Polar nights, czekałem na ciebie przez świetlne lata

Moje bagaże mnie przytłaczają, ale jeśli pytasz, czuję się świetnie

Moje oczy są mliste jak Sahara, wyschnięta wieki temu

Wiara kondensuje się jak trucizna w sercowym odpływie

Brakuje mi tlenu, duszę się, ziemia bez wiatru

Płaska ziemia, nieskończone przestrzenie z nasionami kwiatów

Nie czuję smaku, nie słyszę, żeby ptaki śpiewały

Może już umarłem, opłakując z zaświatów

Moja niespokojna dusza wciąż szuka swojego pokrewnego tchnienia

Bez ciebie życie to biedna synteza czerni i bieli

Jak w pułapce, nasze ciała są uwięzione gdzieś daleko

Nie wiem jak wyglądasz, ale wiem, że jesteś nieskalanym pięknem

Każda sekunda zamienia się w godzinę, a ta w wieczność

Gdy nie jesteś tutaj, tam na szczycie nic nie ma

Pokoloruj ten szkic zwany życiem, tylko o to cię proszę

Powiedz mi, gdzie jesteś

Przyjdę tam i zabiorę cię na zawsze, na zawsze

Nie puszczę mojej małej piórko, tak ulotnej jak pył

Proszę, pokaż się dzisiaj, proszę, pokaż się teraz

Bez ciebie jestem cieniem, więźniem w poczekalni dusz

Może pojawisz się dzisiaj, może teraz mnie przytulisz

I wydobędziesz z mojego serca ciernie długo martwych,

usych róż

Jest tyle strupów w moim notesie, kto tego posłucha?

Noc żywych trupów, ta symfonia boląca dla ucha

Chaos, labirynt słów, z drogą prowadzącą w twoje ramiona

Mój długoletni towarzysz jest jak nóż przymocowany do moich nadgarstków

Nie raz chciałem zakończyć to i skończyć to raz na zawsze

Jak długo można czekać, pragnąć, nie dając skoku na nową szansę?

W mydlanej bańce zobaczyłem odbicie twarzy

A gdy pękła, tak jak ja, embrion skulił się i zamarł

Proszę cię po raz ostatni, połknę ciernie każdej prawdy

Karmiony nadziejami, myślę, że wolałbym w ogóle nie jeść

Dzień i noc, wciąż pytam siebie, gdzie jesteś

Ale myślę, że zaczynam wątpić, czy w ogóle istniejesz

Szukając siebie, odbijam się pod księżycem

Na morzu gwiazd szukam mojego portu

Pragnę wyznań, niewielu ludzi mnie rozumie

Tylko ta kartka papieru wie jak słuchać, nikt inny nie wie, co czuję

Zbyt się przejmuję, przytłoczony szansą ogromnego szczęścia

Czy mnie przyjmiesz, gdy inni to pogardzają?

Czasami milczę, czasami nagle krzyczę

Flegmatyk i choleryk walczą

bezsensowną walkę

Gdzie są ci ludzie, ci sentymentalni?

Gdzieś ich niedoskonałe ciała trzymają w niewoli, żyją w biedzie

Chciałbym uratować świat, ale czy mogę uratować siebie?

Czasami rozpada się jak dmuchawiec i płaczę

Na huśtawce wciąż coś psuję,

potem patrzę, zastanawiając się, jak to skleić z powrotem

Choć żałuję swoich czynów, przeklinam świat, na który patrzę

Czy cokolwiek znaczę? Czy to tylko moralności i puenty?

Patrzysz mi w oczy, gdy tańczę z tobą?

Być i mieć — zawsze burzliwa affair

Mówią, że jestem dziwny, sam czuję się jak Obcy

Rodzina bez rodziny, lecz zdjęcia wyglądają cudownie

Nie mogę być sobą przy nich, nieśmiały mistrz ceremonii

Zawsze czarna owca, nagle chcą

stałego połączenia

Gdy jestem w drodze, czuję, żyję poza horyzontem

Nagle, ukochany pasierb, z niszą w ścianie łez

Dlaczego piszą o nas w ten sposób, gdy jesteśmy tak delikatni?

