"I will not have you without the darkness that hides within you. I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me. If our demons cannot dance, neither can we."
-Nikita Gill
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The Young Man
Baseless arguements;
How motorcars don't work on engines.
Priceless explanations,
On how Jesus is secretly Satan.
He talks of things he doesn't know.
He thinks he has grown up.
He spits 4 cusses in a row,
Yet he thinks he's respectable.
Talks of ancient literature,
2 words he cannot spell.
Jokes of 'pride' and womanhood,
2 words he is born to repel.
He is so brave; he is the victim.
He is right, he's always right.
He tries hard but cannot understand,
This world of a woman's plight.
-from my pen
Reaching Verity
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I carry you with a certain desperation in my dreams.
The kind I am unaware is latched on to me in my waking hours.
When you finally reached for me, my starvation for your embrace would put me to shame in those hours.
But not in the dreams.
What took you so long? Engulf me for an answer.
This desperation would rip me apart, were I awake.
Better for it to be manifested in the dark.
~by aria.
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dogs !! dogs !! dogs!!
"I feel like a dog, I cry like a dog
Matted mange and muzzled maw
With gnashing teeth that bite and gnaw
Hide under the couch with a tail between legs
Hackles raised, I curl my spine
Twisted and bent to comply the confines
It's pathetic and demeaning
To suffer this feeling
Desperately pleading at the foot of your throne
Begging and begging
For a glimpse of the bone"
[26/11/2023]
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pretty forever.
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M. Darwish
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So is the summer sky.
Like a bonfire,
even the sun burns intensely
and shines with a golden light.
Even Nature
is made of pure gold,
Like the fields of wheats
and the crystal clear water at noon.
This is how It greets Summer
and the golden hour.
Poem (C): Me
“Nude Nymphs dancing to Pan’s flute around the fire” (C): Joseph Tomanek
“A beaming Sunset” (C): Wojciech Weiss
“Olives trees with yellow Sky and Sun” (C): Vincent Van Gogh
“The Sower (Sower with Setting Sun)” (C): Vincent Van Gogh
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If there is a Creator,
I beg Their forgiveness.
Not for me,
But for the ones who
Blindly hate those
Who are only trying
To live.
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the smell of tobacco.
a scent that used to taunt me with its longevity
i found a twisted comfort in it. the smell.
the way you could only detect it if you
paid attention.
even now,
i long for it.
the way it was mixed in with their cologne
to create something new.
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Aesthetic verses #2
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I find myself always intrigued by things larger than me by quite a hundred times. It is formidable, yet I like the feeling of being smol and vulnerable but powerful enough to make a giant bow down to me on all its fours. It could swallow me alive. Crush me within its fist. Somewhere I want it to be pertrified of how I, a creature equivalent as an ant is to a human, stand my ground. To devour me you have to fear me first.
-Sarjika
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Replaceable
Placid smiles and thin eyebrows,
The flower waits for its sun.
Fraying breaths and longing for affection.
The flower dances under the glimmers of the sun.
Trembling eclipse and voice cracks.
Rolling tears, bleeding lips, perpetual pain in the chest
The sun found its moon.
and the flower can only weep its dews.
The portrayal of friendship in arts
doesn't talk about the fading light.
They don't talk about swift combustion.
where the flame is high and bright.
It is quick to start and quick to exhaust,
leaving grey ashes all over.
We meet eyes every day, sometimes briefer than usual
until I realise--
I am haunted by you
and you are haunted by your own self-destruction.
I see your destructive tendencies filling you to brim, thrashing in vain.
Just know that I ruined myself to stop you,
and my love,
I would do it all over again.
It makes me wonder if you are actually the victim here.
Not you, I'll never find someone like you again.
You are the one person that made me feel seen.
It's like you have turned deaf to my pleas.
Goddammit, I miss it when you were proud of me.
Now all I think about is how I can literally see you walk away.
My fears can handle only so much,
I'll crumble and disintegrate.
Probably I am being dramatic,
but you know how you should be
with my fear of losing people.
It has happened so many times.
Fuck it, man, I am not "dramatic."
I'll lose myself if I lose you.
Our house memories still has so many blank walls--
you promised me a forever.
Now all I do is find you in these empty school halls.
how easy was it for you to forget our endeavours?
It hurts me to realise how easily replaceable I am.
By Gauri Sharma (Me)
Aesthetic writing by white-poppie
Tags: @akumicchi @buttercupspotify @maybeleftoverjourneys @hanji-boloji @oikawatoorupdf @bipdf @chandalika-pdf @navaratna @ji-jii-visha @gaurisays
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उनकी आँखों में इक चमक,
उनके लफ्जों में इक नमी है।
उनकी आवाज़ की वो खनक,
धीरे-धीरे खलने लगी है।
उनकी बातों से मन बहलने को,
जी बेतहाशा चाहता है
मगर इस ज़माने की बातों से
हमें फुरसत कहां मिली है...।
- मेरी अपनी कलम से
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I'm once again at your shrine
My feet had a mind of their own. They jerked to a stop as I entered the living room (we must only walk in with naked feet) only to find you turning it to a shrine.
You sat on the sofa, fingers strumming the strings of your guitar.
I caught you in your prayer. Once again, I'm at your shrine.
Bowed down, murmuring, to your instrument and instead of rosary beads, the strings become ceremonial. They hum with you in your prayer.
I'm at your shrine, hiding in the shadow of the room. The soft glow of sunset falls over you. How did I end up here?
Here you stay, and here I hold the lost memory of an ache.
I'm at your shrine and you pray.
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A lion roars.
The earth quakes.
A storm grows.
An ocean rages.
A volcano erupts.
But what does this grief inside of me produce?
Nothing.
An endless nothing.
-Ender
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✩.・*:。≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:。✩
nonsense is lovely;
such communication style
relates snakes and bees
―h.b.p
aug 1, 2023,,
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