red and purple on my skin, marking the edges,
pointing out every scar and bruise-
pastel sun behind the mountains,
song drowned out by this lesser glory
but still seen somewhere, and with reverence.
um so yeah this is embarrassingly terribly worded but ok
❝ a bright light you once were
filled with the radiance of your raging red;
you illuminated through a flowering future
but then the dark clouds sought you out
and rendered your light invisible
the land roared for your pastel orange of peace
but the darkness has swallowed everything
your sons and daughters walked blindly,
trapped and lost within the dark woods of chaos
they sought out for you and your warmth
only to be greeted by the harsh cold
and blood curdling gargles
eventually the clouds rolled away and left you tainted
but as you struggle to reclaim your lost kindle
we bask in your greyish faint light
and hope that your waltz to the symphony of change
will soon take you to the path of a glorious self recreation ❞
somehow as beautiful sound
like oil pastels
Quick call of Pastel Heart
they named her Isabel
when she was born
there was a thunderstorm
outside her hospital room
her mother looked into her eyes
and saw the abyss staring back at her
she tried to keep Isabel in her womb
long enough to pass the date but
she could not stand
the pain in her brain
flames that could not be tamed
Isabel was chained
under the stairs
an ascent of nightmares and broken prayers
insinuating despairs of soldiers and heartbreakers
Isabel was her mother's thirteenth child
born on the thirteenth day, a Friday
she had nothing, only broken mirrors
jagged sides that cut through her fingers
every time she picked them up to look at her reflections
she too saw the darkness in her irises
they called her by her other name
for when she walked her feet did not touch the floor
people believed in her but she was never adored
she locked herself in a wooden coffin
only coming out of her hiding to the knocking
I saw Isabel that night
when I was on the verge of collapsing
she had a black cat in her arms
she was humming, swaying
to the flashes of the lightning
I said, 'Isabel, are you here to save me?
Are you here to be my saviour?'
they named her Isabel
for she is the devil wearing pastel
with my soul in her fists, with a crooked smile
'If I'm your salvation, welcome to hell'
13.09.2019 - Friday
on the horizon
pastel clouds float
swirled by the breeze
in awe of their color,
i only feel blue.
I challenged myself to use the words blue, breeze, and horizon or skyline.
You can try, too!
Sends me ballistic,
I can't function!
The beast in me won't stay in its grave!
A mental misfit-
Tell me am I too much to save?
These pastel colours are painted on my life pallet:
Love and Laughter,
Rage and Regret
The memories I'm after
The memories I want to forget
The red and blues are abused
These aren't the colours I should see!
How could I tell you?
You never come through-
It is killing me
I'm at the point where it hurts so much I hurt myself
Don't you understand the meaning of 'help'?
Twilight is pastel,
grey grief gripping the soul,
wrapping in a pall of thickened mist
with a sickening shade of
At the horizon,
you wait for the homing birds
to fly on its wings
like a dream glued to my life’s script.
Many times I wondered,
why you come back to this land
where the scary hand of the butcher
scuttles every dream;
where humanity drowns
in its own anguished cries.
The smell of blood is
intoxicating when its grasp
tightens like a noose
on my consciousness.
words from a conversation we had days ago echo in my mind turning into a lullaby, softly coaxing my eyelids shut. welcoming deep sleep to my weary heart.
each part of our souls intertwine to create a perfect panoply facilitated by the moon.
you and i under the same sky, all of a sudden the displeasures from the day before slowly melt away into the dark nighttime.
in the syzygy of our cosmic hearts we bask in the ethereal glow encompassed comfortably by the stars and moons.
involved in a state of a constant somnambulism so i never have leave the blissful reality conceived in my subconscious.
dreamers indulgence, walking hand in hand, free and filled with halcyon in the safety of sleep.
It's that feeling when you wake after a long sleep.
And the sun streams in through the window on your face.
I would give anything just to stay like that forever.
Getting up takes too much effort.
It's that feeling of heavy-lidded eyes on a long car ride.
The steady, low hum of the highway lullaby.
I beg sleep to meet me there.
Yet, she is evasive.
Because it's not what you see when you dream.
My attempt at describing a color.