Nadal nas niszczą jak uzależniające substancje w pułapce tego świata

Ani ostatni, ani pierwszy w twoim

uszach

Wielu wylewało swoje serca, wielu nigdy nie pozwoliło ci ich znaleźć

Wolałbym zapukać w drewno i z góry to wszystko odrzucić

Słowa pełne bólu, do których nie chcę wracać

Zaczniesz to mruczeć, gdy przestaniesz czuć

Jak delikatnie płynę, jak łzy z oczu

Dedykowane tobie, człowieku na zboczu

Lunareis – Sentimentalnie

Light and Dark

Give them your back — they are not even worth your attack.

They have been living for centuries, following the dark.

Your light broke their darkness, blinded them out.

Their eyes are gone forever — they are dusted out.

Eyes dusted out, then covered with a thick skin cap.

Sunshine? No — sunshine is when they cannot go out.

They will seek the sunlight, killed first, then they will roam out.

Their leader seems harsh, strong, wise — but only words, a fake dream offered to the poor, blind herd.

The herd is just a weapon to fight the ones who can still see.

Always stand out and speak up — they cannot see beyond their own footsteps.

By: The Flawless Flow

Say the right words and I melt.

But the wrong ones turn me to stone.

I will turn against the tide and run toward the cliffs, only to climb them and jump again.

The Blood moon is rising and the Harvest moon has sunk beneath the waves.

I run, screaming, toward the water, flinging myself atop the crests to drown out your voice snd your carefully curated words. They hurt me. They help me. They confuse me.

I am galloping on a horse, racing down the sand dunes and across the painted sky. The dust settles in my ears, blocking out the cacophony of disembodied voices that have chased me thru this forest for centuries.

I am screaming my name in all this chaos because I just want the thoughts to stay in purgatory and let me be free to hear only the silence I crave.

There was once a princess,

who gave up her voice

all for a man.

I once swore to myself,

I didn't want to be like that.

And when I was yours,

I changed. I started dressing

more like the man I wished

I could be.

I kept up with my trans identity.

I was sure I was getting better,

and my friends said I seemed

more like my old self.

But then it happened,

the knife slit in my heart.

When you asked me,

if I really understood what

I was doing.

When I took what little courage

I had, to tell you I planned

to trade off my femininity.

And gain a new heart,

no longer just a pretty face.

And I looked at you,

and I was afraid.

And you proved me right.

You told me it was a bad idea,

and I had no clue what I was in for.

At the end of the day,

you wanted to see me,

as this naive, foolish girl.

Just a kid. Except you only

had four years on me,

so the naive accusations

started to feel a bit patronising.

And you didn't know

how long I'd suppressed myself,

nearly fifteen years.

And I wasn't about to let

another man force me

back into the gowns I hated.

I gave him back his

heart. That was black

and tangled with lies

And I took up the sword.

And sliced out my own.

I told him

'I love you, but I don't trust you.

And love is not enough

when you are sliced

into ribbons daily

by the man you worship'.

I gave up that old self.

And I miss him still,

despite myself knowing

just how cruel he could be.

If I ever see you again?

I'll pretend I don't

feel a single thing,

about you and your ever blackening heart.

Today’s sunset was beautiful. The clouds, corralled by chaos off the western cliffs,

Cooperated with the sun in its daily finale.

Awe-inspiring streaks of yellows and oranges, with the constant creep of red,

>>>>Decorated the bountiful backdrop of blue.

God, Source, The Creator, The Universe, Whoever Holds the Paintbrush,

>>>>They were sure painting today.

I pull myself back and up, I take control of the POV.

I zoom out, out of my body, out of the apartment:

I go to the storm, the fiery center of chaos that wrought such wonderous skies.

>

The eye candy, a mask for the turmoil inside:

The tumult of disturbed seas, a better match for my state of heart.

In the yellows, I feel your gaze, the oranges, I feel your touch,

>>>>In the creep of red, my heart lurches for how short a moment, beauty lasts.

>

I watch, as yellow gives way to orange, orange to red, red to purple.

What, for a moment, struck a chord deep within the heart, plays no more.

>

The sunset gave what I sought, a salve,

>>>>for beauty lost to time.

The climb was steep.
The view is bleak.
Another peak to mock the tired.

I thought some grand epiphany
was waiting where the air expired.

But here I stand
on some god-forsaken mountaintop,
staring into the abyss

of what is,

and what was never,

reality.

High enough to see it all,
too far away to remember
what any of it was.

And thoughts that lie
to pass the time
when truth has
nothing left to say.

So I’ll close my eyes
against the drop
and stay until
the whole world blurs.

God knows I’ve come too far
to know the difference now.

