#porse

[beelur]

[dumblr]

“Tell me, Atlas.What is heavier: the world or its people's hearts?” 

— Darshana Suresh

[ipoetried]

may 12th, 2021 

[avanillaopus]

21.40pm

I feel as though

my life is just

one long poem that

nobody is reading

[handcramp1ng]

People are kind of like the grooves left in pages when we write. Sometimes, they stay for a few lines and fade off as if they were never there. Others leave marks that last till the end of the book. We run over the inscribed letters, and remember them with bittersweet fondness. It also never gets easier to tell who will add to the mess of messages in our text. What a strange power others unknowingly possess.

[hathaway-hayes]

The Binding (and before the burning of ladders)

The fever enters,            Come cup of water,            Iced at 36,000,            In defiance, I flee from thee.

The hallucinations begin,            When I remember,            Your smile, and the moments,            We’d blanket euphoria.

                     Perhaps.

And to taste delirium,            I sack the phone,            Rabid and running away, so to,            I escape, all that’d birth happy.

And the fever eventually subsides, when I –            I burn the ladders,            Succumb, the binding,            If only to kiss the contagion;

                     For we’ll never burn again.                      Perhaps you will.                      And perhaps I will.                      But we’ll never burn again.

     - L.C.

[the-little-wolfdog]

Behind the scenes: "Just a mo, he deserves a tiny lick before we go."

[venomousvelvet]

Remorse tastes like the salt spray of the remnants of a hurricane as we survey the passing destruction. The metallic burn of our own blood upon our tongue. The bile that burrows into our stomach like age old wine. Rotting berries on the vine, perversely enticing to pluck. Red and ravishing, delightfully deceiving. Ignore and fester, the hurricane subsides.   I'm sorry, she whispers as she eats another berry-bead from wilting rosary. She sins and sighs, Remorse tastes like absent tears.

Seduced by the ability to repeatedly sin. 

Current mood: Morose, inanely languorous and pensive.