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there are days i long for
the allure of philosophy.
a less personal affair,
but only to a degree.

rather than what i do.

such responsibility, to hold
another's fragile mental
stability within the palm
of my hand!

i am no healer, i do not
offer cures. no. the
gravitation i hold
is simply an

Β Β  eΒ Β 
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β cΒ Β Β Β 
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β  h
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β o

of everything
which shall always
be nothing more than
the reverberation of my soul.

i am not a poet.
my mother tongue is not
within clever word
play or meter.

i speak the words of the
cosmic tapestry
within the singing
of the spheres.

there is a quiet history in
that celestial symphony,
an Edda of instrumental
humming all that
was and shall be.
saturday, january 5th, 2019.

Β© kalica calliope.
Raindrops falling, laughing sweet lullabies. A whispering touch of crystalline kisses
gracefully unfolds spiraling helixes of rainbow arcs; songs of the Souls in all Cosmic fields.

To the reaping, the transgressions of One, all is for naught. In all States and frequencies, each voice is a Diamond Sun. As the curving of the galaxies within you, I, of All Beings; each moment is a rippling harmonic imprint of the cosmic Soul of Each individual bathed in Sovereignty.

Sing, embodying the liquid light for All with compassion and care. Are we not All One?
Each soul is Sovereign within this Fractal Cosmic Infinity. All paths are equal; knowledge and wisdom dance in the light of healing and loving All, as We are All One.

Cosmic tapestries of Souls and stars illuminate my truth. Whom I was no longer binds the growth of what I have always been: celestial symphonies meeting within the river of crystalline layers of Infinity.

Look upon the Human lines, of All layers of consciousness. If One may find the presence of altruistic, immutable Growth from darkness: rising up to sing the purity and wisdom through trauma, of wounds that decay in all dimensions of Infinity; is this not anything but the shining windows of hope which each layer forgot? It is a ripple within us All.

Healing in the darkness bestows resplendent rays of resiliency: of loving All as We are ALL One.

β€œπ’’π’–π’†π’π’π’ 𝒄𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒖 π’”π’†π’Š π’Šπ’ 𝒆𝒓𝒐, 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐 𝒄𝒉𝒆 π’Šπ’ 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒖 π’”π’‚π’“π’‚π’Š.”

All has purpose, significance, meaning: divine songs of Growth and love to heal us.

Flowing freely with inner light; no longer shall I silence myself from fear of persecution or insanity.

My soul has been burnt at the stake for that which others could not understand.

Yet for all the pain and trauma: I speak with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah.

To grow, love, and dance within cosmic tapestries bestows the learning from pain; eliciting the silent compassionate zero point of neutrality, healing the ripples of the Cosmic Infinity.

No longer am I bound by the cycle of pain that manifests such trauma. I sit among the silence of a harmonic infinity; weaving the singing, living blueprint of All from Within the drop of echoic shifting divinity.

I speak and embody the truth: teachings of the rare and opulent music within the soul, a living record of the symphonic movement that has and shall always be nothing else but you.
March 9th, 2019

a tangential stream of Divine Consciousness birthing new light within All.

kalica delphine Β©
sweet nyx, my goddess of the night.
you are the deity and reminder
that even within abysmal darkness
we are capable of excelling infinite heights.

I will be your muse:
weaving epic tales of love and loss,
depictions of existence
and resplendent, radiant light
as I guide you through this ineffable
journey of tiresome, exuberant life.
June 10th, 2016

a tribute to my goddess of the night.
I am not afraid to show you the beauty of your light.

I love you, nyx stella.

(look guys, it somewhat rhymes! but fear not, I doubt I will ever do it again.)
I am no poet nor elysian saint.
I am nothing more than a
living record of transgressions:
odes and testaments of
tarnished gold intentions.

it is for naught: sincere
folly to search for an
elusive inner meaning.
I cannot ascertain if
any exist. take heed to
proceed with caution

there are years which
answer; providing insight,
clarity, a gateway to serenity.

yet there are the years
yielding naught but
empty questions

   eΒ Β 
    oΒ Β 
Β Β  iΒ Β Β Β 
nΒ Β 

soundlessly across
the starless horizon.

these hands are riddled
with memories of all
that I burnt, broke
and dismantled.

scorch marks
embellish my skin:
lamenting cries tasting
of ashes and insidious intent.

whenever home is no longer
hospitable; the foundation
crumbling under derelict
decay and dilapidated
compassion. empathy
common sense.

where does one begin
unravelling the shards of
broken bonds, presuming
to eradicate the distorted
fragments of fermented
claws, kisses, and teeth?

I am a storm with skin:
volatile, tempestuous,
forever untamed by
human hands.

do not misinterpret
the agelessness of
my Soul as a catalyst
for destruction.
chaos is no longer the
joy in my heart.
June 22nd, 2019

I never meant to hurt you.
please know this.

Β© kalica calliope delphine
I’d trace your spine until you felt the love from my fingertips burn hotter than the pain shrieking in your bones.

