I'm Feeling: Spaded

not so serious here I just wanna see/say pretty things sometimes main @hazywind

[polaris-octantis]

Watching What?

I woke up today with an arm hanging off the side of my bed and at its end is a cold hand with grasp on nothing fingers numb enough I wouldn’t know if they were severed

On my wrist I have no watch, but I imagine it there, clasping onto me two arms on its panel, slowly swinging in a circle and the watch’s arms have no hands The watch needs not to hold onto anything It ticks on no matter what I do.

I could have flailed in desperation for no end to enter my sight For today to last a year or two or ten or more I could have crammed all the things I haven’t done into whatever span was left in hopes that the watch would spare some sympathy, some emotion I could have held my hand above me and groveled at the foot of that arm whether that meant my hand or shoulder and begged for time to give me a pause before it made me continue

but here is where, so they decide, it ends. so I instead sit down and wait for that end to come knowing I won’t be here for long, I seize that moment and spend it sitting wondering if I’ll even remember this all: everything I’ve done, what else could have happened; and I eagerly pace for my watch to declare that a new hour has started

before I remember, of course, that on my wrist I have no watch but there are other ways to see what comes I guess I’ll know when it does.

written: 6/2/2026

[polaris-octantis]

half-visible

Thousands of pairs of eyes are spread around Nothing more shown of their bodies They want him to enter the space they surround To let them see him more clearly How is he supposed to hide?

It must be a joke, how they’ve put him here. As if he could have heard what they said with mouths that he cannot see nor hear. And he’s wishing that earlier he would have fled But the only way to do that is to die.

If any one of them want to carry him out of the field Anything they use could do the trick. He would hope that his body is frail enough to yield Regardless of how much they want to make their murder attempt stick.

I hope life doesn’t feel like he did, standing among them When all of them speak in secret and glance at its mouth as if they’re going to drag a response out if he can’t conjure something soon Like those clowns who drag out ribbons from their stomachs As if spilling their intestines into their arms Just like those eyes are about to do Dragging some nonsense words out of his neck, words they say make sense, just by peering into it While he coughs and spits, they take more as they come back.

He’s roaming around the outlands today Where he can see the rest of people’s bodies beneath their face Where their eyes look like humans’, ones that he wished would stay even though he doesn’t seem to think it can hear them either

But we know it’s impossible. I can’t imagine being in such a place. As soon as I spend a bit too long there The eyes would draw me back into their circle I’ll flee, my feet dragging in the dirt, the grating reaching my ears But not fast enough to stay away from all those beasts Who I can’t hear, who I can’t see and who will never see me.

written: october 28, 2025

[polaris-octantis]

I gave this one a much-needed revision today :) give it a read!

[moon-fence]

[moon-fence]

[polaris-octantis]

the inspiration-shaped hole in my heart

Many a time, I have wished to write about some feeling which I hold dear. Something which others could commend and understand, albeit perhaps not in the same manner I do. A thing intangible, yet unchangeable. An emotion so clear that everyone vibrates in its wake.

Yet when I put a pen to paper, I succinctly feel that emotion abandon me. No word that comes out of my hand has ever sounded so uninspired than those which come out trying to recapture it, as if they were recalling a jittery dog, or a child who has not yet learned to listen.

I wish I could grab a captive audience by the heart take that ever-beating muscle right out of your chests and play it how I please so that I know it will beat only the beats which I want it to. It would be far easier than searching through you.

At least, it would be far easier to do if I knew what beat to play. But my hands, without the feeling which I want to convey, will stumble and contort as I tried to make a pace.

So perhaps it would be wisest to find a new muse or at least a different sensation to put into words Whatever makes me look profound, I’m sure it will suffice I’ll let anything overtake my head if it makes me seem wise.

written: april 29, 2026

[theunfortunate-author]

my daily affirmation as an author

[shisasan]

April 13, 1913 Letters to Felice by Franz Kafka First published : 1973

[landsccape]

[polaris-octantis]

so many skies…

[polaris-octantis]

haze days

There’s fog in the air by your house today. A cloud fell to the earth where it heard your name and obscured us behind pieces of water which we could feel floating in our hands.

I wish to put up an umbrella, but instead you hold the hand that would have kept us dry and steady, and drag me along into the fog which fills my eyes until I can hardly see.

I’m hit by constant drops all around me I’m running after you in the atmospheric sea Even once the fog lifts back up and leaves us on the ground when it loses hold of itself, when it falls as raindrops I still leave the umbrella behind.

