kisoverse
Lunar Dreams & Echoes
Where Mysteries Dance in Shadows
63 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
yoonbullet
c.
mrmichaelchadler
Michael D. Chandler Tumblr
ice-melonade
What Is Going On
moviemarketingbiz-blog
movie marketing
andreesurbina
alreadydead
Text
I would cry myself to sleep but it's monotonous.
So now I dance with my shadows, and verse lines with my alternate realities.
I've heard there's about a million more of me somewhere.
I can affirm four living in my brain.
One's a life in which I got you; we dance, we glance at each other in a never ending love song.
we twirl and define our abrupt consciousness. And you weep for me each night, and we lock arms under the moon. And everyday is like the very first time you laid eyes on me as I was yours.
One's a life in which I have lost you; I work and work till my eyes gutter.
I cash in pay cheques my speech slurs and stutters. And I hate cats now; because their vivid galaxy eyes remind me of you. I hate dissecting my food and feelings Infront of anybody.
One's a life in which I have fame; it's dull under all of my glitter gowns. I have moments where I feel wanted and it is in those moments where my urge to disappear from the face of the earth begins.
There's a life, one more;
in which who I am, I'm not quite sure.
Maybe it's my only conscience that lives as an original to greet your eyes.
And I never know whom to be, and what to smile. It's the most painful one so far. I hate mirrors in this one, I only reflect what your eyes tell me to do.
Sometimes I aspire to be the girl of your dreams, but sometimes I wish we were no more.
(than friends)
As I dance, and dance;
The moon cannot keep up and wishes to sleep.
I fall asleep too, it's like sliding from a hollow hole so steep.
And regain myself each mornings to swoon.
I'm a lover of this dance, and it's only just June!
#poetry#artists on tumblr#love#mindlessfrenweh#dead poets society#moon#the lunar chronicles#poetic#poetryondemand#peots on tumblr#art
1 note
·
View note
Text
A swollen heart, is a heart still
My problem is you never wanted to hurt me;
but you did.
For a really long time.
And you let me sit with it. For a very long time.
And I had to live with it without acknowledgement or apologies.
My problem is that somewhere you knew what you were doing and you kept doing it.
My problem is that you showed me how badly you did not want to be with me and I was delusional to think this is a struggle phase and on the other side we’ll be alright, and in the process I normalised so much hurtful behaviour that now I cannot keep up even if things are better.
The imprints of each incident that broke my heart takes up space in my body and I do not have space to intake all these chances of love.
And I have no place to empty it out.
My problem is that when we’re falling in love we’re so giving and we’re so accommodating, but as time passes we’re just looking for ways to not be repulsive.
My problem is that you kept showing me how replaceable I am in your life for months and months, and when I reflected the same behaviour you questioned my feelings for you.
And now my heart has no idea whether to heal or hurt; to stab or scar; to cry or care.
My heart has no clue whom to turn to.
You gave me such a hard time and let all that trauma build inside of me and now I’m a jittery tower. And now you want to make things easier, I will collide in a strangers arms and it will not be a beautiful sight.
I never thought LOVE would become such an unbearable weighted feeling for me.
I’m trying to find a place in somebody’s heart who knows exactly how to treat me, I’m sick of explaining it.
Love, please wake me up when you find someone worthy to be awake with.
Heart, open up only inside a reality.
#artists on tumblr#poetry#mindlessfrenweh#tumblr quotes#story#dead poets society#dark#sorry#art#love
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
My poetry turned blue; then grey.
My words became too heavy to write down.
I talk constantly, to my brain.
(I’m doing it right now)
My eyes fail to convey (perhaps) my love for you.
I’m scared to admit, I still have feelings left to love.
I really hope you do not discover how broken I’ve become.
I’m exhausted to rhyme.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
oh, to be loved
Him: Are you sure?
*silence for a minute*
Her: Yes, I love you so much and despite that, the person that you are, I cannot be with you. I will only suffer and it's not your fault. I'm just not your person. I keep finding this truth in pieces of our conversations. in pieces of our fights and anger. In pieces of our growing distance. I've loved you for as long as I've known love, but to be honest. The more I get to know this version of you, which I'm not sure is temporary or permanent, The more I realize that it's not me you are looking for. This is not what you are looking for. I am not what you are looking for. I'm not sure why you continue to be with me, Maybe you love me too, and maybe it's out of habit, or maybe you're as lonely as I am. Out of all the mediocre things in my life, Love, will never be one of them. I don't want subtlety in love. I want loud, expressive, love. I want somebody to love me in every microsecond to exist as if this was the last time they had to compliment me, or meet me, or touch me. I do not want love to just exist because it is in my heart. I want to be surrounded by the whiff of it. And the way we are with each other. This is not it for me. I will stop feeling anything if this continues. Sorry, if I'm being brutal but I cannot love somebody I'm with like this.
