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Megitta Ignacia Apr 2022
Eighty years young
Speaking in tounge

Your body fought
Head full of bizarre thought

Arms and legs restrained
How are you not frightened

Are they violent, Yah?
We tried, everything,
for the shake of your revival

I can't bear to see you like this
I wish you are dismiss

Heavily sedated & exhausted
To tired to wrestled & agitated
Lord please take his pain away
090422 | 18:28 in Borromeus ICU's waiting room. Dari kemarin dadakan dari kantor langsung ke airport ke bandung. Ayah kritis. I go bcs mama papa minta langsung ke bdg. It's painful to see him like this. God give him mercy please.
annh Nov 2020
We burrow where they lie, our fallen brothers. Old sweats and fledgling crow bags, both. In death as in life, they have our back…and so we plough on into the abyss by the light of a caged phosphorus flare, hot metal spraying the midnight hour like some vengeful fay’s buckshot.

A human scaffold supports us for the distance of four miles. That’s Piccadilly to Hampstead; Circus to Heath. The length of a lifetime…of  hundreds of lifetimes. In the winter when the rains come and the trenches run like a quartermaster’s latrine, the soil sloughs away to reveal the ossuary within. It is then that I, in my now customary delirium, imagine that I can reach out to shake their hand again.

‘Sunrise and sunset are blasphemous…only the black rain out of the bruised and swollen clouds…is fit atmosphere in such a land. The rain drives on, the stinking mud becomes more evilly yellow, the shell-holes fill up with green-white water, the roads and tracks are covered in inches of slime, the black dying trees ooze and sweat and the shells never cease…they plunge into the grave which is this land.’
- Modris Eksteins, Rites of Spring: The Great War and the Birth of the Modern Age
Do you hear the muttering?
Foul and desperate falsities fencing through the air?
Do you hear them cluttering, in fickle clamor over futures in despair?
Certainly you hear them fluttering?
In a fervent dichotomy facing disrepair.
All I hear is fomented stuttering, Sowing division, in deleterious affair.
Psychostasis Jul 2020
Pages of burning emotion flutter through the wind
Flipping from one end of my journey and milestones to the other
Letting the sun kiss each page as it transfers

The ink is dry
But the blood, and tears I've graced these pages with are very much still running through the words planted in the same field.

My pen screamed and etched images of my future
As my brain burned with a passion magnified by a deep sickness

And as the gunshots of thought blare
My pen rams the pages

And then silence
The scribbling scratches of the quill quiets down
And the accelerated breathing turns soft and shakey

The Prophet ends his journal entry
With a slice of the thumb
A bit of blood smeared on his art to ensure his life stays with it
And a night of deep sobbing stalking closely behind.
Maria Mitea Jun 2020
in a moment of                                      
delirium                                                        ­  
your cigar                                      
is glowing
in the dark
as a steady light
gripping                                                        ­   
on my heart
without flame
or blame 

in a moment of                                      
I am
yellow fume
and coughing
in a room
filled with
perplex glow
Illusion, seeing only what we want to see, and not seeing what actually is ...
Luna Maria Dec 2019
I've been warned
about something
so dangerous
it can ****
" it's called love "
they said
but I answered
" It might **** me one day,
but it's also my one and only
reason to live."
love is a venom and will **** you slowly
Eloisa Jun 2019
Wrapped by just her flesh and skin with nothing on, half-awake on her silky fabric bedsheet
She watched him walk slowly towards the door in his torn jeans and tight shirt
With a quiet gaze and a tender smile, he gently waved goodbye
In and out of her vision, his retreating figure shimmered
She must have trembled because he stopped
He smiled, walked back and passionately whispered while caressing her curves
“Please forgive me!
Please forgive...
my hands for always wanting to touch you
my lips that are burning to kiss you
my arms that are dying to embrace you!”
Her guardian angels clapped in awe as he asked again for gentle kisses
Then they swam together in furious waves, merging into the vast glimmering ocean
They were beautiful whales dancing in their own song
Then they found calmness as they reached close to the seashore
As they began to drown themselves again in melodies of the ripple waves
She forgot and suddenly realized
Waking up in a middle of a poem, she was fooled by her own metaphor
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