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ryn May 2016
This feeling...
Heavy...
Like a wreath bearing down my neck.
Every fibre in me seem to be at loggerheads.

My heart...
Pounding.
Each beat is a hammer
sledging away at my saneness.

My breaths...
Premature and short.
Inconsistent.
I respire full but with punctured lungs.
ryn May 2016
.

estrate the          
orc-                       opus           
ong•                                  of right        
     of s-                                            and wr-            
      gh power                                        ong•k-       ⚫️  
    tales throu-                                       eep me             
   tell me...                                           ground-      ⚫️
                                                 ­            ed throu-          
                                                ­         gh lyrics          
                                                     worded          
                                                strong•        
                                          embed  ­      
                                       solid b-        
                                 assline-        
    ­                   s that        
              guide        
      me a-          
lon-            
     g...                          
•                              


The soundtrack to life deserves the most wicked of baselines.
.
ryn May 2016
It's easier to wallow
with no additional weight

It's easier to swallow
tiny morsels stripped off the bone

It's easier to swallow
when you submit to fate

It's easier to wallow
when you decide to walk alone
Sometimes you have to **** it up for the benefit of others.
ryn May 2016
My mirror hangs stoic,
as silently it absorbs all it could with unbiased eyes.
All it receives under the day's sun.
Yet it never stores...
Not memories recent...
Not images perceived from the distant past...

My mirror
exists in the now.
It gives me only the present.
It reveals unequivocally the ground
upon which I stand.
It divulges only in the brutal and honest truth.
The kind of truth photographs could never tell.

Today it showed me what I've been seeing
with eyes half shut.
It showed me that,
I am older now.
Older than I was yesterday.
Older than I was a second ago.

Every wrinkle told a silent tale.
Every tale left quiet scars.
Every scar sang requiems of past mistakes.
And every mistake costed me my youth.

My mirror showed me that...
I'm older now because I've learnt much.
And I'm learning much more
because I'm older now.
An old photograph of myself inspired this.
  May 2016 ryn
archwolf-angel
Countless imaginations intrigued,
by words pouring truth and honesty.
The beauty in a picture painted...
Only tired yet wilful eyes will get to see...

Scars of a battle surfacing.
Like dreams clouded by storms.
Willingness to face another fight.
Only deafened yet persistent ears will listen for a new melody.

Strings of gambles played...
Blind faith committed into hapless
deals of cards.
Looking for the win amongst a sea of losses.
Only weary yet perservering hands will find the missing shards.


Obstacles portrayed,
as struggles form and hope seems to crumble.
An almost misplaced determination,
tattooed in these hands.
Only apprehensive yet courageous legs will continue to trudge forward.

The heaviest blows...
Inflicted on the frailest bodies.
Taking the brunt of such callous words.
Only the battered yet ernest mind will prevail sheer follies.

Deep laboured breaths...
Wheezing through seemingly punctured lungs.
Seeking a steady rhythm amidst internal chaos.
Only the worn yet steadfast heart will escape unscathed from bitter tongues.




rinnette
**ryn
Writing with ryn has got to be one of the most wonderful experience ever.

Stay true and happy!
Thank you ryn. =)
ryn May 2016
I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor swimmer.

I get swirled around.
Like a little helpless fly
caught in a wineglass.
Unbeknownst to the drinker.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor thinker.

I allow my mind
to get swashed around...
Like a lone sock
in the washing machine.
Lost without its other.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor survivor.*

So I just submit
to the will of the currents.
Like an empty bottle.
Stuck head down at the neck,
in the bathroom floor trap.

Sink or float...
I can do neither.
ryn May 2016
The hours disappear instantly like blown out
flames off weary candles.
But time is no match for such raging hearts.

We would still hold up the receding
indigo ceiling above us.
We would prop up the sullen moon to stave
off the dawning day.
We will clutch the dwindling stars
and hug them close to our chests.

Because we know the words too well.
Words we simply couldn't cage except to say that...

We are not yet ready to leave
but we look forward to
diving headlong into
the inevitable restart.


Just so the day could grant us a
slate brand new.
Just so that come night,
we could begin all over again.
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