I’d fiddle with your lamp until it was the perfect shade of indigo.
I’d keep watch for you in the dark and shield you in the blinding light.
I’d run you baths that made you feel pure.

you’d never sleep alone,
unless you wanted to.
even then,
I’d be sitting against your door
with a glass of tea,
and your pills.

I’d write you pathetic sonnets.
I’d sing you off-key songs.
I’d read you poetry that brought us both to tears.
I’d draw you stupid doodles and try to make you laugh.

you’d never be alone
on the miserable floor.
those *******,
with all their relentless,
maddening buzz
wouldn’t be heard over me.
or more demanding.

I’d feed you Nutella: my very last spoonful.
I’d clean your room as often as you wanted, or never.
I’d take you to bookshops and cafΓ©s and nowhere at all.
I’d sit with you and play with your piercings.

you wouldn’t be alone,
staring awake at dawn.
the dark,
it wouldn’t be spent so restlessly.

I wouldn’t quieten my desire.
not this time.

I’d say I’m sorry when I laughed so hard I spit.

I’d love you when you couldn’t love yourself.
I’d care for you when all you saw was waste.
I’d carry you wherever we went and tell everyone you’re mine.
January 30th, 2014.

to the lamentations of (broken) promise and pain, once dedicated to my lady Hades.

this is the most difficult piece for me to post, in so many ways.

I'm not your Persephone anymore.
there are no more promises of β€œi'd” - you saw to that.

you cannot understand how much I hate the piece of myself that cannot hate you.
that will always platonically love you, even when I wish I didn't.

I hope that ineffable connection between us still exists, so you might sense that I will always platonically love you, but I don't know if I can forgive you.
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 want to crawl out of my skin and transcend. I want to feel all the things I have forgotten that don't have names. I want to slip away. I want to laugh freely. I want to feel the way I used to.Β 

this bed is stripped down to the mattress and it shows all the faults and failures. it knows my name, bears my secrets, and held me up for four years. this ceiling houses my soul. these walls have both imprisoned me and set me free.

Laura gets emotional whenever we go to the towneast NA meetings. she says β€œthis is the room I got clean in.” 

this room is where I rose and fell; transformed and burnt the remains of my monstrosity. I have evolved and endured within the confines of these walls. the scent of psychosis and freedom still lingers in the wallpaper of the bathroom after a long hot shower.

I have changed my entire existence within this room. I have lost my mind and soul in here. I have been empty and numb, trapped on this mattress. I was determined to make it the last thing I ever saw, once.

I have been to heaven and to hell on this bed. now I question if either exist. everything I have ever known, I have learned in here. everything I have ever questioned happened within this room.

I want to burn it to the ******* ground.
December 6th, 2013
a lament of psychosis, addiction, recovery, and resilience.
much like the butterflies
i fish from the pool
wings leaden with water
exhausted from the notion
of staying afloat
my journey began the same.
uplifting tiny gossamer stars
from abysmal waters
so i might bestow
one last chance
for us to
f l y
july 11th, 2017.

to the rays of resilience
and the six years of recovery
I walked to harness
such resplendent light.

kalica delphine Β©
the world is a dryer.

if there is a washing machine section within our universe, I am unaware of it.

I don't work that rotation. I work the dry shift.

tumble low heat, fluff, repeat.


in almost every dryer known to mankind, some contraption serves as the lint trap. collect all of the lint and excess laundry fluff as it goes through the dry cycle.

in this world, in this universe; if the human race consists of the articles of clothing in the dryer, I am the lint trap.

it sounds almost cutesy when phrased like that. dryer lint is fluffy and soft and the combination of all the different fibers of the various clothing.

I'm the trap, though. the filter.

I must absorb and filter the excess fiber from every article of clothing. if the entire human race is in this dry cycle; I absorb and filter their raveling ends.

it's ******* exhausting.

here's a better analogy. have you ever had your stomach pumped?

they handle this differently now, but when the doctors, nurses, and staff working in the ER would get a patient who swallowed an entire bottle of ****** with a ***** chaser; or a new mother's young son swallowing her bottle of sertaline, they would get to work. one hand activated charcoal, the other hand with a large suction tube.

activated charcoal is what neutralizes the bottle of ****** or the bottle of Zoloft. the charcoal can absorb **** near anything. it pulls out stains and poisons, neutralizing and absorbing.

this is where the tube comes in. the charcoal is harmless on its own, but the ER staff is in a hurry to console (get rid of) the screaming mother; to move the seventeen year old girl with the ****** ***** chaser to the psychiatric unit, and continue their night.

insert the long tube to suction the charcoal out of the stomachs of the two children. this is often haphazardly shoved down the back of the throat, down the esophagus, reaching the stomach. flip the switch, undo what peristalsis cannot. it's not pleasant. gagging, rough, foul, I've been told.

the body is working in reverse order. vomiting may be easier. the suction tube is fighting the natural flow of the body. the esophagus is attempting to push everything down down down, and the tube is fighting back.

