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Agatha Prideaux Sep 2021
You feel like
A ghastly mist, crawling up my toes
Touching frozen ground as you wrap
The soles of my feet in pasty white.

You feel like
Wet hair seeping through every thread
Of a pillowcase where you rest your head
Cold, warm, cold, warm—uncomfortable.

You feel like
Sore eyes from screens too bright
As you type in bold, black thoughts
A manifesto of the conflicts within.

You feel like
A room with no light, air, and sounds
Stagnancy echoing—the streaks, the blowing, the ringing
Were all dampened, washed out, unheard of.

You feel like
The sudden flash of blindness in the sky
Overlapping the deepest violets with such crisp tear
And they, too, tear as well.

You feel like
An intrusive intrusion of an intruder
An interlude to all the things you've done
An intermission to the tango that has just begun.

You feel like
A stale yet warm yet ugly yet comforting embrace
I wrap around you just to seep in every inch
Of what only you could offer.

You feel like
The last beginning of the endgame
The enshrouding entrance of what is to come
The naked piece of the puzzle
I have yet to grasp fully

You feel like
Bitter goodbyes
Unfiltered eyes
And crimson skies.
what a depressive episode feels like.
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
His face in my view
Brings butterflies fluttering
Then—one steps forward

His wits, prominent
Opening it as he speaks
"Drown me too," I beg

His voice so raspy
Floating on blue ocean deep
Waves all come in threes

His hands, warm and safe
Clasp mine like a safe haven
Hold me in all fours

His smell addicting
My perfume to keep me sane
Five spritz on my wrists

His neck welcoming
A feast for this hungry beast
My dinner at six

His obsidian eyes
Hold the universe in them
Seven light years close

His mouth on my own
Tastes just like **** fine liquor
Burns as hand strikes eight

His comfort's embrace
Brings this cold corpse back to life
Nine lives' revival

His own sacred prayer
Is his name incarnated
On my knees at ten
Day 16 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. Hello! I've been MIA on this site for a couple of days since I really got busy and unmotivated from writing but! I figured out that this is the only thing keeping me sane during the quarantine---why should I stop? So, I'm back!
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
I came to hate the cold
When I noticed that I couldn't get a hold
Of my freezing hands when they were naked and bold
In an air-conditioned bus, as one of my friends told

And I would always seek out the heat
Of his palms on my fingers when they meet
At least they keep these delicate limbs, so petite
From numbing when the chill kiss them oh so sweet

I also came to like the warmness
Of people when they hug me in genuine love and kindness
And I would keep seeking that kind of fondness
As frost surrounds me with little to no softness

Oh, how I remember the warmth of cuddling
During wet and shivery downpour in the evening
Hugging and fondling under the thick, weighted bedding
How comfortable, unlike sleep to the freezing

But then, maybe the coldness I feel
From my hand to my feet's heel
Is a reflection of the atrociousness I conceal
Just to go with this ludicrous ordeal

My soul is just too bitter, just like how I hate
The unfortunate temperature of my fate
Yet fervor is the wish of this vicious slate
Before the chessboard declares its losing checkmate

Unfortunately, things must come to an end
There's no point to try to make this encounter bend
Because it will all just be like play-pretend
Of not acknowledging the conclusion of this descend

I came to hate the cold
And when judgment day comes, with my sins uncontrolled
I'd rather burn in the pits of hell in tenfold
Than to freeze in Dante's 9th circle's stranglehold.
Day 15 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. I started this one I think yesterday? But I was so dazed from recent relapses that I didn't know how the flow would go. I only finished it today, with a proper-ish transition, this time. Long read, I know, but then the story unravels itself from the length. Enjoy! (And yes I have this condition where I can't maintain my body temperature as well as normal people do.)
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
You and I; we are both formidable
But then, like the thin line between its two definitions
We both live in each other's opposition

You always had this grace—this delicateness and feebleness
That kind that would make anyone protect you with their lives
Not to mention the talent you were blessed at birth
The way notes would dance in accord with your fingers—how formidable

My sight would always give people chills down their spines
That kind that would make you either fight or flight
With the cold demeanor I was cursed upon birth
Like how I would twist the words from my mouth.