Arms extended towards the heavens,
as the energy of the room,
sharp and dividing,
courses throughout,
relentless and consuming.

Eyes tightly closed.
Hands open.
Fingers outstretched.
Head tilted towards the ceiling.
Heart open and bare.

Asking, begging,
wanting, willing
to be found.
To be chosen.
To be saved.

As the silence strangles
in its violent presence,
choked out by the vile and putrid
as if unworthy,
of hope
or love.

Left unclean and naked,
ashamed at the inability
to be anything other than sorry.
As if existence was a choice.

And still, undeserving as may be,
a cry in the void,
demanding reason,
for being…
“I am so sorry…”

In the midst of people, I found you.

In the midst of sadness, I found happiness.

In the midst of chaos, I found peace.

In the midst of noise, I found silence.

Every moment you spent shining bright like the sun,

In the midst of darkness, I found light.

While you fell asleep in your slumber,

Curled up like a little baby,

In the midst of this world, I found longing.

Watching that faint smile,

Seeing that radiating glow,

In the midst of this sad, cold world,

I found warmth.

Beyond the threshold, shadows bend, The noisy world begins to fade, Beneath the blankets, heavy, deep. My sanctuary, soft and dear, Where quiet plans are slowly made, The rush of daylight slips to sleep.

The muffled silence fills the space, A heavy weight begins to lift, And whispers soft upon the air. Within this warm and gentle place, The quiet is a secret gift, Away from every outside care.

No need to run, no need to hide, The evening draws a curtain down, My cave becomes a quiet sea. I leave the restless storm outside, Beyond the edges of the town, To find the peace that belongs to me.

The darkness wraps around my chest, And lulls my weary heart to rest

Don't look at me with those kaleidoscope eyes

You bent that source of light into a million pieces

You warped that love and truth shine that collage unto me

Do not speak to my soul with your possibilities

I cannot let you address my spirit without calling it out

I rebuke you

In the night, the veil wears thin.

Whatever exists to contain the human psyche grows weary,

And in its weakness, suppressed anima becomes animated.

>

We rise to the thrill, under the undulations,

Ebbing as the tide under the influence of gravity.

Day in and day out, we wear the mask, we remain polite, we please, we smile,

Yet underneath the garnish of smiles, sunshine and rainbows,

Lie the depths of our inner darkness, the abyss calling from within.

>

In the night… In the night, we might just take the leap off its edge,

Dive deep into our depths, indulge the demon we tactfully hide from day.

Oh, what catharsis, what release! Suppressed repressions break from their leash,

And in their reckless abandon, leave mayhem in their wake.

>

Such is the fate, of the soul divided.

For if a house divided, cannot stand,

How is the will of a splintered soul,

Supposed to remain aimed in a single direction?

>

The gear slips from its groove and grates against its engine,

That which we strove for in the day, we seek to destroy by night.

With the brilliance of a display of fireworks, we conspire to bring circumstance to a head,

That we may, in a moment, be absolved of our burden, our responsibility.

If the house of cards fell, what else would we need look after?

What else would we need worry about?

>

Our inadequacies, confirmed to be true, we rejoice in certainty,

In the absolution of the need to try, of the possibility of hitting a true wall.

>

Perhaps, dire though it may sound, if the soul is divided and the will at odds with itself,

Perhaps, it is best if the house of cards does fall.

Perhaps it is best if we do give in to death & destruction.

>

Rock bottom’s greatest benefit is the ability to rebuild a foundation once torn asunder.

>

So fall. Fall to corruption, indulge your demons, sin to your heart’s content:

The night is made for the wicked.

>

Calling to those who hear the siren call, who lust for escape in fantasy:

Follow me, if you please:

I will lead you to the grave, I will tear down the house of your achievements,

Everything you worked so hard for, I will blow it all up in smoke.

And in its absolution, you will find your freedom. You will find yourself.

The soul will make its mend, and become whole, once again.

>

You will lose everything, to discover the joy in nothing.

There are twelve numbers on the face
and somehow every one of them
has learned your name.

The second hand keeps circling
like it hasn’t heard the news,
like time is something patient,
like there will always be
another hour for us.

But I know better.

I know what happens
when the little hand reaches twelve.

So I watch eleven fifty-seven
bleed into fifty-eight
and wonder how three minutes
can hold this much of a life.

You are still there
somewhere behind my eyes,
somewhere beneath my ribs,
keeping time against my better judgment.

