tteokbokki

sorry I'm not conscious of what I'm doing || deeply in love with the moon 🌙

[ttteokbokki]

remeber me ?

[peridotite]

i love arcane

[ttteokbokki]

REMEMBER

I would really like to

remember that part

of a distant memory,

engraved in my mind.

you wore meloncholy

all over yourself

like a perfume.

you are a part of me,

I followed those traces

intrinsic in my body;

that fume of perfume

like a sweet memory

you're dead

what's the point of trying to remember someone when you can't no longer remember their voices ?

ttteokbokki

[ttteokbokki]

EXIST

I feel like a body. I don't live, I exist, suffocated. The only person who sits and listens to me is paid to do so

ttteokbokki

[microwaved-garlic-bread]

that's not what "rearrange his guts" means jayce

[beefharlot]

[fivendandelions]

We finish this together.

[ttteokbokki]

OHHH THE LOOK OF LOVE, THE RUSH OF BLOOD 😩

[juneacademia]

“you’re so pretty,” okay write poetry about me then.

[ttteokbokki]

ECLIPSE

eclipses is us when we unite, warm smiles with rainy days. eclipses are the cold days when we stay at home to make love. eclipse is seeing you happy while we shake hands, unite them, join them, fill the empty spaces feeling complete for a while. eclipses are the times you leave and I stay still waiting for you. eclipses are the looks without words, without breathing enough to make me breathless. eclipses are the moments of quarrel, the times I would send away and make you come back, too lost without you. eclipses are the moments in which I repeat to you that I love you, a body that becomes one, like you and me.

ttteokbokki

[ttteokbokki]

PHASES

the silence deeper in your soul,

as the moon goes dark

the stars are twitching.

ache of the passed phases

may this take another shape

the shape,

the shape of the crescent moon.

hounds are humming

to that old chapter

of the sweeter silence

quietening your embodiment.

ttteokbokki

[ttteokbokki]

FOR ONCE

for once, just for once i wish to be written

ohh the sweet feeling

of someone that can observe, love, admire.

pages and pages and pages of words

true poetry,

into those hands

that can make love through words.

insignificant illusion

of a hopeless romantic

empty heart

and trembling hands after the realization,

the realization that some people are just born to write and never be written

the observer never been observed

the tragedy of being a poet.

ttteokbokki