*A sharp silent wave of pain and a feeling of threads shredding apart*
Him(whispers): I love you.
Her: I love you more.
0 notes
Text
I think about a million things,
And pen down only ten.
I speak about three.
So if you ever find yourself to care,
I’d like to rip you a maze of my consciousness,
And let you walk around it till you reach my centre cerebrum.
And once you’ve discovered all of me.
You can choose to stay or leave.
0 notes
Text
Autopilot
He wakes up, fueled up, sips his bitter coffee, and heads to work. Masters his routine of 384 tasks, follows a set pattern, and returns home with the same three regrets.
"How do I find time to love her?"
"When will I break free from this cycle?"
"When does the life I dream of actually start?"
He works, escapes work, and patiently waits for stolen moments to be himself.
He's the pilot of his life, following a fixed map, unable to change course, stuck in a cockpit scented with the same air and oil every day.
He longs to soar without a plan, love without limits, and live without constraints. How can he break free from this routine?
He waits for a crash, hoping to start fresh on an unknown island, yet always wears his safety jacket.
We trap ourselves in a cockpit, yearning for freedom in shallow waters. But those waters might be deeper than we think, and we fear drowning.
If the world is a game, change the rules.
If life is a pattern, make mine unique.
If she's the one, let her love me through the chaos.
Tell the stars I'm thinking of them.
Tell her I'm just a minute away.
Ask the mirror to show a better version of me.
And tell my creator to let me build a life beyond this routine;
Build a new world where endings are beginnings.
0 notes
Text
A place called home
When I grant entry to someone in my heart and soul, I extend an earnest invitation, allowing them to explore every facet of my existence, every layer.
I welcome them graciously into my realm, into all the spaces that define me, As a cherished guest, I beckon them until they feel at ease, at home, with me, enveloped by my essence.
Yet, I've never received an invitation to step into their world, Their house, their room, their universe, their innermost sanctums. I've welcomed those I've loved into every corner where they can find me,
Yet, I remain clueless about where to discover their essence.
I've always strived to make them feel at home within my own abode, To make them at ease in all my cherished places, A home that remains a home even when they visit without me.
Yet, I wander this city with them, feeling like an outsider, A perpetual sense of not belonging, a guest catching fleeting glimpses of their being, nothing more.
Is this how the world truly loves, and am I too much to handle?
Why do I find myself standing at their door while they keep me at bay?
Will anyone ever deem me worthy enough to explore every space where their atoms reside?
Will they ever allow me to construct a haven around them?
Will I perpetually find myself crafting homes for others, As I traverse this sprawling city as a stranger?
Will they ever extend an invitation, spoiling me until it feels like second nature?
I hold onto the hope that someday, someone will make a home for me,
Instead of simply referring to me as one.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
A lonely soul takes home in this body.
It begs to see peaceful dreams or a shoulder whilst the storms rest on it.
It pleads guilty of loving with a broken heart.
It weighs down from all the people it has hurt.
It cries out loud, for all the wrongs suffered.
It tries to be understood, showing anger on the closed ones.
It shatters at a sight of each person that walks a little bit more away.
What a world, a world that we live in.
A soul lost by the hands of its loved ones.
A soul horrified at the idea of being left alone, all alone, watching it's people walk by like strangers.
A soul gasping for air, getting hated by the thoughts that arise.
A soul watching death, longing for it if it means comfort.
A soul left to starve, of something permanent.
To all the other souls out their, that were left out by their home.
To all the souls out their that were to suffer in silence while their closed ones watched.
To all the souls in pain so deep, their love is drying off.
I offer you, a piece.
Dig at me and take what you may.
Before I go I want to fulfill all those empty vessels.
0 notes
Text
Come back to me.
Loving you was the easiest thing I had to do,
it was like breathing to me.
Keeping you was the hardest thing I had to go through.
And the latter,
Letting you go.
I'm really good at loving you so hear me out.
If you ever find yourself having permanent feelings for me,
Feelings that feel like you have to give me every single inch of you.
Come back to me.
And I will love you.