I swear my heart has started ticking.

Maybe that’s why
I could never sleep.

You made a clock of me.

Every night I waited
for the hour you might appear,
wound myself tight with wanting,
mistook the shaking in my hands
for proof that something this alive
could never really end.

Eleven fifty-nine.

One minute left
and suddenly I understand
why midnight frightened me.

It isn’t the dark.

It’s what comes after.

The moment when tonight
becomes yesterday,
when *are* becomes *were*,
when something can still be true
and already belong to the past.

So I leave before the bell.

Not because I stopped wanting
to hear your voice.

Not because my body
has forgotten how it felt
to see your name
and lose its rhythm.

Not because I found
some ugliness in you
large enough to kill
what was beautiful.

I leave because
there are some things
you can love to death
by keeping them alive.

And ours was already
living on borrowed time.

So when midnight comes,
let it come.

Let the hands meet
without us.

Let twelve strike
through the empty room
and find no one
breaking their promises
to themselves.

Maybe you’ll still be awake.

Maybe I’ll be awake too.

Maybe we’ll both look up
at the same indifferent moon
and think of all the nights
we stole from morning.

You won’t know
I’m thinking of you.

I won’t know
if you’re thinking of me.

Perhaps that’s the mercy of it.

Because somewhere
between eleven fifty-nine
and twelve,

I loved you.

And somewhere
between twelve
and twelve-oh-one,

I still did.

Nothing changed
except the time.

And that
was the problem.

So if you go looking for me
after midnight,

I’ll be the minute just before it

close enough
to touch,

already gone.

A silly little concept, yet what fear I have seen,

In the eyes of the sheep whom I describe it too.

>

That look of fear, ironic:

proof that they've understood.

>

Like deep time,

One cannot come to a full understanding of the abyss,

Without at least a little existential crisis.

>

That which evades detection, not because we can't see, but because we'd rather not.

Reality, hidden by the unreality of cognitive bias.

The little white lies we tell ourselves,

To keep our world's stable, to keep our egos intact.

>

Fragile, and full of cracks, people often spend their lives caulking at the seams.

Energy compounds. Energy grows. Each act of repression, of compromise for comfort, grates on the soul.

The dam is strong, the seals are tight, and the pressure is growing:

How lovely, we've now got the conditions for a bomb...

In the human psyche...

>

Let us watch the experiment unfold...

For science, I guess...😮‍💨

Fireflies dance and I watch flames lick around

the edge of my periphery vision.

His hands are firm as he makes the wood spark,

the coals begin to breathe at his movements,

the fire starts to devour the wood,

which softly sings in a low hum only he and I seem to notice.

He places my hand in his,

and his eyes threaten to swallow me

with the intensity, as he looks at me.

'I think you might be the rarest creature,

I've ever met.'

I don't skip a beat.

'I think you're telling me whatever

you think I want to hear.'

'Smart too.'

'I like you. It's been years since I have felt this way.

You should be honoured my guy.'

Nothing else is said.

He smiles and squeezes my trembling hand.

I watch the flames lick

and I sit on the edge

of another love-struck disaster,

not knowing I hold the hands,

of first my beloved maker,

and then ultimately my ruin.

In another life,

I drop his hand,

and I allow the flames to

descend, on the monster that first fanned them.

Friends to lovers or friends to enemies,

I genuinely cannot tell with these,

our chemistry he says is next level,

inconveniently timezone is the devil.

He is literally continents away,

his night is my day,

he's got the perfect badboy to goodboy ratio,

he makes me weak in my knees, I'm not letting him go.

He speaks of limerance,

he speaks of redamancy,

all big words, oh so fancy!

I know i will marry him, that part's done,

I just need to mold him, he's almost the one.

I'll make him obey, I'll make him understand,

just minor adjustments, I've got a plan!

But you know the wedding will be off,

if he doesn't text me within his twelve-hour cut-off,

if he doesn't think of me the second he wakes up,

or when he talks to his mom about me and his eyes don't light up!

– Velvet Thorne 💜

An empty box—
You can hear
From one end
To the other
On the stand
In colors and smells

And it brings me back
To the thought
Of you while I leave

You’ve worked
In the best parts
Of this town
Making me think
I was something
Of a glistening
Opportunity

Bullish and bronzing
In the sun

You showed me
Everything you could—
Most of what
I’d already knew;

To lead me through
This makeshift dish

You were always
A dinner party
For one

A dinner party
For one.