she is a carafe of reverb
that broach a top in quarters now
this tray makes her wedding day
while her make up dries her tears
with skins regale there with the bells on
as her blossom is newly squib

Her love was electric,
He could sense it in the air in that second,
It was her taunting green eyes,
That he saw her forever in his life.
Perhaps it was just the *** talking,
But as she kept walking,
He knew he was stuck under her love spell,
She was an angel sent from hell.

Oh, her love was electric,
That his heart became infected.
Oh, how could of this happened?
This love that he never imagined.
She ruled his kingdom,
She had become his heart's rhythm.

His love had become electric,
Now they're souls were connected.
She fell for his taunting hazel eyes,
That she saw him forever in her life.
Perhaps, it was all fantasty,
But he had become her gravity.
But she needed to capture him under her love spell,
To save her from hell.

Oh, her love was electric,
That his heart became infected.
Oh, how could of this happened?
This love that he never imagined.
She had ruled his kingdom,
She had become his heart's rhythm.

Her love was electric,
And his love became electric.
Their souls had become the champagne,
That the stars could not contain.
Their souls emerged into the sea,
Ruling over the world so the people could see.

Oh, her love was electric,
That his heart became infected.
Oh, how could of this happened?
This love that he never imagined.
She ruled over his kingdom,
She had become his heart's rhythm.

She is loved. She is stubborn
Mad at that part of the world
That loves her
For loving her
Without asking first

She never asked for this
Though the space between her lines
Already did

Those words
Those traitors
How dare I
Understand with
my heart

She needs to need
She wants the thirst
The hunger, the craving
The needing, the yearning,
The lack at its worst

She wants
none of the learning;
Only the burning
That gives her the thrill
The stinging,
The near-numb
Throbbing
In every flutter
Between every pulse
Through every string

Giving her is
Taking from her
Would it work in reverse?



She is loved.
Stubbornly denying it.
Fearing her happiness.
Banishing the ones who care.

Because her happiness
Potentially could mean
Not having things
to write about
It equals change
And breaking out the zone
Of torturous comfort



I’m afraid of what she seeks
And how she sees those burning curls
And what she does with sparks
And why she fosters embers

I’m scared the most
Of her using flames divine
To burn herself inside
A dark obsession
That swallows every light

*

I’m afraid she seeks love
So she could hurt herself with it
She uses it
As a means to an end
The end being the feeling
Of being hurt
So the ashes of that
Would be her ink
Fuelling her pyre
Of
“behold the beauty of suffering”

Just as a heads up to any of you readers it may concern, I'm abandoning both projects in the header. The Drama of Miriam Marcus is something you may see pop up again, either in its original form, or perhaps as an entirely different project.

Dark Spells was a project born out of the recurrence of a common, deep depressive state that finds me time and time again, one you may notice without my saying. While I often romanticize themes of depression, anxiety, paranoia, self-loathing, and self-destruction, I must point out that I do so because I'm bound to these feelings regardless of stagnation, regardless of agitation. I romanticize my illness simply as a means to survive, as a means to still feel fulfilled as a human despite the haunting emptiness.

That said, recent developments in my personal life have unchained me suddenly, and I'm overwhelmed with the need to embrace the misplaced. Concepts like happiness, curiosity, and wonder are once again nearly tangible. As such, a project as thematically troubling as Dark Spells is not currently a possibility.



TL;DR:
Yo thx for reading. ****'s about to get a little lighter, a little softer, a little warmer. I succcc.

Distress calls are a Venus flytrap
Don’t come flying to the rescue
Or your wings will be
Its 4 o’clock snack
Can’t seem to shut its flap
Ever hungry for more
Always empty at the core
Traveler beware;
Heed not that mayday;
Move on and pay no care!

if i remember correctly,
you wrote a manual on how to swim
in this sea of disappointments

wading my way on above-me water *****
the energy, the life, the sureness out of me
**** this pressure everyone puts around me

i am naked under currents; don't peak
the water had been dyed pitch black now
the color of doubts

in their eyes they stitch words on my skin
capital letters p, e, r, f, e, c, and t
they decorate me like a diy existence

if i remember correctly,
you wrote a manual on how to drown suffocating-deep into one's sweetest dream
give it to me now

Broken window
I’m the stone she put through the glass
Of her own room
I will not default on my blame
But what of the hand I was rested in
Ever so innocent
Weighing on broken shoulders of guilt
Fractured to shards
And the stone prays for miracles
May she learn, unharmed