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ash Aug 3
she's got fluttering keys in her ribs,
ones that'll open the locks to whichever treasure you wish to seek.
but to get the permission
or be acknowledged,
you might have to give up the key
of all your knowledge.

i've got a thorned flower stuck in my throat.
it blooms usually, and i see beez buzzing around,
trying to get close—
they'd like to.
except butterflies are the only ones allowed,
for they wait, and i deliver
the petals and the cores
they'd like oh so much
on a silver platter.

august is bittersweet,
and then there's nights like these.
i've the right, perhaps, to smell like cinnamon
and honeysuckle—
candied apples dried in the sunsets.
burn the candle that says autumn.
the color? i call for brown.
i hope the leaves shed,
and all the images imagining myself as ruthless— drown.

i'd love the crunch,
love the music—
’cause it's scarf season.
and if it gets cold just right,
i'll pull out that one sweater,
the one i like.
peachy-fuzz almost, like a carrot cake—
enough to hide, enough to comfort,
a warm hug in all its wake.
and perhaps a combination of wildflowers and wine
would go well that one evening
that i ought to spend with love's seasoning.

and we might be dead by tomorrow,
having missed out on all that we planned—
all the things we couldn't do,
feelings we couldn't share,
or the pictures they banned.

but i'll walk with you by the sunset.
these are the good old days,
the golden age,
the future will talk about a couple years further.
like we do—talkin' of time as nostalgia runs through.
perhaps the present is the past.
every second lost is a new one cast
upon the light of our souls,
like the sunshine in the morning—
watching the sun, feeling it bleed through the sky
and fall upon you, sole.

i do not look out the window anymore.
face down in the moment,
wondering, reliving, rethinking, desiring—
the way it shapes you.
a newer tomorrow, for better or worse perhaps.
you ought to respect and accept,
merely ’cause we signed the time's pact
when we first joined in—

the circle of humans,
being termed to be alive.
we listened and followed,
all the rules, abided by all the runes.

it might have brought us to the ruin—
the time's doing.
so i flee into the night to feel
and return back before the first white light,
pretending i wasn't reading
or speaking out loud about all that has vanished.
i sang and committed felonies,
but during the day, i'll wish for the autumn.
look at you, with eyes and words bespoken,
and share the thoughts and this one playlist
that i made to live through the summer.

midnight's a dream many wish to live.
i just hope we were somewhere better to believe and give—
hands full, hearts empty, souls bespactled,
but eyes like sweet ’n sour candy.

there's a before and there's an after.
there's a cord around my throat as i picture
and tell this to you—
the secrets of the world and of our beings.
we weren't meant to live and see.

let's step out,
even as the cord tightens, and even as i grow silent,
i'll sign you, and we'll run through the greens.
let the rain drench us all—
we'll glitter through the later summer sheen.

we were innocents.
capitalized, thrown off the tracks,
told the biddings we ought to serve.
it was never fair, never intact.
and yet—
we played and searched dignities,
wrapped them up, like secrets—
all our possible endings and deficiencies.

the candle's been burning long enough.
it's round the corner, the time has begun—
a play of words, of everything that we've got.
let's throw all the weapons
and light the fire to mop
our solemn and easy-going.
we'll sit, stare, wonder, and wander—
and maybe, finally, for once, achieve what's worth something
to a yearner.
kinda like one you'd read in the beginning of a cult to persuade the surrealists

make way for a midnight in paris
Glass tears dance on the lawn of dreams –
offered sweetness at hand; while the Beast
breathes fire over frost; black fur coiled in winter’s
chill, his warmth a lie dressed in comfort.

He offers blindness as a blessing, the bliss
of the thoughtless path. In the silence of white
winter, you take his claw, mistaking it for a hand.
“To die for”—a morbid metaphor— what is the gift
of a Beast meant for?

Around him, the dancing lich spins— leeches
birthed  from tombs of need. A cliff that clefts;
as a cleft lip cannot speak the truth, it only bleeds.
Closed eyes cannot paint the dark—
but they stay loyal  to its canvas.

Left bereft—travelers avoid certain subjects:
being sick of yourself, tasting your own *****.
But hush now— we’ll skip the topic. Change the
subject. And bury that scent.

As she was sent; and of all the objects she takes
from the Beast—he cures grief with a sugar-coated sting.
But bittersweet is still a shade of sweet, it rots your teeth,
and maybe he works with the tooth fairy to collect what
decay leaves behind.

But in the cold, no one heals— they run to the hills,
as their heels are clicking in panic of snow-bitten ground.
Perhaps this time, Little Red took the wrong road—
and the wolf she met, has grown hungrier from
feasting quietly on empty bones.

      ....there's no-one to save her at all.
Hello Daisies Jul 31
I woke up today feeling brand new
Seven years of hell
That you put me through
Today marks that day
Today i am new
No longer cursed by you

Today i would usually wake up
Feeling your hands on my skin
Behind my back
Like a heart attack
The torture
The fear
The guilt
The tears

This time
I'm new
This time I'm over you
My cells have changed
I am not the same
I'm stronger now
I'm no longer lost
But found

I'll never hit the ground
Screaming your name again
I'll still feel the pain
Behind my brain
Never in my skin
Never in my bed
You,
                          I have shed
Forever you are dead
And I am free
I can feel it in my body~
They say after seven years your cells have changed so that man never touched my body now. I am free
xia Aug 4
You hurt in the way guitar strings bite into my fingertips.
after i haven't played in a while and the callouses have long faded.
© xia 2025
Naavya Jul 17
A flower oh so rare
Just one amongst a garden full
Gleaming bright like a star
Impossible to deny its pull

Caving to its beauty
Set on to find the seeds
After years of search
Heart finally found what it needs

It starts with excitement
Grows into a beautiful bloom
With lush leaves unseen
Nurtured by everything it assumes

But time of course takes its toll
Once you have it, it fades away
What once was everything in the world
Slowly becomes a far and distant sway

One missed watering
A harmless slight
Surely tomorrow
It’ll regain its might

Forgetting to nourish
Neglecting to tend
Assuming its resilience
Would never bend

But with wilted petals
It whispered goodbye
It couldn’t survive
Even though it did try

In this bittersweet garden of love
A lesson to be learnt
Just like flowers without enough care
Bonds too can be burned
Nunu Jul 14
I painted his nails hot pink,
called it a joke,
but we both held on
too long.

He hummed my favorite song,
two notes behind,
like catching up
was close enough.

He carried me upstairs once —
said I was light.
I believed him.

The polish chipped.
We didn’t.

Now,
he’s a voice
I scroll past,

and somewhere,
a pair of chipped pink nails
he never scrubbed off
it was OPI polish, long lasting, but somehow didnt last enough.
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