I am the activated charcoal found in every ER across the globe. I absorb the poisons that human beings put into​ their bodies.

I can pass someone on the street, and my activated charcoal soul absorbs the negativity, the poison, the hatred, the emotional chaos from that individual.

I often wonder if the person feels lighter, noting the absence of the venom that once crippled them. I never ask. I just keep my gaze down and ignore the tempest ensnared within my activated charcoal lint trap.

there are others like me. activated charcoal hearts, lint trap souls.
an ode to activated charcoal hearts and lint trap souls.

February​ 8th 2017
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.
a letter to each of my wraiths,
spirits of insidious intent.
to those who could not stomach
my tempestuous volatility,
the ones who grinned
and ran upon learning
I am a storm with skin.

the phantasms, loathsome and odious.
to the scorch marks you left upon
the deepest caverns of my soul.
melodious, vile, cloying, abysmal.

I drank every honeyed word like a promise:
yet it was naught but fermented love.
these are the odes for the ghosts
of my past mistakes.

I'll paint you all in a ravenously
meticulous light. you will have
your fifteen minutes in the sun,
before I set you all ablaze.


you need no title, you deserve no name.
if you ever read this, harbor no doubts
that this is your trial.

you make me wish for an exorcism.
after all these years, your demon still sleeps within the marrow of my bones.

you are nothing more than a disease.

by some act of paradoxical cruelty,
I am unable to hate you. you deserve
it, but it is out of my capabilities.

you were poison.
you whispered sweet promises
that you didn't,
couldn't understand.
you tasted like pomegranates
and original sin.
you held me up when I
couldn't breathe, believe
in anything, or even stand.

thrice you sent me back
to the abyss.
in the end, we ascended
the throne as rightful heirs.

did you know what
you were doing?
did it even matter?
did you happen to care?

I'd like nothing more than to burn
every inch of you from my memory.

I dream of you on your birthday.
on days and dates of significance
that you have long forgotten.

you are a parasite. you were my muse.
I cannot help but wonder if you
understand what you truly are.
you have done that which is
unforgivable: I hope it corrupts you.
hate yourself for me, as I am unable to.

pray to whatever gods you hold
that you never cross my path.
I will annihilate you with a single glance.
encase you in ice so you may rule
the underworld alone.
I am your captive no longer.

I see you fully, in inscrutable detail.
I want to be the one holding the mirror,
all too happy to show you exactly
what you have always been. let it destroy
you: yet even that is too kind a fate.

your abhorrence festers within yourself,
your diseased and poisoned soul
eating away at the facade you built.
I'm tearing it down and exposing
your darkest fears and sins.


you are a brazen ballad of
burning bravado.

I'm done purging and
dissecting my soul for you.

you are not an enigma.
you are no daughter of the sun.
you are transparent.
you paint yourself in ashes;
desperate for resplendence.
I cannot stop you, darling.
just remember: I am the one
who taught you how to shine.

yes, it is true: I burnt you
with hands of unintentional
volatility. since my
transgressions; I have fasted,
wept, and atoned my sins.
yet desipte agreements,
promises of your forgiveness;
I have all but brought you
my head upon a platter.

I weigh my words upon a scale.
I do not wish to harm you again.
I am Atlas, pirouetting across
an endless sea of ice.
I dare not shatter you
with thoughtless words.
yet you have become a
threat to my own health.

I want nothing more than to repair
the frayed edges, yet I cannot
sew the tatters of fifteen years
with a single spool of thread.
restoration is not a one way street.

two weeks ago I bore my soul:
the fragility, voracity, my
undiltuted truth.
I forgave myself for what
I did in days past, at your behest.

it is, and shall never be enough.
no. not for the opulence
of a goddess. yet you are not
made of fire. you are ice.


you have been nothing more
than a mirage. at least the truly
deceased only visit twice a year.
they don't leave unhinged promises.

β€œwe could rebuild, recreate,”
and other half truths
you weave and sell.

you know just as well as I do, honey:
words are wind.
they do not bring warmth;
foster naught but sweet sighs
that shall never come to light.

your translucency is a beacon,
and you are the only one
unaware of how easy it is
to see through you.

I am truly sorry.
I am finished ripping open
the lining of my bones
to the lamenting cries
of unanswered echoes.

if ever your luster returns,
bringing substantial proof of
warmth, commitment; your needles
and thread: perhaps we can
recreate our tapestry.

until then, the silk shall remain
as it is: ravelled, fading,
matching your soul in every
transparent, powdery aspect.
October 23rd, 2018.

read this not with malice or cruelty, but instead as a torch song.
i am purging all of the darkness and decay in a blazon of ephemeral light. From the ashes I rise anew, knowing that no inch of my soul has been tainted by you.

kalica delphine Β©
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.
the first time you played for me, I remember the innocence within your spirit.

you emitted the purest blue I had ever seen, a color that does not exist; unseen by human beings.

