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we are all just tapping in
to our former genius
to reconstruct what life
has washed away.
musings from the acid riddled summer of 2010.
who will keep the keepers?

we are the patron saint of broken souls, bearing the weight of the sorrows of others; yet who will carry ours?

who dares to hold us up when our hearts are too heavy for the chests that carry them?

we are the menders of broken minds, we fix the fragmented psyche; but who will sew our tattered edges?
november 14th, 2014

the lament shared between sisters, empaths, and psychologists.
it's a constant stream of consciousness, the ultimate truth about how art and inspiration are just your perception and interpretation of life and the reality around you. listen to a song, and pause as the narration flows through your mind like sand through your hands – slipping through the hourglass and never staying quite on key. when your mind is always two steps ahead of the ink.

bury me with a pen, because god knows i’ll forever live in this altered state, and i’m destined to die here.

it’s about how everything makes you feel – how you’re more than human because you understand the true meaning behind the infinite universe and everything encompassing it. a super(ior) perspective. forever a self born monster with the hungry desire to dissect all in sight; until it means anything.

with all synapses firing, you understand the theories and ideas of the great intellectuals; the divine knowledge of utmost reality – art, beauty, life, humanity, and enlightenment. then you reach the darker side of the path; the bruised affair kept hidden from sight – the truth and knowledge and understanding of the mind of the serial killer, the sociopath, the ******; and the overwhelming desire to act upon it all. an unbearable struggle and battle within yourself to shut out the violence, to mask the hate and brutality – tucked in a corner for later analysis.

the truth is, this is enlightenment. ultimate inspiration and insight to reality. this state of being reaches your infinite heights, and these ideas are your pure gold philosophy. shine on, you crazy diamond.
november 10th, 2010.

this was me at my sickest, most addicted state. this is an echo of the worst schizophrenic episode I ever had.

I was only sixteen years old.

this was not truth. this was NOT enlightenment. this was the worst secret and delusion to ever haunt my soul.
I trace your freckles and birthmarks, each forming the constellations that I see shimmering behind my eyelids.

you are a spiritual being, made from the universe.

planet earth rests in your eyes, where the shining water and waves pull me out to sea.
November 11th, 2013.

for the boy with the tidal eyes.
I lose myself in your cosmic current every time.
I love you.
gentle demeanor and caring soul,
you watched me from afar.
you came from a troubled home.
little did you know that I did, too.

misunderstood, my night princess.
you held the keys in your
hands the whole time,
you just never had your timing right.

four garnet pomegranate seeds
you offered me.
believing me to be of
grace and elegance.

I came swiftly.
and though you rule the
grounds of the underworld,
we were the two queens.

I was already broken
by the time you captivated me.

addicted from the start.

I taught you tricks of my own,
and being the princess of darkness,
you already knew them.

but the stories have it wrong.
the history books documented our inevitable arrival incorrectly.

it was not hades that corrupted persephone, but the path of destruction we paved together.
I was always leaning toward
your side from the start.

in love with danger and the promise
that you would never hurt me.

I am your queen, and you are mine.
june 1st, 2014

dedicated to my lady hades.

I loathe my inability to hate you.
I still love you, but I will never be your queen again.

you threw me from the underworld, out of the depths of eternal winter.
I'm an anxious person.
storms are my playthings.
chaos is the joy in my heart.
April 7th, 2014.

snippets of musing and metaphor.
I was walking down a hallway, when a head rush overtook me. blindly ambling forward, the walls, floor, and ceiling lurched in on me.

I was struck by the absurd notion that human beings must be enclosed within these confined spaces. it parallels the idea of the lines, spaces, and boxes that society draws upon and around us that we must remain in.

man is not free.

yet this contradicts the statement made by Jean Paul Sartre, explaining that β€œman is condemned to be free.” how can this be? we attempt to free our minds, and yet we remain in the enclosures we physically and mentally draw around ourselves.

the walls seemed like they were closing in, and it reminded me terribly of a time that I knew I was losing my mind.

the concept of space and the universe was slipping away from me; before becoming vastly distorted, lacking all meaning. it was like slipping away into the infinite black abyss once more.

all of these thoughts and feelings rushed over me at once: some verbal, most instinctual. unspoken. primitive, as if this knowledge lived within us, residing in our bones since the dawn of mankind.

the entire experience lasted approximately four seconds. it made me nostalgic yet nauseous to remember that I once to lived my entire life in this state.
April 22nd, 2013Β 

I vaguely remember this experience.
it was just another flash of clarity among an ocean of monotony.

however, this was before I dove deeper into the works of Sarte.
eye of storm
feels good
inanely safe

cloak of unreality
supplanting sense
as trap shuts

butterfly hovers
gently
in silken web

rests stupidly
charmed
while harm beckons

illusions numb
cerebral
space

battle weary
instincts spent
on long haul

gusts of
warning winds
ignored

as incongruent
aberrations
unworthy of note

but sword will drop
mayhem eclipse
former state

past suspension
truncated
exposed

as raw reality
severs dreams
barnacled

to beguiling
specious
notion
beware the weariness that eclipses knowing... and reason... it will exact a price
You are a novel
gathering dust on my shelf
but not because I don’t want to read
but because I’m afraid
to turn the page,
afraid of how you’ll end
 Jan 2018 Halsea Callis
mel
i am not one for making bets
but i bet your heart skipped too
when my soul recognized you
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