first, a heart -
still warm, still beating,
cupped in your hands.
you’re washing red
down the drains for
days after touching it.


you are hesitant to call this “love”,
for that word implies something tentative,
unknown, like a raging current;
one wrong step and you’re
pulled under the surface -

but you can’t keep your head above water
when the sirens call your name


somewhere in the distance,
a wolf howls;
an awful, plaintive sound.
this is less “love”
and more “longing”;
though either would have
destroyed you,
in the end.


even after the blood
has been scrubbed from your hands,
the smell lingers;
a reminder,
sickening you to the very core.

some things will cling to you,
refuse to let go.

— untitled
#poetry    #spilled ink    #this is bad   

unspoken words
left hanging from my tongue
by threads,
under-the-breath whispers
of I’m just a little bit
in love with you

after each goodbye -

all of these are now remnants
of a dead language;
a tongue no longer
to any living ear.

you are to me
what a ruler is
without an empire;
stone pillars toppled,
once-grand palaces
left to rot and decay,
the people left disillusioned
by a system in which many once
fervently believed.

love, like any civilisation,
will always turn to

— dissolution / disillusionment
#poetry    #writing    #spilled ink   

I am not the calm before the storm,
but a feeble whirlwind
trying to tear itself to pieces.
My destruction is a quiet kind
of the self;
I am not a hurricane.

I may be weak in body,
but I wield words like swords;
in my mind I have built
empires upon empires
and razed them to the ground
(and perhaps I would
build them back up again,
were I given a chance)

je suis, je ne suis pas;
io sono, io non sono;
ich bin, ich bin nicht;
all these languages mean nothing
when I am too afraid to speak —
but who will speak for me,
when I myself
cannot find the words?

— self-destruction /  self-expression

Another stormy night is upon us, and the house quakes in terror; the glass shivers in the windowpanes and the wind howls outside, whimpering and screaming with all the rage and anguish of the earth. Ghosts tiptoe and shuffle around the house, guided by the moonlight filtering gently through flimsy curtains; the floorboards creak and groan like the bones of an old, tired man who no longer wishes to walk among the living.

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1 Dec    1 note

Talk to me of love and I’ll tell you about the sea; that vast, seemingly immense body spanning the entire globe. Beautiful, irresistible but deadly dangerous; she entices me in like a thirsty traveller before poisoning me with salt, for such beauty cannot be touched by mortal hands, tasted by mortal tongues, inhaled by mortal lungs; oh, my darling, drown me in your presence. The waves dance effortlessly; waltzing, swaying, and I am drawn to her like the pull of the moon at high tide.

#prose    #excerpts   

as a young girl,
my grandmother once told me
you have too much heart.
one day,
it’s going to get broken.”

so i broke it myself -
tore it to pieces,
shattered it into fragments
far too tiny to ever
reassemble, mend,
put back together -

before anyone else could,
in the hope that perhaps
one day
i would become

(little did i know that
having your heart broken
by your own hand
is far more excruciating
than loving any
mortal being could be.)

— untitled (10/11/13)

they gave me wings
and told me i could fly,
if i wanted to.
they told me
i could reach the sun,
but i was not icarus.

i didn’t even get close
before i fell;
wind caught in my feathers,
the air thick like honey,
the bittersweet taste of failure
turning sour in my mouth.

perhaps i belong in the ocean,
amongst the salt and the seaweed
and the shipwrecks of my dreams.
a mere mortal was never worthy of success;
slit my throat and i will not bleed ichor.
i was never born to shine
brightly amongst the clouds.

— "complexes"

the way you look at me,
one might have thought I was sacred;
divine, ineffable

do not idolise me, put me on a pedestal;
I have not wielded thunder,
torn the skies to pieces,
parted the oceans or
run rivers of blood through holy lands

no amount of power,
or marble statues,
or scriptures etched in gold telling of
battles won that never were
could ever make me anything more than human.

— "message from the god who wanted to be mortal"


I am a storm brewing out at sea;
raging under a calm surface,
churning itself up into a fury,
lost among the waves.

(the bottom of the ocean is a lonely place)
but you, you are a wildfire;
burning brightly, destroying everything in its path -
you are god-touched, transcending reality


I have spent such a long time stumbling in the dark
that your light is dazzling, overwhelming.
My eyes burn at the sight of you;
you have blinded me

(and I do not want to see;
I would rather not know about your flaws.
do I love you,
or an idea?)


You are fire and I am water,
and I cannot bring myself to touch you
for fear of extinguishing you completely;

I was a fool to think
that a mere mortal was worthy of
touching the sun.

— "the drowning and the divine"