so i search for him. it’s fairly easy to do so—he remains deep in his swamp, the one i once had to pull myself out of. i confront him, demanding answers, begging him to disintegrate me and give me another chance at rebirth as a complete person.

to my dismay, all he is capable of is just silently pointing to the nameless grave in the far corner of the swamp. there’s no need for any other questions now. he was the one to bury her—to strangle her with his own burly hands.

i try to rationalize it, tell myself that he did that to protect me because he secretly cared. however, the truth is far more sinister, cruel—he didn’t even notice her passing on his way out. he stepped over her cold corpse without a care in the world, letting her rot and become one with the soil—burying the life, the hope of her future self under layers of dirt and mud.

[lilakessler]

can it be a betrayal if it’s only natural? each is following their own water path. sometimes the rivers merge and the waters become one. but sooner or later the solid ground and rocks will separate them. it’s oh so inevitable yet so dreadful. the river becomes thinner and returns to its original form. but there are changes. it carries that once shared ecosystem, some of the fish found a new home, and the algae don’t notice the difference at all.

there’s always a trace of all the past encounters. and there’s always neighboring rivers which merge with yours once in a while. some stay for years, washing over your shore with lukewarm waves. some stay for too little, leaving too much for your streams to handle on its own. and some leave without a trace, for better or for worse.

are you willing to take a deep dive and dissect each drop to understand what is truly yours and what is the remembrance left by dozens of channels that once were giving and taking?

and once you emerge you’ll feel just how freezing the waters are now. the remains are still there but the stream flows in complete solitude underneath a thick layer of ice. nobody is there to melt it.

but alas, each river has its own path. one can only wish for a hot stream to pass by again and make my waters run in delight once more.

[lilakessler]

give me the knife! give it to me! scissors, a damn razor blade — anything! i can’t do this no more. i can’t live with that flesh anymore. i can already picture it – living free of all that weight once i penetrate the skin and rip it out. i’ll cut erratically and maniacally just to get it over with quicker. every inch of skin, every inch of putrid meat – sliced away. blood would stream out terrifyingly so. crimson dark would soak my white shirt i bought a month ago. would i scream? probably. after all, gashing out a part of your body must hurt like hell. but that pain would be blinded by the sweet taste of relief when the dead piece of meat flops down on the ground with a wet slap. salty tears would run down my face right onto my lips so i could taste it - the last time i would shed my heart over the useless flesh. i wouldn’t be bound by it no longer. i would be free. i would drop onto my knees and let out a laugh – an almost victorious cry. i wouldn’t mind the blood gushing out of me. that would be the appropriate price to pay for removing the shackles that kept me chained to the mirror, forced to stare at the moldy, rotting human. but that would be soon forgotten. the despair and the newly found joy would slowly fade away.

all that would be left is the eviscerated corpse on the ground in a pool of blood.

[lilakessler]

how does it feel to know that you don’t exist in their eyes? you’re an error in the system. or..you’re just confused. you’ll find your truth eventually, they say. how can they say that when their truth is painted clearly in front of them. they’re given a map with instructions as soon as they open their eyes. and i have to collect the scattered pieces along the way.

and there i am - with torn, crumpled pieces i so desperately try to tape together for a coherent picture, a map to navigate me through the fog. but as i step away from the table, looking at the supposed answer to my questions, i feel ever more empty.

i always wondered if such things as soulmates existed. it sounded so special, making me believe that i still had my chance at normalcy, it would explain all those years of lonely wandering. i see other people with red strings around each finger, with one eventually leading to their one and only. but when i look down at my own hands i don’t see anything. i don’t have a red string. did i lose it? i look around, retrace my steps, scared that someone snatched it from my finger. but no. there was never one.

i look up at the skies and for the first time in my life i speak to him, whoever he may be. i’m not even sure there’s someone there. i don’t think i even believe in it. but i need answers. why was i made with this flaw? there must’ve been a mistake. but there’s no answer.

i get home. i find a red yarn and wrap it around my finger. that’s right.. i’m okay now. i’m just like everyone else. i just need to find someone to share this yarn with. so i look around, ignoring that nagging voice in the back of my head. and then i stumble upon him. he lifts me up and ties our strings together. and i’m finally right where i’m supposed to be.. i am, right?

time passes and the feeling of belonging turns into never ending misery. i look at my finger and see it turning blue, it hurts from how hard he’s tugging at the string. i can’t resist his pull but it hurts. i can barely feel my finger. i let him lead me further. until i can’t take it anymore. i grab a pair of scissors and cut the string with one snap.

i stare at the fallen string in horror. what have i done? it was my only chance! ..but as i look up at him, i can only see him walk away as if i haven’t just severed the future he promised.

i sit and i ponder what went wrong. my gaze lands back on my finger and the remaining string. with a shaky hand i get rid of the rest, seeing how it cut through the skin. that’s when i let that voice speak up. the string never belonged to me. my body rejected it.

and yet, i mourn the future i can never reach, the company i can never find. i’m surrounded by it, by people happily connecting with the help of that string, making me burn with envy and self destructive rage.

in the end, the only thing i can hope for is the acceptance of my true self.