And I will love you endlessly.
If you ever find your mind and body stable enough to not disrupt my mental ecosystem.
Come back to me and I will heal each broken part, every pinch of darkness within, all the untrue narratives in your head.
If you ever feel like giving me something, and if you ever feel the urge to never stop giving.
Come back to me and you will never have to spend a day in your sheets alone. I will always give you my warm embrace.
Come back to me when you're ready for me.
And if you don't think this is bound to happen.
Come back to me on my deathbed and tell me you remembered me.
Come back to me in my dreams, in my sleep, having all the different conversations we could never fully have.
Come back to me in fiction where I can give us a different happy ending every single time.
Come back to me in glimpses, in tears, in voice, in words, in moments.
Come back to me like breathing,
So I can take you all in,
a second at a time,
I can let you all go,
a second at a time.
Yes, I'd like that.
Come back to me like breathing.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Raindrops that touch this skin,
Becomes a rhythmic beat that calms the racing heart.
She cries at the sight of her wrists for she has lost how to write poetically.
It is all “pain” this and “pain” that.
The poet is her has died.
The lover in her has died.
She tries not to breathe; what use does breathing have if you are living a robot life.
Work. Sleep. Work more. Learn. Follow. Learn more. Eat. Eat healthy. Do not stress eat. Sleep more. Sleep less. Show up to your classes. Learn, learn, learn. Do not lose balance. Cry. Gain balance. Work. Sleep just the right amount. Wake up on time. Fit it all in. Follow schedules.
Live? Where is the space to live? Where is my minute to breathe?
Be enough. Be more. Be more than enough.
ENOUGHHHH!!!
Stop. You are overreacting sweetheart. This is life. What you are doing shows weakness. Stand up!
Walk. Keep walking. Walk for stress busting. Walk to get places. Walk for fitness. Walk.
All these prompts in her head.
She submits into them, she lives.
She breathes for the purpose of surviving.
Look at her, this was supposed to be a poetry attempt.
It turned out to be another It is all “pain” this and “pain” that.
She gives up on writing.
This is to painful to continue reading, to painful to continue writing.
Raindrops, let’s focus on raindrops.
Universe, a child of yours is suffering. Touch her soul with raindrops.
Universe. A child of yours needs your embrace. If you cannot ease her, bury her in your cold soul.
Ease her as you may.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Begin again.
I want to begin again.
I want to meet someone for the very first time and unravel their delicate soul in my palms with utmost care.
I want to breathe better.
I want to hit the gym 2 hours a day and try to run a mile without panting.
I want somebody to hold my hand and skip with me in the rain.
I want someone to have a pretend vlog show on a saturday morning while we cook pasta.
I want to work late nights on something creative and let the world see.
I want to have an open heart and soak in and stumble upon a new song, a classic movie.
I want to sleep on a mountain in the middle of a misty fog fest.
I want to paint a huge huge canvas and spend a month finishing it.
I want somebody to let me cry in their arms and tell me they decide to never leave my side.
I want to stitch someone a heart on their sweater.
I want to walk for hours and lose track of time.
I want to laugh and lie next to my pieces of home.
I want to hold a sleeping child in my lap.
I want purple lights, vanilla candles and a Joji song as a background for a deep conversation.
I want to bake someone the cutest cake and feed them the first bite.
I have done so much, I have so much to do.
A version of me is exhausting and dying.
A version of me wants to be born at the face of hope.
With the monsoon drops penetrating my heart. I want to begin again.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Simplify
My lungs; they're tired of drowning.
My eyes; they want to cry more.
My heart; it wants to feel the flutters of a butterfly not the heavy stomping of an elephant walk.
My brain; it wants to simplify everything.
My hands; they want to cook and paint and draw and not type emails.
My arms; they want to lock someone is a sad hug.
My legs; they want to sprint on the treadmill for 5 miles.
My back; it wants to feel straight with purpose.
My jaw; it wants to feel unclenched, unburdened.
My ears; they want to feel on earth and not 300ft above ground level, they want to feel less pressured.
My stomach; it wants to feel empty, it wants to feel less sick.
My body has no energy to scream so I'm gonna write this silent note and leave it out in the universe.
I'm gonna lock it up in an SOS corked bottle and let it flow with the sea waves.
With neither hope nor desperation.
If I drown now, I drown.
If I survive now, I survive.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Kya maalum hai usse ki kuch raaton me kyu jaagti hu me,
Kya maalum hai usse ki kuch kisso se dur kyu bhaagti hu me,
Khair chodo ye sab toh kasfi dur ki baat hai.
