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melinoe immortal Jun 2020
.
The moment the smile
became bittersweet.
In the blink of an eye
you disappeared.
And words written or spoken
cannot stop the pain.
..
melinoe immortal May 2019
..
No matter what I write down
or think or feel,
reality cannot reverse itself.
Neither will the holes drilled permanently
inside my soul.


RIP
melinoe immortal Aug 2018
Sirens. ‘Oxygen please’.

It was all in a dream,
that slowly fades, 
till it’s one last beat;
the final T wave.

The eyes of the soul
opened to a new light;
the real orbits could not
 believe, what I saw.

Now, I wish I never
gazed into that light.
Darkness swathes 
my soul, a repetition
of this vicious cycle.

Traffic lights. Red turns green.

The monitor music.
A distorted chime sound,
hidden under their vibrating vocal cords.

Last earthly stop.
I am in orbit.
Return of oxygen, electrolytes, body and soul to the progenitor.
melinoe immortal Jul 2018
No fentanyl, midazolam or propofol.
Operation: childhood destruction using
non- sterile gloves.
Removal of parts of the brain and heart,
septic nightmares infect the mind.
   The body shivers, loses control.
Gangrene of the soul.

Antiseptic, aromatic soap,
scraping the epidermal dirt.  
  Scratching so hard, unable
to get rid of the hurt.

Happiness decapitated,
enters the cemetery gates
pointing with her morphine-coated fingers
to her tomb.
Chronic torture and no remorse.
A pre-meditated ****** of dreams and hopes.
melinoe immortal Jul 2017
You were a fool big girl..

you were a fool…

Return to the land of the the four-thorned rose… become, exist somewhere else, with that flower that has been pulled from the soil so violently.

Live on your own asteroid, and water that rose.

But this time make sure your star will never been seen by any human or artificial eye.
melinoe immortal Jul 2018
Selene.

By the sea, I have been staring,
at your bright colours change.
Erythematous, murderous intentions of
a disease disseminating
on your surface.

The slow, penetrating anguish
tearing the guts,
a one-sided, disdained,
newborn sadness,
I am welcoming in my arms.

On the operating theatre of life
white and now dead moths,
stillborn butterflies
inside the flesh removed,
drowned themselves in a pool of blood.
They, an absurd joy
that never stood a chance
inside this cyanide prison.

Portals of loaned,
disillusioned happiness closed.
The liquid that raced turbulently
through my vessels, drained on a half-filled
with tears palette.

With menacing, impasto knife-like strokes
on the body
Morpheus painted the shadow-covered moon
with memories that refuse to be forgotten
from purulent, open wounds.
'Those worlds you will (never) see.
The people you will (never) meet' he said.

Soul chemicals eroding
the behemoth sky,
as the paint dries out.
Ashes of my Dreams (Not) Achieved,
astral remains;
everything I silently kept inside.
melinoe immortal Jul 2017
Sleep abandonment.
Tachycardic nocturnal episodes
of complete emptiness.
Biographical disruption,
mind and body separation.


PTSD going down in flames,
in milligrams the memories
temporarily faint.
Open windows of spherical shape
leading her
to a paradoxical sleep.

The door is open,
to a blank world,
to a dreamless world
inside a dream.
melinoe immortal Aug 2018
I will edit my soul
with the colourless liquid
that escaped from the two overflooded doors
and stained page 255 on
the medical ethics section.

'Drop on the floor, drops.
Tear drops
never to return.'