[lilakessler]

Lost flesh

it’s so easy to give in. so easy to let those whispers pull you into the void. who would want to face their all-consuming addiction alone? to fight against it and not beside it.

or maybe it’s easier to run. run away from your filth, your desires, your demons. shame you can’t outrun them. the moment you decide to abandon them – they grip onto your arms and legs, giving you that extra weight that makes it impossible to even lift your feet for the first step.

you look down, seeing them cling onto you while laughing hysterically at your helplessness. you think for a moment that maybe if you pretend they’re not there they’ll disappear. but what you don’t expect is them to throw their mouths open and expose their fangs before sinking them deep into your flesh, penetrating the tissue and bone.

you wail in agony yet something inside you resists. it’s relentless but you persist.. for reasons unknown to you.

you reach out with your hand with unstable determination while struggling not to give in and let them swallow every bit of you. your grip is hesitant but you still go for it. there’s this odd familiarity, making you mistake their grip for a warm fuzzy hug – making your hand tremble with doubt. what are you going to be left with once you remove them? you’ll be alone all over again. their presence is the only comfort you know.

your reluctance is costing you your flesh and blood. but then you move – quick and efficient, even to your own surprise, – ripping them off along with bits of your torn skin and crushed bones. the feeling of unbearable torture overflows you, leaving you to bleed out.

you think of bringing them back, stitching them to your limbs – just to feel whole again. but you can’t. you can’t glue back the lost flesh. so you take a bandage and wrap it around your skin, praying it would heal one day.

and it will. just be gentle with your wounds.

[lilakessler]

Hate you

there are no words to express just how deep my hatred lies for you. you are the reason to my misery and my self-destruction. you left that bottomless pit i can’t fill no matter what i do. it’s all your fault.

what did i do to deserve that? what did i do to deserve being born as your child? i truly wish to never know you in my next life. let me be a farmer’s daughter, living peacefully with a few cows and my old man. safe..loved..protected..remembered..

i can’t appear to be ungrateful for what i have. a healthy flesh around my bones, a steady roof over my head, a warm meal on my table. but all of that still falls down into the abyss because you left me for too long.

i have something rotten inside my mind and it’s spreading. and it all began from the day you left. you didn’t have to leave for that long. you could’ve just come once a year, water it with a big nice can so it keeps blooming. but no.

all i’m left with is hard soil that cannot be removed. what do i even do with it? i can’t plant anything to cover that! i tried to just build a wall around it so i won’t have to look at it. but a wall can’t keep the smell out. it stinks so bad i can barely breathe. i’m suffocating. and you are..just living your life..somewhere.

from the bottom of my heart – may a peaceful passing shall never come for you. may this foul stench follow you wherever you go and eventually..one day – strangle you to death.

[lilakessler]

False skies

it feels so nice to talk to you. my heart feels light and i’m soaring through the clouds with sun’s warmth washing over me.

but that doesn’t last, does it? it never does.

one uninterested shrug, one averted gaze, one ignored word.. and it all crumbles. the rays of light are covered with stormy clouds in an instant. it’s pouring and i’m soaking within seconds. i don’t understand, what happened?

i’m gasping for air, trying to hold onto your hands as i’m feeling you slowly slip away. i can’t let this happen. can’t let this separate us.

what am i going to do in this storm alone? i can’t.. i can’t do it alone.

i look around frantically while i can still breathe. looking for someone. anyone. but i’m alone. always have been..haven’t i?

as the realization hits me, i can feel the passing of the storm. i can breathe freely now. but when i look around i see that there’s no light. never has been. the clouds are no longer light and soft. they’re cold and stoic concrete blocks. they’ve never been on my side, have they? they surround me and shield me from the light, believing that it would eventually betray me, burn me. perhaps they’re right. perhaps i should stay there – in the coldness and dampness of that moment.. perhaps the shivering familiarity of that place would keep me safe..

but in the end, i still can’t help but peek through the holes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sunlight.

