A H J 1d

engulfed in viridescent
i suffocate,
there’s no way my existence only live in one color!
at this rate, i will only absorb monochromatic colors-
boring, black and white colors-
my life isn’t an empty chess board!
my life is supposed to be a prism after sunlight, reflecting the colors of the rainbow rays after heavy rainstorm.
my life is supposed to be a clear cheerful lights that invite happy beams from every eyes that saw me!

where are those beams now?
there are,
but all of them are
impish
smiles.

it can’t be.
it can’t be.
now it’s only one solid color,
a color that allows me to be invisible.
perhaps
it’s better this way.
i would die rather than letting my morose colors transparent.

until when?
will i hide my colors forever?
but then, i will never witness the rays of the sun.
how will i refract rainbows, if i only let myself hide in the color of the night?

the sun.
the sun won’t come out.
but the clouds are here.
gray, heavy clouds leaking of water.

ah.
maybe i should wash my colors.
wash, wash, until i’m cleanse.
wash, wash,
the loud sounds of thunderstorm.
wash, wash, rain,
volatile sky projecting a vicious achromatic light.
let my colors melt in rain.

until my vicinity is filled with fluorescent bulbs,
‘til the sky is pastel,
'til holographic air diminish,
'til then,
i can see others beams,
and my own cheerful color
is the best one i could display so far.

showing your true self to others is hard. but it's not impossible.

Chopin's Nocturne opus 9, number 2

A sonorous performance,
The mellow yet melancholic undertones of the masterpiece reverbates through the meadow
From the reflective rubato streaking past the flowerbed,
To the passionate conclusion in a whim, echoing through the garden,
The garden in which a willow rests
Its twigs holding a chalice in its embroidering,
Twines glowing in the shimmering of the silver moon,
Its dark-red fluids seeping from the cracks

It gazes through the dark crevasses for an eternity,
A panorama of planets and stars dwindling to dust as it stirs its nebulas,
Clouding its view as in parallel,
Universes as large as needle tips deteriorate to nothing

There's just naught, nothing, nothingness,
The black mass piercing,
Puncturing the veins of the solemn soul wandering through the canyon
Rubato, stringendo, it walks its own pace and in its solitude
The moonlight its guide, the music its guardian
The darkness its friend

The walls enclosed - an impasse clad in an aural hue descending from the stars
An eternal mirror flowing accross the pond
It took a gander in the deep lagoon and saw the galaxy unfold

Sparkling candenzas fluttering through the sky like fireflies
Ever abiding, expanding galaxies within the grasp of its cortex
The moon flows, the stream flows
The sound of drizzling water emanating from the distance
Timeless endeavour snaps back to reality

I found myself sitting in a dim-lit room, glass in hand
The mellow taste of the blood-red wine
A bouquet of fine grapes with cherry undertones
In the corner rests the mirror I gaze in occasionally

Seconds pass and I looked at an abyss

Minutes pass and I looked at an abyss
A murky shadow lurking

Hours pass and I looked at an abyss
A murky shadow along two red stars

Days pass and I looked at an abyss
A silhouette hued in rubescence grimacing with hollow eyes

Weeks pass and I looked at an abyss
T H E  E Y E S  W A T C H  M E  W H E R E V E R  I  G O

Months pass and I looked at a whole new universe
As I looked at the crevice staring back at me
It smiled and reached its hand

Years pass and I looked at an abyss
The opaque mass piercing my glassy veil as familiarity reminiscences
A supernova of grief and destruction strokes my back, pinching my neck
The willow is dead
The moon is red
A brittle chalice crusted with blood

Then it fell silent and yet the nocturne faintly lingered in my head
As I stared into the mirror for the first time in centuries

It stared back, bearing the most unnerving grimace

So this poem is pretty personal, too. It is dedicated to my nemesis: the view of myself in the mirror.

Looking into a mirror always unnerved me. I didn't like seeing myself and combined with my fucked up sleep schedule, there was a chance I hallucinated quite a bit. This poem describes a drwam state until the awakening, describing my fear in the passages after, as well as the hallucinations.