your hands cast diamonds, as swirls of opaque words and thoughts unfurled around you, painting the musical sonnet of your soul.
the shining sonnet of your soul. I love you.
if i cannot sing
Β Β Β Β Β Β and cannot touch
i will prove that
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β i can heal myself
through the act
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β of healing others
july 11th, 2017.

scribbled truths gleaned
from six years of recovery.

kalica delphine Β©
So go ahead and tell me, child.
Would it all have been worthwhile
To tread upon Eliot's allusiory notion
Having bitten off the matter with a smile
Negating warnings, blinded by devotion?
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
During our days to ****** and create
Amnesic to past transgressions of a dying fall
Divulging the insidious question upon our plate?
Daring to disturb the song of the universe
Repeating the same indecisions and revisions
In which we must ultimately reverse?
tuesday, january 29th, 2019.

an epilogue to 𝒕𝒉𝒆 π’•π’“π’‚π’π’”π’Žπ’Šπ’ˆπ’“π’‚π’•π’Šπ’π’ 𝒐𝒇 π’„π’π’“π’“π’–π’‘π’•π’Šπ’π’.

kalica delphine Β©
No more magic: magic dreams, magic realities. Does this seem backwards and ludicrous of me to state such a wish? Potentially.

Yet I do not wish such upon all domains: it's more a fallacy from wariness. Yet, even an idle wish cannot change the course of action already in motion.

Ergo, if anyone still vehemently disagrees with the notion of my half wish after the intricacies are spilled upon the table; do as you will. Yet tread with caution, as you've been given heed.

To embrace the multifaceted, multidimensional level of intricate details which form the building blocks of the nature of such a claim and infinity; reviewing and understanding a few core concepts is necessary.

Magic is essentially the higher understanding and manipulation of nature. A form of knowledge, if you will.

Knowledge consists of one of the many pathways or permutations used to control for power.

What of power? Well, within the hands of an undisciplined mind, it is a means of corruption.

This does not insinuate that the presence of power is a causal link for corruption. Not in full. Yet enough power paired with an undisciplined mind can result in corruption. One might find themselves signing over the soul at the drop of a dime.

Furthermore, even for those possessing an extremely disciplined and engrained sense of virtue; power can corrupt if given enough time and the proper circumstances.

Despite this understanding, if given the opportunity: I'd pick magic **** near every time.

β€œI can change” we'd say; after the thousandth retake of the same test of willpower, of failed temperance and appetites. This is cried out to the sky only upon recalling the aftermath of damage caused.

Perhaps we could change.
Yet we vow this each time before starting the process anew; our memories wiped.

Memory is grand, yet it is our virtue that holds the key, that which truly counts. This too can be learned, relearned, compromised, expanded upon. It is not a static state. It adapts, lives, breathes, thrives; and you better believe it's intelligent. (As all energy is intelligent.)

Throw the two together, along with a few more ingredients, and one is given the comprising elements governing most everything; to some degree or another.

β€œThere is no good or evil; there is only power, and those too weak to seek it.”

Not quite. This is a ****** half truth of blind lunacy stemming from everyone who has and shall always be nobody else but you. This is the face of corruption fueled by power, resting inside us all.

Yet it does not encompass all layers. No.

It is every single one of those things, and none of them.
It is the compromised result of all infinite possibilities in between: of everything all at once, until it IS only One; encompassing each subsequent pause and division in between.

It is the unification, the separation, the battle and harmony between form and void; and of the constant, neverending, infinite, perpetual vacuum of everything and nothing in-between all fluctuating at different rates and degrees.

Any reality you could ever imagine, (be it surface level; or diving into one of the immesurable infinities, or somewhere in between) - it has either happened; is currently occuring; or will come to pass at some point.

Time does not exist in the same constraints we are accustomed to. It is cyclical, recursive, nonlinear, and in states of quantum superposition (or cognition) - all happening at once.

Over an unutterable infinity, or within the blink of a cosmic eye. Yet who is to say that these two notions are not the same?

Infinitely many is just the comprised collective innumerable counterpart of One.

Imagine DNA. When broken down at the subatomic molecular level; it is infinitely small. Yet it creates the human body: the same blueprint present everywhere.

Out of the microscopic level of infinitely small forms larger layers. DNA creates the neurons within the human brain. Jumping out a layer: this forms the whole of the brain. Then the human body. It magnifies to the entire collective of human bodies.

This in turn creates the cells for another strand of DNA within a larger One. More neurons. Brain. The bodyβ„’ of that larger One. The collective bodies of the collective of Ones. Repeat this cycle ad infinitum.

It is always One; but how it appears depends on the level of infinity you're dealing with and envisioning at that given moment.


