derelictmemory

derelictmemory May 2014

I've been staring at the cracks in the pavement lately wondering if the spaces between here and there are as defined as jagged edges and overlooked trenches.
I was told once that we are woven entities and interconnected bodies of energy that have one way or another proven our worth through our discoloured eyes.
Perhaps we are just as vast as blackholes with no current destination but somehow we manage to take in what is placed in front of us without an understanding of what has become of it.
There are days when the only comparisons made are of the ocean and the sky as we forget that the soil beneath our toes has felt the most pain, the most love and seen the most bloodshed.
I was studying the cracks in the pavement the other day when I came across a thought that maybe my sight of the things I need is just as corrupt as the ground I walk on.

derelictmemory Apr 2014

The Best Kinds of Inspiration

The best kinds of inspiration comes when I'm 8 again
and I've hidden myself beneath a table clutching my teddy bear at midnight while
the lightning and rain told stories about the wars and pain that they've seen.

I grew to be 13 and I'd often cry
wondering why Daddy never came to say goodnight to me.
My pillows stained from years of tears.

When I was 16 I cried because the boy I thought I loved
didn't want to speak to me anymore and I never knew why.
All I could remember was that he smelled nice
and holding his hand felt as natural as the evening breeze.

The years weren't kind
and less could be said for the people I've met.
Many things terrified me
but the lightning and rain had always been constant company
especially during the sleepless nights.

I'm a little bit older now,
A little more broken and a little more worn
My mind is in tatters and my feet are covered in mud
My hands shiver but not from cold
And sometimes they say my eyes are flat and dead

The best kinds of inspiration come from tears now;
Some self-caused, others... just others.
The best kinds of inspiration live six feet under;
unmoving yet living somehow
The best kinds of inspiration make no sense;
A jumbled mess of screams and whispers
The best kinds of inspiration are alive;
Moving about heartlessly, more often than not, ignoring beauty

My only inspiration is locked away somewhere...
I dare not even think it to be real anymore
My only inspiration is in the winds at the apex of the night
My only inspiration rains sunlight when chills come to bite
My only inspiration...
It lives.
Somehow, someway
It lives.

I started this on 25 February 2014 and ended it on 28 April 2014

derelictmemory Feb 2014

Shorts #5: Forever

I suppose you could say I was a silly girl who liked to believe in romantic notions like the concept of a forever
And perhaps that is the way things should be - having faith in impossible things - but every forever could differ
I've known forevers that only lasted when I was looking into your eyes for only a second
and forevers that carried my heart next to yours for so many lifetimes over
I've seen forevers that lasted between the time he fell in love with her and she walked out of love with him
Maybe it's the child-like tendency to believe more in so much less
Perhaps it's the hope that one day forever will be more than just a word that meant our time together
Or I could just be a silly girl who believed in precarious notions of romance in an unromantic world.

I've had this in my drafts collecting virtual dust for ages, I thought maybe it was time I shared it.

derelictmemory Feb 2014

Things I Want

I want that lampshade in the corner to cast away the ghosts by my side
I want your hand to be intertwined with mine at every possible point of time
I want to feel like the waves day and night with rising tides
I want to hold that photograph that captures you in the perfect light always
I want to have that imperfect love when everything is simply perfection
I want the winds to blow through my hair like I'm as carefree as it is
I want to expunge the tornados and hurricanes trapped under my skin
I want to be held like preserved fragile parchments from ancient oaks
I want to be taken like a possesion while being loved like an enthralled being
I want to feel the confidence of the flames in your eyes that still burn
I want to see the swirl of the myriad of colours labelled by digits undefined
I want to live and breathe like hummingbirds in the forest
I want to be wild and in danger; constantly threatened and protected
But most of all
I want you to find me
To cut through every hedge
that stands in between us
Find me

(m.e.)

derelictmemory Jan 2014

Life In The Eyes Of My Own

More often than not I find myself looking through space like there's something there for me to reach for
But you see ghosts are just the dead trying to fit their way back into our lives when they no longer can
And whispers only travel so far before they become hush hums in the winds you blow
I'd give anything to be able to share it with you and have you see past what you let yourself believe
But dandelions fly too far sometimes and they don't really ever find their way back even on the expressway
I only really wear the bracelets I bought to hide the secret lines I write at 3am on the bathroom floor
And you don't watch or look out for the silent flinches when someone grabs my forearm
Neither do you question the tearstains on my pillow when you come over never
So when I'm reaching into the vast amount of nothingness for something to keep me from breaking
I hardly ever come across anything that will help because you can hardly mend broken things that are still cracking at the edges and crumbling into dust

derelictmemory Jan 2014

A Look Into My Mind

I don't know.
Nothing is certain and nothing can truly be solidified into a completely defined being
because the words escape me and things can be as indescribable
as your eyes and the way your hand fits with mine
But perhaps I'm dreaming
and the reality I believe I'm living is just another trick
I have let myself fall for and the only things that are truly real
are the things that are not.
Much similar to the way i wish I could scream out loud
but I force it back down my throat so it only reverberates within my used lungs.
If I implode within myself
and it is reflected on the outside of me
would that mean I have exploded or
would it mean i've finally reached a point in my life where I am what I feel
in which case I am nothing if I feel nothing
and I am everything in the sense that nothingness is what everything believes it is.
Would you kindly hold my hand and direct me to the place where we could finally find
what we've been wanting for for so long or can you only point me the wrong way
and wish i find it in my own time by my own means.
Does forever truly exist?
Or is it another trick we let ourselves believe so that the fairytales
we see have a possibility in becoming real forever?
What if the great poets only existed in the times
we believe to have fought dragons
and the only poetic things left to say are the thoughts
great poets left unsaid and the things great poets have said
only resonated into their minds from the poetry of the earth
we've begun to destroy in our midst of finding civilisation
only through barbaric means?
And what if the only thing that could cure the restlessness in my mind
was your fingers intertwined with mine
to signify another unthought stanza of love
and your kisses would burn my skin into a salvation
I could have never dreamed of having?

(m.e.)

derelictmemory Jan 2014

Home

Pictured frames and broken glass
Everything just happened so fast
Coloured pens and shattered lights
How do you manage to sleep at night?

Empty bottles of tablets and pills
What happened to strong will?
Open doors and replayed songs
It all just lasted so long

Cracked at the edges, torn at the seams
What would it take for you to hear the silent screams?
Plastic smiles and broken homes
I don't want to be alone