The candle lit

Gentle lump of wax
Burning bright
Please give me your light
Please give me your light

Gentle lump of wax
Burning bright
Please give me your light
Please give me your light


gentle lump of wax
burning bright
please give me your light
please give me your light


gentle. lump. of. wax.
burning.
please.
light.



burning wax.
light.





burn.

Nightsung Nov 14

Blurred visions linger
         the longest in mind
When one dreams about
                                      the apocalypse
        The other flounders
      
        But for they are the same
                 And the light is with them
                 It displays mere cracks in the skin
        And the wind blows them away


                                             Clumps of broken dreams created
                                             Figments tainting the soul


For your mask speaks
Your heart speaks louder



                                                                                    Stay strong.

Nightsung Nov 14

Mystery embraces my shoulder
Am I real? Am I not?
                                                I don't know


It hesitantly wavers to my cheeks
Am I male? Am I female?
                                                I don't know


My identity got forgotten
When the hands left me
                                                I know.

                                                I don't know

Nightsung Nov 14

The harbor where my heart rests
Faintly beating with the ripples of the waves

I stood amongst the pebble with an anchor around my neck
One glance over the dark surface made me cower

The impenetrable veil of the ocean is not my friend
But its cold embrace warmed my heart

For when the wind blows the sails pass
For when the gulls hover over the piers

I closed my eyes and took a dive
And nobody ever saw me again

But when the sea howled my name, I came to rest
Tiny paper boats cluttering around the remains

That was not me...

                             ...not anymore

As I glanced at the anchor that was chained to the hulls
For the current has freed me from my noose

As time smiles, it leaves
For when it frowns, it concedes

And I dipped my toes in the sand

Nightsung Nov 13

The strongest bond
The strongest words
The strongest will
The strongest voice

The strongest feelings
The strongest body
The strongest emotions
The strongest stature

The strongest haven
The strongest colours
The strongest composure
The strongest mind

And yet those chains are brittle when you have nothing to show
Useless words strain the eyes and disconcert us from reality
And we wander through the barren tracts like vagabonds

Vulpes Nov 11

We are nothing but an empty shell,
Filling our voids with warm things to feel alive,
A composition of ravished corpses of once
Living beings that will warm our dead inside.

We are nothing but animals,
Playing human every day, faking empathy and emotion,
Playing God every day, ravaging and killing our host,
Beautiful lands left with nothing but corruption.

We are nothing but greed,
A broken people cutting their skin with green paper,
Pretending this is what true happiness means,
Killing each other for the bliss of coins.

Desperately fighting my rotten ego,
I pour blood into this empty vessel, the cage of my soul,
The core of a virus pretending to live righteously,
Yet I know that this version of me is indifferent.
A parasite.

J Nov 11

There is strength in heart,
like the waves that softened
a stubborn rock.
Warmth, like summer breeze
that gives solace to
a weary soul.
Radiance of the sun emanating
through her eyes,
and brings hope with every sunrise.

And I will love her,
until my heart caves in.

Nightsung Nov 11

Tempo grave, sempre sospirando

An inner nocturne
When I am writing my own opus
The ink stains carress my hand
Crossed out lines, struck down

I am my own symphony
The sad tones of E flat minor
Paint the walls of this chamber a naive black
It creases the sheet music that I play

The resonating chamber within its thorny grasp
Keep my hands from playing
As the melancholic tones
Play their song on their own


#


The piano plays
I         yet
  have
     to
       compose


The piano GLEAMS
Something


The piano SINGS
that    keeps    me


||: The piano LINGERS
From             choking
         myself


The piano SUFFERS
In an             eternal
         embrace

The   p i a n o   SCREAMS :||
The   p i a n o   CHOKES
The   p i a n o   DIES
the
      p i a n o

Of              needles
and             thorns

D.S. Al fine, senza repetizione

[re-up cause something went wrong apparently]
Something I just had vent. Don't worry
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