Invisible Words

Lost in my thoughts with no way of escape. S . S INTJ // 5 W 4 All writing is mine unless otherwise credited.

[monachopsissoul]

Drawn back again to writing love poems,

despite the frustration of wanting to write about anything,

but you.

So tangled within my thoughts,

that the only words that seep into my mind,

relate to desire,

passion,

And so much fucking love.

I’d rather write of nonsense;

rivers of words that sound pretty,

but have a hollow feeling.

Anything is better,

than bleeding out my feelings for you;

vomiting them onto paper,

every time the pen is in my hand.

[monachopsissoul]

Kiss, Kiss

To me, inside me, your energy

Pervades

Let me hold you fast

You slippery slithery thing

I am Apollo

And you the mighty python

S . S

[metamorphesque]

— The Truth the Dead Know, Anne Sexton

[text ID: It is June. I am tired of being brave.]

[theoptia]

Simone de Beauvoir, from Diary of a Philosophy Student: Volume 2, 1928-9; Monday, November 5

Text ID: —I have so much love in me that I would like to cry;

[serratedpens]

Sara Stridsberg, Valerie

[flowerytale]

― Emily Dickinson

[litaratura]

E.E Scott, Every Day I Am Trying New Techniques To Make Myself Disappear

[monachopsissoul]

Midnight Visitor

Dark Angel; wings black and dripping ichor,

Do you greet me in my sleep?

I see you in my shadow visions

at the strange hours of the night;

Haunting and melancholic.

You brush the pain from my face; oh the touch

Of those pitch blackened fingers.

Do I linger from your pull?

You tug upon my soul.

Or is it the fervent whispers?

The kind that glistens in the air between us.

[monachopsissoul]

The Cries of Angels

Hallucinate me in silvered gowns

Trailing gossamer tears from crystalline halos

Pumping opium in your open veins

May I become the angelic presence of your visions?

Pull back; scarlett dances in a plastic tube

To the rising crescendo of the voice of

God

Gods? Angels?

A presence, warmth, tingling

A brain that is singing

Hallucinate me in the hollow space of dilated pupils

Whispering fervent prayers with clutched idols

Let me purify the sick burrowing through the mind

One more milliliter, one more push, one more scarlet

swoosh

Shaking fingers, keep them still

let me help you ascend into the realm of

The divine

[monachopsissoul]

[monachopsissoul]

Profound Connection //

Interconnected

without thought of separation

My breath is yours

Our hearts conjoined

Pounding together in a way so profound

I am engulfed in you

Losing more

And more of myself

With every beat

And every sigh

- S . S

[monachopsissoul]

[metamorphesque]

  ― Virginia Woolf, Jacob's Room

[ text ID: I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older. ]

[hwhwgwhnwnwbwbwg-deactivated202]

"If a poem hasn't ripped apart your soul, you haven't experienced poetry."

- Edgar Allan Poe

[nightlyquotes]

“A self that goes on changing is a self that goes on living.”

— Virginia Woolf

[metamorphesque]

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“Yes, a day is merely forever In memory’s shiningness, And a year but a gust or a gasp In the summer’s heat of Time, and in that last summer I was almost ready to learn What imagination is—it is only The lie we must learn to live by, if ever We mean to live at all.”

— Robert Penn Warren, from section III of “American Portrait: Old Style,” Now and Then: Poems 1976-1978 (Random House, 1978)