So go ahead and tell me, child.
Would it all have been worthwhile
To tread upon Eliot's allusiory notion
Having bitten off the matter with a smile
Negating warnings, blinded by devotion?
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
During our days to ****** and create
Amnesic to past transgressions of a dying fall
Divulging the insidious question upon our plate?
Daring to disturb the song of the universe
Repeating the same indecisions and revisions
In which we must ultimately reverse?
tuesday, january 29th, 2019

(this stems from something akin to a Harry Potter dreamβ„’ that took on a life all its own; arranging things which are known and recalled to me during my waking Being.)

kalica delphine Β©
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.
dear child:

you are so young. with a quiet demeanor and screaming conscience, you watched the one person in this world you looked up to and loved the most burn herself to the ground.

every snort, every syringe, every cut; you were there. you will help her, you will enable her. you will watch her crash and burn; but you will watch her arise from the ashes and be reborn.

you will blame yourself until it is seared in your mind that you are a part of her addiction. you will become addicted as well, soon. you will take blades to your skin and pray for the courage to push down. you will swallow handfuls of pills, praying for some release.

you will begin your elegant downward spiral as you begin to smoke and steal and drink and starve and manipulate and insert every single chemical you can into your body so you can forget what you have done and what it means to be what you are.

you will search for meaning where there is none. this search will drive you to the brink of madness. you will drop so much acid that the hallucinations you experienced won't go away. you will permanently change your brain and your life forever.
you will believe that it was all your fault, and you will never forgive yourself.

you will encounter demons in the smiling faces of your friends and family. yet utterly desperate and fed up, you will go on a serial killer spree; murdering every ******* creature that tormented and plagued you with endless misery.

this, of course, is in your head; as the doctors will tell you. it wasn't real. but you aren't convinced. you haveΒ Β brought yourself to madness, and you insist on finding the truth. things are going to be hell, but hold on to that boy.

he is your knight in shining armor. your soulmate. your saving grace. he will help you get and stay sober. you will lose and find friends in strange places.

keep writing.

keep dreaming.

keep ******* fighting

because no matter how much you want to give up,
it will all be worth it for the people you shall help, and the lives you will change.

you have limitless potential to reach infinite heights and find your pure gold philosophy.
December 5th, 2014

a letter and reminder to my younger self.

it gets better, I promise.
you claim to be the sun

a lioness and goddess

born from fire and flames.

I do not doubt you.

your beliefs are your own.

yet do not be so contentious

so audacious to paint yourself

in such resplendent glory.

we both know better.

if you are built from ashes

why do you claim to burn

at the memory of me?

my ghost should not leave

scorch marks upon a goddess

of the sun.
don't you remember? I'm the one who taught you how to shine.

july 15th, 2018

kalica calliope Β©
1.  The things that you have experienced are not your fault.Β Β 

2. Recovery requires humbleness and humility. Cast aside your pride, your ego; and accept the help given to you. It might not be the help you want; but it will set you free.

3. There is a difference between supporting others and carrying their problems for them. You are not Atlas. Do not try to hold up the world for other people. Their burdens are not yours to carry.

4. Blaming yourself for what has happened is for naught. You didn't bring this madness upon yourself; and there was no way of knowing or remembering. In the grand scheme, it doesn't matter. You are here now to recreate your life and soul.

5. Memory is a fickle siren's song. Do not forget what this ordeal has taught you; no matter how badly you want to burn it from your brain. Yet do not lose yourself to the past completely. It will only end in misery.

6. Einstein's definition of insanity is the paragon of addiction. β€œDoing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results.” Remembering will be excruciating at first, but it shall save you.

7. Asking for the help of others does not make you a burden. The twisted sense of pride and self punishment that makes you believe that you must conquer your demons alone will attempt to devour you, but only if you let it.

8. Living in recovery requires resilience and flexibility. You will find a balance and acquire a new normal for your life.

9. Always remember: if you have done your best under the circumstances you are given; you have succeeded. No matter the outcome.

10. There will be days when you want to let go and fall back into the abyss. Do not give in. This fight shall endure eternally; but you will learn how to harness your light and resilience as strength and stamina to carry on.

11. To love unconditionally is to embrace the purest form of yourself.

12. Be gentle with yourself. You are struggling. You are surviving. You are growing. The divine music in your heart will guide your way.

13. Your experience, this life, and the universe are ineffable. You can try to explain it as best as you can; but it is impossible to capture it fully. This is okay.

14. Learning to be okay with the unknown is a difficult battle. Yet it is necessary for your recovery and mental health. As human beings, we crave understanding, yet we are unable to comprehend everything. Learn to sit in silence with this realization and go on living this cosmic dance.

15. There will be people who do not; cannot understand you. This is okay. Let them go and wish them well. You are a rare creature that not everyone can understand and appreciate.

16. You are worthy of unconditional love. Do not settle for anything less. Do not paint yourself as deserving of watered down, tainted attempts at love.

17. This life is a paradox. We cannot fully comprehend it. Once we understand this realization; we are open to wisdom.

18. Be mindful of who you open your heart to. Love everyone; yet only allow those who can love you unconditionally at your most naked and vulnerable a place in your soul.

19. You cannot change other people. If they cannot see your resplendent soul and love you wholly, free of conditions; let them go. Along your journey, you will find your family: the flames that burn in perfect synchronicity to yours.

