Archive for the ‘words’ Category

In Appreciation, I write, not in remorse.

To and for a time so timeless,

Sentences, scattered in structure, disrupted in its sense of sense, yet humbled by the feeling that triggered the urge to write in the first place.

I write,

Till I’m drained empty.

Till the words squeeze into sour juices of meanings.

I write and write,

Till the heaviness is gone, shedding layers of me within layers of paper, squirting blue ink of my royal blood from a loaded pen… That still drips

And I still write,

Dispersed letters, grouped only to be distorted upon a thought, that reforms then dissolves…

Into canals of clogged memory lanes, superimposing timelines from different times.

And the pen still drips,

What lips failed to speak, of the relics a crippled heart keeps…

Onto papers,

That never really existed.

Void meets vortex

Posted: May 14, 2013 in Emotions, Life, Love, words, writing
Tags: , ,

Eyes of poignant black,

Cross over,

Where every meeting point is a turning point,
Chasing one another, in a sclera of watery white
Black halos,  searching into the depth of another
For something, anything …
A glimpse meets a stare;
Soon interrupted by a sweep of curving lashes,
avoiding the former, disappointing the latter…
Eyes of poignant black;
A void meets a vortex,
Sucked into one another
Exchanging more than just looks.
Eyes of poignant black,
Trapped into a gaze,
Mesmerized
As they speak
What words failed to behold.

 

One, two, three, four…

The beat echos in the emptiness of herself.

One, two, three, four…

An arid breath flows into her. She glides through…

Eyes closed, hands in the correct posture; she embraces the vacancy between her arms.

She swings, gripping the emptiness that flows between her fingers. Her steps slide, a lock step. She sways, an inside turn, an outside turn… She drags herself, a walk.

One, two, three, four…

A Chasse.

One, two, three, four…

Dos-a-dos.

One, two, three, four…

The air whirls as she moves. Memories flash…

She swirls, and  loses herself between what was and what could be.

She floats upon the emptiness she holds close, only to drown into it.

One, two, three, four…

The pace slows down.

One, two, three, four…

She melts. The air she has molded into a dear significant is slowly vaporized, leaving mists of remembrance to dry on her cheeks.

“Saw your beauty and I kept in mind
Imagine your smell and touch
Imagine all of us”

You have been stuck in my memory for so long that you have become so rotten, even yet you show up quite often that your memory still lingers; so fresh.

This, I say…
In the abyss of remembrance; to and for a memory that with time grows yet so dear to my heart than it ever was. And do I owe it to sheer reminisce or rather to remorse that I do not know.

This, I say…
In a time so timeless; ticking back to reverse. And have I lost track of time because I have come so far or rather because I have never really stepped forward in the first place, that , also, I do not know.

And this, do I say out of craving or out of resentment?

I do not know.
I do not know.

Flow into me.
Let the words seep as deep as the depth of myself allows.

One word. Squeezed of all the meanings possessed, drained into the vessels of my heart. Collected, clogging my escaping breath.

There it stays… Somewhere within myself I never knew still existed; lost and forgotten.
There it stays… to unconsciously sow the seeds of a feeble life, buried underneath thick, filthy layers of myself. To refurbish relics of a collapsed being.

There it settles; for the meanings to diffuse, to give way for some warmth, to trigger…
A thought, a feeling, and a life.

Intense, this infusion of sentiments to be felt for the first time in a long long time grows.

A weak spirit, beautiful in its pale demure yet so insecure in its fear, awoken…

upon the turbulent  impact of one, and no more than just one, honest word.

It lingers in its subtle shades of a fading demure. It floats, in its feeble dress of a life, called upon from the depth of the deepest pits of a restless mind. Plucked and stretched out to mask the domains of present, past and future; to merge them into one thickened blanket that overlaps the margins of time. Distorted then dissolved until timeless it becomes, dominant it grows.

Slowly it seeps, softly it creeps. Relics of a promise, manifested by the conscience of a clinging memory; one that, although vague and blurred, never fails to blatantly impose.

Stagnant silence, embraced then disrupted by a fragile reflection that defies the limits of remembrance and extends far beyond the borders of mind, dipping and dripping into the waters of desensitized emotions. A synthetic breeze of life, diffused to fill its nothingness.

And it still fights the forces of remorse salting its sweetness out, turning the lust into ache.

It falls, onto the tips of dignified despair, condensed into an evaporating mist of reminisce. Vaporized, leaving behind a pungent scent of a gradient of relinquished shadows of promises once made.

Words of a memory; outspoken.

once and never again.

Words engraved by the broken tip of a blunt blade of a memory.

 

 

Sentiments are pathetic, really. I haven’t completely turned into a psychopath yet, thus I am still ought to at least acknowledge the feelings as they rise; as they exist and persist only to add to the irritation.
Through the following, I hereby acknowledge a flamboyant state of unexplained, and certainly unwanted,  nostalgia that surfaces as reminiscing involuntarily imposes…
Emptiness is no longer a valid state when reminiscing still purges memories into oneself. And how could one be so vacant when nostalgia compensates for the void within?
There’s a memory that never fades, that no matter how quick one heals and how perfect the wound seals, it remains so vibrant, so poignant; so significant that it soon mimics the presence of what’s been absent.

There was once a feeling; now crippled, if not dead. And every time your heart craves it, your mind slowly flourishes a memory, that revives the corpse of how it once felt; to be alive.  And it soothes the soul, because the intensity of what pours into one’s mind is so drastic that it dramatically flips everything upside down; turning the vacant full, and the absent present.
So close…

So close it becomes to how it was once like.
The beauty of a world once created now crumbled and collapsed. Its relics shrank into a memory, its realms bound by the premises of a mind that apparently failed to comprehend what it is like to forget.

And the more you push yourself to forget the more your mind squeezes fertile visions of the lagging past that overlaps its present. A blurred mind, an impaired heart; soon they both embrace the warmth of remembrance rather than the ache of fighting it.
And how could one not remember when what it was is nothing like what had ever been nor anything of what will ever be?

So unconditional it came to life, so peaceful it grew, so blind and reluctant it was mislead…
So innocently it withered away.
Missing you is a right I have ceased to attain.

I am where I was once scared to be, but it’s not as scary as the image I once coupled it to within the depth of my imagination. Far beyond gone, I’ve been.
But I owe it to every memory I behold within myself to remember.
To forget is yet only another sin only the ungrateful are to be accused of.
To forget is yet only another tag for insignificance I’ll unfairly label you with if only I happen to forget.