A lullaby moaned
before hope runs out of
the small, plastic bottle.
melinoe immortal Mar 2019
I scream, inside the tomb
--
they placed the bomb
---

that used to beat and left it rot
----

wondering what was the cause
----

of such a breakdown.
Denial is great, when people  refuse to blink into reality and admit permanent damage done to souls that have survived incomplete wreckage of spirit. Denial as a mechanism of spiritual stagnation, impedes possible progress and progression into acceptance and resolution of problems; forgiveness. Denial morphed into a coping mechanism for the weak, covering mental instability.  Inevitably, those who have been let down, rejected;  in darkness their insides that has been unwillingly painted by others. Some still suffer mentally inside their little box, accepting what has been done, the past that has been and the current battles to overcome.  The blackness is there in a present term, and  hope as well for the ones who scream silently, but carry no sign of it in the morning. The scream of the child buried and the smile and promise of the grown up to itself, never to become an example of the ones who are in denial. Never to cause physical or mental harm that is untreatable, to bring light to those who have been through the same. To never forget, but learn to expect everything from people; not imitate sources of malice, be vigilant and learn that denial and not taking responsibility can only lead to a progressive spiritual Disintegration.
melinoe immortal Jul 2017
'Healer' time take thy poor, black sheep,
and stop it from wondering
in the dangerous corners
of the mind,
because heaven and hell collided
inside a body and in unity they came
in the presence of all those
who conspired to it.

From the frontal to the occipital lobe,
dark thoughts obstruct
the brain’s watershed regions
and thanatos they bring.
The soul cannot take this coffin
anymore.

The stone is too heavy to carry;
sliding down and pushing up,
every night the pushing starts,
for the dawn, her courage to crack.


It may be like Hooke's law they say,
but bodies break down,
when people apply the extra force
and so do the souls,
long before.
melinoe immortal Jul 2018
Sunken eyes, broken thoughts,
air with difficulty enters the lungs.
Dry mouth, lacrimation of no purpose,
the pillow full of nails  she is resting upon.

The body, a ship stricken by a wave war.
Slow disintegration,
remains are battling the seven seas of sorrow.

Like a painting  uncovered,
black sheets cover the rays of the sun
from the soul.

Resident of a lucid dream,
mumbling to the wind that blows
regrets down to the river
between Hypnos and the Underworld,
to carry a message to the hearts
with locked doors.

A message of no words
but incoherent perceptions,
lost unknown connections
and strangled hopes.
melinoe immortal Dec 2017
You colour the chest-implanted violin of life
with drops of  chronic
alkaline comfort.
You deposit in yearly doses
on the upper heart chambers.

You will be buried with her.
The book of souls deciphers
the chemicals were low,
your presence is unwelcomed in peoples' courts.

But  you have always been there
for her.

You are destroying her.
The blood violently regurgitates
back to the left and right cardiac chambers.
She wore that heart proudly in her chest.
She played the heart strings till her fingers
bled with blood.


But what worth do words have right now,
when the damage is really done?
No metallic stent can restore the pathways of the heart.
The violin strings break one by one.
melinoe immortal Jul 2017
Disappointment transformed into rage.
Rage transformed into tears
liquid forms of despair.
Body excreting pain
a failing healing process
acute or chronic series
of mourning events.


The soul full of nociceptors
soldiers of misfortune
firing against the invinsible enemy.

The wounds open, refusing to heal.
The years of not understanding,
misunderstandings, confusion, denial
and self-loathing.


Time is running out in her mind.
melinoe immortal May 2018
Heart strings pulled apart one by one,
nails turning blue under black, velvet gloves.
The burned ashes scattered in the wind
over a turbulent sea,
and waves crash onto shore,
words fail to come out of the mouth;
lost in a forest of thoughts -
This is not adieu.
melinoe immortal Dec 2018
One's remembered self;
the clash within one's present
self.
Christmas mournings,
childhood memories
of ripped apart years.

Those life pages
full of thorns
that never seem
to burn.

Circulus vitiosus
linked mental inhibitions
inability to construct
current ability to destruct and reconstruct.


The unwritten soul letters
from the heart sent to the brain.
The thoughts that still wake you up
on days of heavy thunder and rain
inside your head.
They will never rest.

The days you hide from the sun's rays.
The days you walk into complete blackness
to the other side of silence
with the only compass your own will to heal.

Your own will to heal.
melinoe immortal Jul 2017
1 a.m., clocks strike your fate
2 a.m., blackened skies
eyes, spreading darkened curtains
3 a.m., breathless
4 a.m., screams outside the room
5 a.m., toe tag.

— The End —