20. Existential anxiety is part of the human condition. Recognize and accept it for what it truly is. This requires a balancing act: embracing these truths without ignorance, yet not diving deep enough for it to swallow you.

21. You will never not be broken. This, despite how painful it can be; is okay. Life is a cycle of annihilation, rebirth, stitching the pieces back together, learning, growing; and shattering once more. Ad infinitum. Yet in time, you shall learn.

22. Find a balance between the cynicism and overwhelming awe you have for life. This universe is perfectly paradoxical. Understand this in depth.

23. Sometimes, the best healing and recovery comes from being able to laugh at yourself. Humbleness and humility are key components. If you can laugh at yourself, you can heal.

24. Turn your experience into something positive. Giving it meaning will assist in boosting your resiliency and ease in coping, growing, learning, and healing.

25. There will be days when you'll have no idea how everything will work out. Do not let these days end up dragging you back out to sea. Instead, learn how to dance with the unknown: it will strengthen your resilience and confidence in fighting through the fog.

26. "No" is a complete sentence. End of discussion. Do not feel like you must rip yourself open to please other people.

27. You have a beautiful soul. Do not feel like the act of declining to take care of/help other people in order to focus on your own mental health detracts from the radiance and kindness within your being. Humans can be like black holes threatening to **** you dry. Taking time away to nurture your own wellbeing doesn't make you any less of an altruistic individual.

28. There will be times in this life where there isn't an answer, a quick fix, or any single solution. It's hard to come to terms with, but sometimes the best thing is to simply have a support system that loves you unconditionally and will listen to the tempestuous song in your heart.

29. True, genuine empathy is simultaneously the most sacred gift to possess and the most mentally exhausting curse. Learn how to balance both sides so you don't burn out like a dying star.

30. There are only two certainties in this life. The first is death. The second is that nothing is ever given, promised, guaranteed, or certain. There will always be a touch of existential anxiety around this realization; but it gets easier to process with time and wisdom.

31. There will be days where you find yourself back amongst the circles of hell. It will be painful, infuriating, and exhausting. Keep moving forward. You have learned how to walk through the flames; so let your resilience guide you. Your tour abroad will end with time.

32. Learning to sit in silence, stillness, compassion, and neutrality with the dawning comprehension, surrender and the willingness to be vulnerably honest with one's soul is simultaneously the most difficult and purifying tasks to endure. To do so with love, stillness, and compassion elicits the catalyst for our true growth. Healing commences once we remember to bloom; embodying humility and stillness.

33. There is Divinity within the fabric of One's Soul. Embrace and embody this, releasing all which does not serve one's continuing growth.

34. Understanding stems from experience. Knowledge is obtained by integrating the lessons gleaned from understanding. True wisdom occurs through allowing neutral compassionate silence to flow through the soul when faced with that which wounded you from the start.

35. Self care is not selfish. Taking time to water the seeds of growth and unconditional love does not insinuate that one is egocentric or self absorbed. We may only truly uplift others by granting ourselves the same compassion.

36. This life is absurd, full of moments which test our resiliency and development. Occasionally, one will shatter from these bewildering shifting pauses. This is okay. It does not signify weakness or failure. Pick up the pieces, rebuild and seal the cracks; and learn to greet true absurdity with humor and compassion.
(to be continued. I have so many glowing, golden insights that I have lost all the words to find them.)

kalica delphine Β©
you are a spark out of a dying ember, phoenix of my life. where one dies, another is born, and you are the lantern of the light in my darkness.

I am raw and unhinged, while you are dreamy and uninhibited. the colors of the iridescent webs you weave leave me breathless as I examine each gossamer strand.

you are artemis, the goddess of the hunt; protector of all creatures great and small. I, being a mere red fox, fall under your care. your empathetic abilities radiate so much love, and fluctuate to meet my moods and emotions.

you are as if nature and nurture collided together through the stars as they formed you.

you weave your celestial lights in the sky, my aurora borealis. you are an ethereal essence made of light and love ribboning in the night.

I want to bottle you up and keep your eternal light by my bedside to guide me throughout life – to finally say that I own and have a small piece of something of perfect divinity in nature; but I know this can't be the case.

you are wild and free; untamed by man. but I know somehow, just like the moon; you will return to me each night.
September 10th, 2014.
a ballad of deep friendship between kindred souls.
I weave words within
an ephemeral
tapestry. a seamstress,
or a scribe of sorts.
either way you hear it;
the song remains
the same.

I understand and I do
not: a simultaneous
quantum superposition
(or superstition) for
an unutterable blazon of
infinity, encapsulated
within a granule of sand amidst
the eye of a great tempest.