You were everything the world wanted—only more, nothing less
Can you see how their eyes would spark upon your descant?
You were a living, walking goddess upon mortals
And you were the kind of formidable one would stare in awe.

I was nothing the world wanted—nothing more, only less
In how I would see the hatred in their lids at the mention of my name
I was the epitome of Lucifer incarnate, disrupting serendipity
And I was the kind of formidable everyone would want to be gone.

Yes, we are both formidable
You elegantly, I grotesquely
And the thought of us, meeting even just once
Will only be this pitiful mind's apparition.
Day 14 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. I just had this prompt based on Stromae's song "Formidable" and then started writing this, then finished in 10 minutes. I don't often write free verse, but here it is! I know, this is far from what I would usually write, but this was really a spontaneous one!
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
I remember the creases of your lips and tongue back then
So I write this love song with my paper and pen
(And now I'm back at it again)

During one hazy road trip, that one night way past ten
Even though I don't remember where or when
I remember the creases of your lips and tongue back then

When I close my eyes, I see you walking ahead
With your open hands inviting mine as you led
So I write this love song with my paper and pen

Your presence felt like that of a thousand men
When I feel safe in your arms when my tears have been shed
(And now I’m back at it again)

Even when you leave the words "I love you" unsaid
I feel it when you **** me thoroughly in bed
I remember the creases of your lips and tongue back then

You kiss your fist before it meets my cheek in counts of ten
Where flowers would bloom in violet blue and red
So I write this love song with my paper and pen

There were nights I'd pray to god as I said
"Please, let him be the last one, amen"
(And now I’m back at it again)

I close my eyes; I see you walking away as you fled
Mouthing me words that made my world drop dead
I remember the creases of your lips and tongue back then

I open my eyes; I cried and teared and pled
But you didn't look back even with my legs spread
So I write this love song with my paper and pen

Tried forgetting you but I loved you more instead
I thought I'm already done making you stay inside my head
—(And now I’m back at it again)
Day 12 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. It's been two days since I wrote something. I've been having relapses, but I finally wrote something. It's crazy how you can feel like you're being so accomplished and productive in your manic episodes and then feel like drowning and dying, not skipping a beat when you're having a depressive one. And this piece is a reflection of my past---as one of my friends said. It's me, pouring it off my chest.
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
Secrets of Wysteria flow in the vessels of my brain
And so I do not hear, nor comprehend the calling of my thought’s train
Vowing to never be held again in constrain
Eradicating the rotten fingers pointing to my disdain

Muses of bruises, callouses, and roses
Excuses the clueless, hung in ruin’s nooses

Flagitious tongue sharpens itself with sprawling centipedes
Rusted teeth from perilous mandibles bleed as it feeds
On the oozing, ****** veins of the wicked ****** as it pleads
Maybe these are too much for one’s avaricious needs?

Mindful, careful, piercing the syringe of refrain on plump flesh
Yeuking as the substance flows on blood so raw and fresh

Amid all, the past and future gather in Sheol’s pavilion
But missing is the presence of present in emblazing vermillion
Yet fleetly missed as the siren descanted her composition
Somber statues of ivory pretense witness with volition
Saints and snakes tear each other’s throats in a languish cotillion.
Day 9 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. No prompt for today, but I tried making a certain type of poem---acrostic poems. These spell out phrases or words with the first letter of each line of the piece. Enjoy reading!
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
Within the promise land of calm and sound
Pearls found harbor on coarse, finite-like sand
Now whitened by the faces of the drowned
****** by the berserk billows as they stand

Willows frown upon the unjust waters
Whose surface's frozen in a dreamlike blur
Cradling ghostly hollows like coy daughters
In tender whispers as always, they were

And the world bowed down its head in silence
As Lilith raised the rose of thorns in hand
"My children hearsed in tombs of violence;
my children to be salvaged!" she demand

But nevermind the promised neverland
—No one ripens from their so-called homeland
Day 8 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. Followed the site's prompt this time—borrowing a line from the Twitter bots. "Whitened by the faces of the drowned" is from @sylviaplathbot on Twitter, a line from her poem "Finisterre".
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