[lilakessler]

Uncertainty

who am i now? what am i? i need to go back to that misery – to dive back into that void. at least then i knew just what was wrong with me. and now i’m in this grey zone. i look to the right, seeing people having fun, enjoying life. i look to the left — i can’t see anything. it’s dark. but it’s that familiar darkness. the darkness of your house that you’re used to. you know how to navigate through it, how to live in it. the light feels wrong. i’ve never really lived in the light, what am i even supposed to do there? enjoy life..? i’m not quite sure i’ve ever been taught that.

who can tell me?..explain just what i am? who can see past the dam and dive into the muddy waters and pull the real me out? or, at least, just tell me what that real me looks like. please..

and so i keep standing there, at the crossroads, unable to take another step in any of the directions. but the longer i stand there alone the stronger the frosting winds are. they shove me — force me to make up my mind, to choose my destiny. but what if i can’t choose? what if it’s set in stone?

what will my future self do? succumb back to the feign warm abyss? or walk the unknown path with the scorching sun as my sole witness?

[lilakessler]

Cold

the thought never left my mind ever since your words confronted my fragile dam, threatening to take it down. it’s always there, in the far corner where the light never reaches. i can’t see it but i can feel it. and your demolition team only made its presence even more imposing.

i feel everything and nothing at the same time. you say i’m cold, unable to know what it’s like to live in a boiling water. and yet, you are the same. you could never comprehend my dam and the raging waters behind it. all you want is to ruin it, to see how deep the waters run and dry it all out. you would build a factory there, claiming that it’s the right place for it and then blaming me for evaporating.

it surprises me how we still see eye to eye while the noise of those raging waters and your demolition team envelop us. i can’t even utter a word about the disturbance without you pointing a finger at my dam and how you’re the one who is about to drown, how i’m lucky for that void beneath the deep waters. no matter how hard i try to pull the string my way you always appear on the other end and yank it out of my hands, taking it all to yourself.

you say i’m cold. but it was you who stood in front of the sun — leaving me to freeze in your shadow. you — who shut me down to complain about how scorching it was.

[lilakessler]

The cracking dam

i want to peel the skin off, unscrew the brain and look for the source of my misery. check all of the cells and spot the parasite that eats and threatens to devour my whole being, my whole person. if only i could throw out the trash and leave it all spotless. or even better – throw it all out — start anew. make it better, make it worthwhile. make sure nothing goes out of order, ever.

what irony. terrified of something you wish for. truly describes the whole essence of life. yearn for a get out yet trembling at the thought of stepping too close to the edge. what a coward, huh? at this point it’s not hilarious anymore, it’s enraging. what, you’re not man enough for it? it wouldn’t be surprising to hear oneself call out for the parent the second it gets too far. yet, not on one’s own volition, of course not. everything would get muted — a silent cry for help, desperate to get an answer yet dreading the moment they realize you’re not holding on as well as they supposed you did. you’re breaking and all you can do is mask it. even a shred of something that could be defined as a call for help would get you crawling back into your shell while simultaneously accusing you of being a whiny little child that can’t handle adulthood.

shame, fear, prejudice, misunderstanding, all of it follows close by, convincing you of what might happen once you break the dam. the scariest thing isn’t even that. it’s letting it go to the point where the dam breaks down on its own. after all, it has started to crack already. and no amount of your efforts can stop it. it’s inevitable.

all you can hope for is getting out before it floods, so you will be its sole victim.

[lilakessler]

You

i don’t remember much about you. i wonder how your voice sounds, how you look like in this very moment. what would you say to me if i was standing right there before you? who am i kidding.. you wouldn’t even recognize me.

i’m a part of you. the part you decided to leave behind. do you ever regret that? was there ever a moment in your life where you yearned to see me, talk to me? a part of me wishes to believe that the answer is yes.

i don’t miss you. i don’t love you. i don’t want to see you. i’m over that certain age now. to be quite honest, i wouldn’t really care if you were to die today.

i’m left with an image of you. an empty picture with a silhouette of a faceless man. you haunt me and i never really had the courage to stop and acknowledge the living ghost following my footsteps, looming over me. i can’t escape. i’m scarred. scarred by the blades of your absence. the blades you planted decades ago that sprouted all over my body and soul. you left..while i am the one to pluck those blades out and hoping that i won’t bleed out.

i search for you. rather, i search for a better version of you. even a shred of sunlight that could potentially illuminate the void you left behind makes me run straight towards it. but i can’t move much further. my limbs are covered in webs. i can’t respond to the sunlight, no matter how cold i am, how badly i desire to feel its warmth on my face. but alas, my heart is in that bottomless hole, i can’t reach it.

i am doomed to live and to die enveloped by the void’s coldness and pierced by those blades in my flesh