Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
epictails Aug 2015
At the other end of this muffled line, I hear rehearsed tears of steel, plops of fresh rain from kisses of young May. "Come home," you tell me as the telephone embraced me more warmly than the wall that has risen high and hard between us. I'm sipping stale coffee as you talk me down to my lowest corners. "There is never going to be a love as mere as ours," I proved to the held voice that has missed your outspoken lies.  *

Stop calling me.
Stop calling me.
Stop calling me.


I never want this cold.
Not when it comes from you.
Been wanting to write short stories again but I left this book I packed when I left the dorm. I needed that. This is definitely not related but Oasis is killing me softly right now. Their love songs remind me of a time when sincere love is not an illusion and this is coming from a girl who has zero clue on romance lol.
epictails Aug 2015
The procession of kings and queens **!
A grand feast set to the nines **!
Puffy fat dresses in all bright and pale
Fancy village cobbler shoes with clicks to ****
Stand stand stand at the ground
(The high beaks have come)

Slit open your dried peasant palm
Chain the nonsense in a merry-go-round
Horsemen and thieves rolled together from the hill
To seep their tongues with a little hint of ale
Crack open the mighty cellars of wines
'Till all the world's a reverie and so it spins
I've been thinking of writing for the past few days and sadly, this is all I came with. This was four days old until I decided things are not looking so good. I've been feeling the same as I did three weeks ago when I was as empty as my plans in life. I expected this comeback but I was hoping it would happen later than sooner.
epictails Aug 2015
It's like something snapped in me and it took all my joy away
epictails Aug 2015
I am not scared of the monsters under my bed
or the ones you told me as you went home from
summer camp—(bonfire stories near the lake
of green-eyed goblins and moon howlers with
famgs that oversee the mountains)

I am in fact afraid of the monsters that knock
at 2 am in the morning prying my wooden
chambers of sanity like its playground

—giants that stay on top of my body as the
strongest and closest gravity I could ever know

—two little voices of small people debating
in a prosecution against myself. One brings me
dishonor, another brings me out of dark,
empty cells

—a vampire of the day that ***** out life
as the sun rises to its crown. Once done, I am yet to
fall in a haze of delirium and ecstasy of the sunlessness
that precipitates in my heart


I am afraid because I know them too well. But the thing is,
**they know me better
These measles are slaying me and not in a good way. Too tired to move around.

So this is how depression feels like and much more. They really seem like monsters and it's scarier because they come from you. Also, I'm getting annoyed with people who invalidate my condition with 'Hey it's all in your head' or 'You can just think of happy thoughts' because ******* cant. Do you think I like what is happening to me?Of course not so shut up unless you actually have something decent to say.
epictails Aug 2015
Church bells tolling like risen gongs from ancient catacombs
The bells latched onto the conscious like anchors in shifty sand
Pulled me in between a stage of a ghost-like pantomime
Funny, funny fellows, followers of fools
It rhymed like pretentious poetry over my head

I'd wonder: those tails that wag the rope to beat
Do they move with the words of one or the smell of a thousand?
Are the hands that wiped the pews flawless
Bound to the secrets of the stained glass,
The shadows of the curled tongues in white gowns?
Like velveteen doves in rigid frocks?

Temples, do not confuse me
For a gatekeeper who keeps watch and never enters
I have locks to hear and ears to think
Those bells strike in the same places,
Invade everyone's Waterloo like a Napoleon possessed

Chartered vessels to dock in the legs of heaven
(Though horses on crusades know more than we do)
Knees scraped from worship all day long
But the marble stage tinkered on
Can only say so much for the hungry
Who raised their hands and never thought why
Hastened to its stop. I just wanted to get this poem over with but I'm too tired to recheck or redraft. This is bad and that is not an understatement. Getting seriously sloppy with writing. The house is always too noisy, the weather too warm, my head just could not settle the thoughts—I could find a million other reasons why I could not just get down to it. But the noise, my siblings being rowdy every single day is making me upset. Solitude is really the soul of writing. It takes every single distraction and you immerse in your ideas whether you like it or not. (Pls pls I need some peace and quiet. Been so tempted to go to that plateau near the cemetery where it's all calm and the sun looks astonishing when it sets.)
epictails Aug 2015
You are loose in places unscrewed as a child.
epictails Aug 2015
Holding myself together like tape with undone adhesive
Next page