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Ritz Writes May 11
It still haunts and keeps me anxious when silence comes in the form of uninvited guests at night, invoking the sense of melancholy deeply; like a salt rubbed on a fresh wound.
Part of me still wishes to turn back the time and rewrite the story, part of me aches for TABULA RASA~ a state of blank mind.
And part of me is still reeling on the nightmares which was my reality; while I was still trying to hold a grip over my sanity.
Monster exist in humans and sometime they're insidious like cancer. They eat you slowly while you're still unaware of the symptoms that you had to compromise with. The more you compromised and adjusted, the more it gave them the chance to deteriorate your worth.
I wore a smile and wore my mask of resilience so well that silently I bore the pain, while I was dying inside, yet nobody could see it with naked eyes.
And yet, I was blamed for all the repercussions I had to deal with.
And while the monster lurks around freely, I still walk on the path courageously, with fear but I'll keep walking on, even if it means to be alone.
Freedom is a lonely road.
👣
" You are so brave and quiet I forgot you are suffering. " ~ Ernest Hemingway
Summer Nov 2021
I dreamed of an age old dream
when Old Man Time had not
bleached into everyday oblivion,
and the Sun still faced his two Foes

I dreamed—saw
you there
waiting for me with
your pastel camera —
the look you gave me and that
hard paper magazine which you always wanted to make art with—

I knew you, somehow,
we had swum among midnight sunflowers in bloom,
the twin Moons at our back,
the finger I lost to a crimson butterfly
which you told me not to touch

I knew you, and you me
as the Sun knew the Moons
as Starfish knew her Ocea—
it’s always known, I know, alone,
I know, and yet—

I woke up, again alone, knew not
that the Night was decaying,
and so was the aged old dream
sometimes memory comes to us in forms of dreams, a kind of memory that is pared off from everyday reality -- the reality we thought we know
Arunav Hazarika Oct 2021
a pulse of kalopsia, tears out existence.
the light is off, the night is silent.
the ravens don't sing,
because the moon is on her period.
strings and strings of night,
are angles across the starry sky,
i haven't found oxygen in me,
but i have found life in my soul.
the noise is silence, and it wakes up the mountains,
the stream is flowing through corners,
the crickets have been silent, because the night is draped in colours that they couldn't see.
maybe they realize that time is galloping across the beards of silence set on the horizon.
the heart has become a fugitive,
running away in endless arrays of despair,
when all it can do is hide on barren fields.
there is no beauty to dismantled feelings,
not in a million years of wind's change.
but there is a strange isotonic throbbing,
to the chest, past the bones.
everytime the night sheds her tears, and the moon watches closely.
facile in face of words that do not exist.
scarce in face of pages that'll never be written.
wrote this on midnight x
crystallaiz Oct 2021
i'd rather get drunk
to the sound of your voice
but here i am
listening to music
on the midnight train home
all the good nights
and sleep tights
can't mask the ending
that began when we met
it's been so long. i know the things that need to be done, but i just can't bring myself to do them
Dancing at Midnight

Sitting with you is like dancing at midnight;
Quiet, serene, calming, and my favorite thing to do
Part twenty-seven
Midnight
I'm out for a stroll,
I greet the devil
Out there collecting souls.
these dreams that I'm having maybe the best I've ever had.

Or wait...

Am I the devil and there is no dream?
Under
the night,
I now
hold you
deeply, as
the sun
of your
existence,
healing
hearts
through
only your
peace
alone,
your
painted
light in
your
touch
of lips
on my
skin
lightly
as the
petals of
the sky
around
us, in our
float,
I ask
for the
delicate
in the
midnight
hours,
where
dark
is light
and
sings,
“love is
in the
unseen”,
for we
see each
other as
we are,
in all of
atoms,
love,
space,
and
time in
the touch
of your
hands
on mine,
you are I,
from the
deep
blue
rush
in skin,
to the
sacred,
we return.
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