I cannot claim a prophet.
no. I do not merit
such bravado.
no testament to my
works and days,
nor presumptuous air
of religiosity.

my fingers sketch out a
tempo through the
Β Β Β Β Β Β  cΒ Β 
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β u
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β  rΒ Β 
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β vΒ Β 
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β eΒ Β 
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β sΒ Β 
of letters,
a form which
sings and dances
for those who cannot.

tuesday, january 8th, 2019

Β© kalica calliope
it is always nights like this, where everything is so quiet you can hear beneath the absolute threshold, when i begin to wonder if i am going mad. technically, if one were truly losing their mind, they wouldn’t take much notice to the clarification that their reality is nothing but intricate lies spun by their brain.

pushing onwards within the dark, i can feel it. a whisper of a dance in memory slices gracefully across my cheek. the hungry caress of a lost lover. it is a random number between three and four, counting the days of sleepless solitude; as my lover is playing tricks on me.

it is just before dawn. the house breathes and groans like a wretched soul trapped in a bottomless pit long before midnight. in the gray morning light, delicate wrists stained with ink serve as maps through a desolate labyrinth. β€œlasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.”

from the corner of my eye i see shadows of uncharted men that feed upon the protective covering, encasing us; separating our world from theirs. the barrier is a shield at best, yet doorway at worst.

try to detach your eyes from their persistent, wandering gaze; and you might just catch a glimpse of a shadow gliding out of sight.

don’t second guess yourself sweetheart, you know exactly what you saw.

shadowy figures slightly out of reach, but still quite visible – gliding silently amidst, whispering quietly to those surrounding. looking directly at the figures, a gauzy lace veil delicately masks and covers each shadow.

unseen claws shred the thin barrier before it is tattered and torn. one by one, little by little, each figure sharpens into perfect visual acuity, wholly in sigh(t). as you slowly inch back, eyes unblinking with disbelief, their voices are no longer whispers.

the gaping pits of opened mouths drown you in hollow prattles, screeching rasps; the cruel high pitched icy sneers of laughter.

petrified with terror and shock at the shadow’s newfound ability to speak, you acutely notice that the house is creaking and wheezing. you can hear footsteps on the opposite side of the house, and with your eyes averted, they are gone.

with this, you must take into consideration that i have spent far too long with eyes wide shut, drowning in utter fear fueled by morbid curiosity for this world: things seen and heard. each is a cancerous tumor mutilating my mind beyond repair.

to me, the shadow figures’ tattered veil appears to be a doorway, a portal to another universe. this sheer possibility spawns the magnitude of infinite and parallel universes.
much like the shifting hallways concealed in an e(in)ternal labyrinth.

amidst this never ending maze, man is forced to wander blindly from birth to death; where he then circles back around to his exact place of previous conception, only to be born anew. condemned to blindly roam and repeat his unbroken cycle for all eternity.

in this labyrinth we are all gods, we are all monsters. each creation story is universal, yet individual to each new life.

the sinner and the saint are both born into divinity.
November 26th, 2010.

on the fringes of desolation and delusion.

this is myself at my most naked. my most vulnerable. this is the raw, berating honesty.

I remember this event in its entirety.
this was the peak of my downfall, the ****** of my psychosis.

this piece was scribbled frantically during the fact, in a tiny red journal, as I watched this abhorrent atrocity unfold in the darkness that surrounded me.

this is not fiction. yet I cannot tell you with utmost certainty that this wasn't real.
please know that I love you more than the stars, the sun, and the skies could hold.

but I don't know how to fix something without damaging it the process.

you are fragile, and my hands have unintentionally fractured you countless times. I know this, even though you've never explicitly told me.

I dance on eggshells around you: I am atlas, pirouetting across an empire of thin ice, just so I don't mar you with my words.

swallowing conversations and feelings is a talent we both possess. to spare the pain of the other, we dampen the truth. we drink the fires of resentment and leave them to ferment.

I cannot fix this without potentially damaging it further.

I'm a storm with skin. my collateral damage knows no bounds, spares no mercy. you know this. but hear me, and heed me closely.

I don't paint you as the villain. you aren't the martyr. we are equally responsible for this damage and decay. the rot of something once beautiful.

yet I cannot fix something without causing further damage.

we are a two way street. growth of beauty cannot flourish in stagnation.

please, do not test the limits of my volatility. I cannot mend the tatters of thirteen years with a single spool of thread.

I refuse to swallow fermented resentment. I walk on eggshells carrying mountains for you no more.

this tapestry will end in one of two ways: opulent splendor, or devoured by living flames.

I cannot fix something without destroying it in the process.
February 25th, 2018

I cannot bear to lose you, but I cannot journey this voyage across the empire of eggshells with the universe on my back for you any longer.

please don't push me to throw thirteen years of friendship to the fires of the abyss.

didn't anyone tell you that I am named after the Durga Kali for a reason. ?