The downpour ends before we make it back home The droplets fallen on our faces, heavily as seafoam and when we return home, when the fog is gone We sit on your porch and dry under the awning, still feeling the echoes of the rain in sound and mist at our feet.

I say that I never found my umbrella. Each time I’m asked to put one up, I’ll repeat those words We have the most fun without one, we’ve always said Even though my umbrella is lying right under my bed.

written: october 21, 2025

[bequietanddrivefarawayy]

Visit Original Link

[writing-is-a-martial-art]

truly some people have no genre savviness whatsoever. A girl came back from the dead the other day and fresh out of the grave she laughed and laughed and lay down on the grass nearby to watch the sky, dirt still under her nails. I asked her if she’s sad about anything and she asked me why she should be. I asked her if she’s perhaps worried she’s a shadow of who she used to be and she said that if she is a shadow she is a joyous one, and anyway whoever she was she is her, now, and that’s enough. I inquired about revenge, about unfinished business, about what had filled her with the incessant need to claw her way out from beneath but she just said she’s here to live. I told her about ghosts, about zombies, tried to explain to her how her options lie between horror and tragedy but she just said if those are the stories meant for her then she’ll make another one. I said “isn’t it terribly lonely how in your triumph over death nobody was here to greet you?” and she just looked at me funny and said “what do you mean? The whole world was here, waiting”. Some people, I tell you.

[polaris-octantis]

cold world

The snow was hammering against my window at a speed I didn’t know it could reach. It clouded the view out of my bedroom and for a moment, I considered battering a hole through the glass to let the snow tackle me.

The large window doesn’t open but I think I would chip away at the pane to let the snow fall on the hardwood floor to let the cold wind have its way with me and carry me farther into the reaches of my apartment as a cold infects the entire place.

If the barrier would let me, I would let the snow in I would lie down on the floor make myself a cave out of the mess I would turn off the hammering heater and with my head against the vent I would sink in the snow that came through.

The glass, of course, cooperates not and I drive my fists against it taking away the window part by part, hands bleeding on the shards until glass only remains at the frame and I, like a pigeon lost in the storm, cannot see anything blocking me from the other side.

I would like to lie lonely and lucid on the ground while the weather cloaks it all when the bedroom is nothing but snow surrounding me and I would like to have my eyes run through by the forever-cold flakes of sky water as they cover my body and block me like a blanket and I would like to lie hidden beneath the blanket invisible under the freezing heaps without leaving the self-built confines of my rest and I would like for it to never melt for it to shield me forever Forever encasing me in the cold Forever surrounded by the storm Forever being frozen solid.

written: january 26, 2026

[polaris-octantis]

thank you tumblr userbase for bullying the staff into reverting all of their changes within a day

now I will actually put stuff here again!

[roses4aphrodite]

"Michelle, Michelle

You are a monster from Hell"

[polaris-octantis]

about the near future

not that I'm super active on here to begin with, but I will not be posting any of my works on this blog until the notes update is rolled back. this admittedly isn't really what I use this blog for but I conceived this as a tool for getting my writing out there to anyone who would wanna read, so I could have somewhere to throw it out into the world and share it with. Tumblr manually taking away my ability to have it gain real publicity that actually goes back to me just defeats the point. there is a reason I don't do this on Twitter or Bluesky or fucking Facebook or wherever else. this defeats that reason

I've been wanting to post more works here but that's on hold for now. until it is back to normal, this particular eye will be shut.

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Melissa Cox

[natalieironside]

Due to my weird childhood and my weird brain, I have this very unhelpful compulsion to conceal Everything I do from Everyone. I Cannot be observed performing any action, no matter how mundane. My nervous system is convinced I'm gonna, like, Get In Trouble for eating food at dinnertime or sleeping in my bed at bedtime.

I've taken to asking myself, "Okay does this task actually require subterfuge or am I stealing a balloon on Free Balloon Day"

[polaris-octantis]

whenever I do just about anything in a space where it is completely normal, I catch myself in this bizarre tremble that makes me speed up whatever it is I'm doing. god forbid someone discovers that I'm in the middle of an action. I must be observed in a state of doing nothing, or the observers will decide that there is something vile in my action and take to burning me alive to get it out, putting me in the motionless state before I am ready. for whatever reason, this happens not nearly as often when a risk is actually taken. I suppose it is in the standard that I find fear of breaking the standard.