Masla ye nahi ki tum har roz kisi chiz par ruth ke chale jaate ho,
Kya tumne socha ki kabhi ki kab tum hume manate ho?
Har roz tumhara kitna hissa haasil hoga ye soch soch kar dil bikhar sa jata hai,
Sawal karke jab tum mera jawabo ke beech kuch apna suna kar mere khayalon ko thais pohchaate ho bada bagair sa lagta hai.
Tum puchte ho har baar, kaun hai humse pyaar karne wala, aur hum kehte chale jaate hai,
Hum hai,
Hum hai.
Par kabhi socha hai ki kaun hai humse pyaar karne wala?
Tumhe lagta hai ki hum izzat nahi karte shayad tumhaari,
Par khudki izzat mita dena bhi toh ishq nahi.
Humne ro kar bhi tumhaare peeche,
Tumhi ki duaaen maangi hai.
Humne kho kar bhi tumhe kuch raaton me,
Subah nayi koshishen haan ki hai.
Kya tumhe lagta nahi kabhi ki pyaar roz dena padta hai, pyaar roz karna padra hai.
Khaas kar ke unn dino me jab koi wajah nahi milti pyaar karne ki, pyaar dene ki.
Agar yahi tumhaari mashhoor mohhabatt hai,
Toh badi khaali si hai yeh mohabatt,
Bada akela sa lagta hai iss mohabatt me.
Agar yahi tumhara ishq hai toh bada bikhra sa ishq hai yeh, ek tarfa sa ishq hai yeh.
Shayad galat samay par mile tum mujhe ya me tumhe,
Sab kuch karke bhi badi nakaam si lagti hai ye mohabatt.
Aur jahan ishq hai waha kaunsi akad.
Jahan ishq hai waha kaunsi Jakad.
0 notes
Text
Coward
I'm a coward;
I get scared of losing fights and battles,
And so I avoid them and run away from them.
I lose within the battle of life every passing day,
On days when I win something in life; it doesn't feel like a win because inside of me,
Every minute, constantly, I feel like I am losing.
And so I get scared of losing one additional fight.
One additional battle.
Standing now, at the end of this riff;
I seem to have won nothing.
I see no crowd;
No trophies
No solace;
Just a heart not broken enough to be declared dead;
And eyes that can still find the courage to see through every bit of corruption.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Blood on ice.
brutality sees no color.
whites turn red, red turns brown.
age is a number.
a number that decides if you've made it or failed.
if you can drink and bang, or simply learn algebra.
age of the ice is gone,
but animals inside, they stay.
civilization is the true matrix, "wake up Alex"
water carries memory,
memories of evolution.
memories frozen in time.
memories so painful to live it melts, it cries.
humans carry memory,
memories so painful, they necrotize.
we die each day we've lived.
the earth dies each day it lives.
who are we saving?
when violence will get exhausted from human life,
when the blood on ice will not suffice.
the ice age will re-surface and everything will freeze.
the memories in soil and soul.
we'll dilute into this universe.
"wake up"
1 note
·
View note
Text
Answers.
Most of the times when someone asks a question, it's less to do with the answer in actuality and more to do with how the answer will somehow change the person that asked the question.
I asked a fellow traveller once,
What is it that makes you want to return back to travelling when you're clearly exhausted by the end of each journey?
The answer was more for me;
He said,
Everyone chooses their path to exhaustion, some like to do it coding a new phone app, some find it amusing while working on a novel for a year,
For me, it's like hunger for my soul.
I seek exhaustion from mountains and valleys,
I seek exhaustion from wandering for hours before I find that one decent place to eat.
I begin to speak, a way to merge my thoughts into his;
Now he begins to listen,
As if waiting for me to complete his answer.
Waiting to answer the question that was arisen from mine,
"everyone we love, will slowly be our doom and be tiring and excruciating.
It's upto us to make the choices of what we want to suffer for.
Some want to suffer for love,
Some suffer for their art,
Some suffer for great mounts of money
And they know by the end of their suffering, their journey.
What they'll get out of it is worth it."
I guess that's why I keep travelling, he replies.
I smile at him and clean my brush with the pick of color blue in my water jar,
I begin picking a different color this time.
I pick pink for my skies.
1 note
·
View note
Text
I fear every element of my existence, but mostly I fear to not exist.
2 notes
·
View notes