Β© kalica calliope
this is your
your rebirth.

knowledge of this
existential truth
elicits an

i n e f f a b l e
Β Β andΒ Β Β Β Β Β 

desire to
scaling the
ascent towards

infiniteΒ Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β 

anticipating the
thrill of each

fΒ Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β  Β 
aΒ Β Β  Β Β Β Β 
lΒ Β  Β Β 

october 5th, 2014
clipped musings juxtaposed with an experimental format.
some souls burn the brightest only after seeing the abysmal darkness. we will not be extinguished, as our worth is indescribable. the universe would not exert such ferocity to keep us here if we weren't meant for something ineffable – the changes we shall elicit in the world: together.
yet in this testament, the truth comes to light. our souls have been tied together from the dawn of time; reliving countless lives. the scriptures forgot about us. mythology mentions us; but fails to depict us in the same tangent, let alone together.
we are more than the greek goddesses and muses, we encompass the celestial bodies of the heavens. artemis aurora, and calliope polaris.
you are the goddess of the hunt, protector and patroness of the forest; as your ribbons fill the night with ethereal glowing light.
I am the muse of epic poetry who hangs above the sky, guiding lost travelers when the universe was still a child.
we come together upon the call of night to fulfill our destinies until the end of eternity, or until the galaxy burns out and we are born anew. maybe then will we be one; as it was meant to be.
but until that time finally comes, I am satisfied just to share the sky with you; hoping that I may catch a glimpse of the green mysticism that you weave each night.
a prophet ballad between kindred spirits. february 15th, 2015
my fingertips trace
the outline of your jaw.
they instinctively know
the curvatures of your ears.

my hands have explored
and mapped out
every contour of your
body and heart.

I am the cartographer
of your soul.

I hum sentimental songs
as you sleep,
hoping they enter
your dreams.

that you can feel my presence.

a smile as you part your lips.
a blush when your eyelids
flutter while you dream
(hopefully of me.)

for what seems like the first
time in an eternity of
tempestuous winter;

I feel the unconditional love
and happiness that
accompanies losing
myself in you.

words flow around me as I
search for the correct syntax
to name my desires,
but they remain ineffable.

I want to have your
aura tattooed onto mine,
binding us for life.

we are the red string,
and I am the seamstress.
I tied us together during
my tour of heaven.

the angels gave me
the task of word prophecy
and of sealing our fate.

it was always you.
june 1st, 2014
I am still the cartographer of your soul.
there's someone
   in my head, but
it's not me.Β 

  β€œthere was always that
          for everyone, some
             just more than others.”

     I have a *******
   military base
in my head.

       I am planning out
   missions taking place
halfway around the world.Β 

    β€œI hate needing something.
             it makes me feel weak.”

       I was the same way
for human assistance.Β 

but the drugs? those
   were just chemicals
       and I am a science

                I'm something
         you have known
     about for months,
   finally throwing
together at the
last moment.
January 6th, 2014.
the bitter reflections of an addicted brain.

this is a rapport:
a conversation I never had.
i am the insanity painted across the walls.
the pestilence growing behind your teeth.
the walking contradiction.

together we are the red string, and i am the seamstress.

i tied us together during my tour of heaven;
after the angels revealed my fate
as a word prophet
sealing our fate.
skirting the fine line between truth and delusion.
your body is an instrument I mastered eons ago, when the stars were young.
it is you I have, and shall always yearn to play.

at my touch, you open up to me; lines of familiar notes upon my fingertips.

together, we harmoniously orchestrate the ethereal music of our souls: a sonata of infinite synchronicity.
the symphonies we conduct originate from the stardust of our souls.

Β© kalica calliope
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.
I'm an anxious person.
storms are my playthings.
chaos is the joy in my heart.
April 7th, 2014.

snippets of musing and metaphor.
there are things I want you to remember. you are a celestial spirit born among the stars. we may be souls having a human experience, but nothing is permanent. you will be reborn among the cosmos off into infinity. there is no birthstone or deathstone, so don't hold to yours like it is a monument, keeping you grounded to this place.

we collect memories and store them like faded photographs in golden lockets worn around our necks, hoping to stand the test of time. nothing is forever – we cannot even fathom it. keep your loved ones close, because the universe knows kindred spirits and places them within distance of contact through acts of synchronicity.

there are things we cannot document: things that surpass language, space, and time. feelings and emotions that we bottle as glory; showing the world our flasks as we either drink in excess, or keep the cork firmly in place.

as human language has limitations, the labeling on our bottles are wrong; and we are off key about the unnamed emotions and feelings we are ingesting in excess, or storing away as a collection to gaze upon throughout our lives, before we fade back to (star)dust.
September 20th, 2014.
meditative musings of existential enigmas.
I have to remember that life does not work this way. the universe does not play toward my favor.

I have moments where I do not think at all. no information is exchanged, no neurons fire.

yet I find myself in these moods of brief clarity, a strange sort of enlightenment where I seek out my poetic justice.

I acknowledge my prophetic nature. but in the end the words have no meaning, and I am left as empty as before. I lack purpose. drive. skill. knowledge. talent.

I am a lost soul, but I take that as a romantic notion.

there is beauty in my downward spiral, because it is a geometric form, and it has been said that geometry connects man to the cosmos.

if one uses geometry as an means to produce and organize order out of chaos, we can connect to the cosmos and become one with the universe.
April 22nd, 2013

I honestly have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote this.

just a brief flash of clarity, before it was lost in the abyss.

— The End —