That’s my take on life.

It’s like finding a beautiful old diary in an abandoned house, only to realise…it belonged to someone who died tragically.
It’s like accidentally stumbling on something morbid (say this poem haha), that hopefully, ends up changing your perspective in an oddly fascinating way.
In an oddly, maybe, for the better way. For the experiences you’ve made. For the possibility to reflect. Grateful for the transformation nonetheless.

Serendipitously morbid, that’s my take on the world…and I am starting to think that’s alright.

I AM NOT advocating for a bleak view of life, please DO seek out its joys, for they stay scarce sometimes. What I am advocating for, is the quiet beauty, hidden in moments that ache.

I am advocating, to not too quickly blame ourselves for having those morbid thoughts or for being pessimistic sometimes. That it’s alright to not see the endgame sometimes.

At least that’s what I think. I think acknowledging the constant tension of both extremes and learning to accept the ambivalences of life (in their truest, overwhelming forms) is simply seeing it for what it is.

Seeing it for what it is, in my opinion…is the beauty in finding the will, to want to see it through. The beauty in believing in a higher Power, in love, in happy endings and most of all learning to believe in Yourself.

We are thrown into this world, with no idea whatsoever of; what is to come, how to go about going there or where THERE, even is. The world just continues to run its imperfect course and no one has the script for it.

To be completely honest, I really like having scripts for things.
TIS(-m) the way I have functioned most of my life. So, I too am learning to adapt to the ambivalences of this Serendipitously Morbid life. Learning to revert from the B&W thinking.

Yours in brighter days,
Namib Dusk

Time does not drink tea
Not with sugar, not with milk
It does not have time
Not to stop, not to think

Time it moves
Without legs, without feet
Without a body or a head
It flows, it fleets

Time does not sit down
To eat, to breathe
To take a break is unheard of
It must go, it must wreathe

Time does not have time
To drink tea, or to think
It does not have time
To stop, or to blink

For time is generous
It gives, it heals
It grants us moments
To love, to feel

Time gives us chance
To live, to be
Thank you, Time
For the time to drink tea

---

I will Paint you a Husk from my Depths.  
No matter how Loud,  
how Far I Rend my Voice,  
the Emptiness Hears.  
Nothing Comes.  

---

Suspended in a Sallow Amber,  
I Cry and Thrash until I Croak—  
Raw Throat, Drowning in Red-Agony Wails.  

My Cries Obscur,  
Drowned by Humanity's Squalling Chorus.  

---

Zenith's Reach  

I kept Traveling up the Hell-Scorched  
Steeple, Birthed from Nightmare's Chasm.  
Over,  
and Over,  
OVER.  

Finally, Enduring my Ever-Gale,  
I made it to Zenith's Edge.  

My Heart Raptured,  
Pleading—My Maker in Revel.  

You Ignored my Rasping Dirge.  
My Lord, I am Torn across the Floor.  

You Went,  
and  

Shut the Door.  


God are you in pain just as I
Your existence,
Were you Forced to be Alive?
So Long that it Contrasts Us Whole.
You Our ever Weeping-God.
Whose Tears Attest Time

Martyr Of Sorrow


---

Our True Selves  

Time's Ethereal Claws ever Sunder—  
a Forever Phantom that Lingers  
without Invitation, Intrusive by Nature,  
to where it’s Unfathomable to Grasp Entire.  

Your Specter—  
I See it Clearly,  
the Figure Donned Behind the Mask.  

I Recognize You Now,  
my Being Forever Writhing:  
a Hand with Veiled Motives  
that Brought Ageless Wounds.  

I can Gaze upon Your True Self Now—  
You, my Own Harbinger of Decimation.  

---

Wailing Storm  

How do I Convey my Unfiltered,  
Volatile Emotions?  

I Endure—  
the Hellish Squalls,  
Neverending Gale in my Mind—  
into my Voice?  

You who Seared Deep Splinters,  
Woven within my Being,  
No matter how Much the Reassurance Weighs.  
My Mind:  
Paradoxical Entropy,  
Forever Believing the Opposite  

Birthing my Absconful End,  
I Wish for only a Moment’s Rest.  

Yet the World Abjures me,  
Scattering Myself  
into the Wailing Storm,  

whose Innocence Pilfered  
by Humanity's Unfaithful Nature.  

Birthed Abundant as a Bounty,  
Waned too Early, Wrought by Men,  
Felt as a Wrinkle in Humanity—  

Awaiting to be Struck by Iron's Ire,  
Inflicting me with Unshakable Doom.  

---

Our Plight  

I cannot Unsee it.  
Perhaps All of Us are the True Monsters Beneath,  
the Ones we Strive to Warn About.  

Humanity’s Failed Doctrine is a Facade.  
We All are Strifed,  
Masking our Hidden Selves.  

I cannot Resist but Agree:  
Hell is Empty—  
the Devil was Steeped Inside Us All Along.  

Yet Each Day,  
the Dreadful Phantom Keeps Consuming,  
an Insatiable Debt,  
Bending me Terribly to Pay without Consent,  
Whirling my Viscous Cycle—  

Nevermore,  
yet into Endless Torment.  

---

The Wind  

I am but a Sufferer,  
Shackled in the Maw of Past Echoes,  
Striving to be as the Unborn,  
Ever-Trapped by my Dogma,  
in an Unbounded Loop—  

where Help can Never Help.  

Past Actions Howl  
like Autumn’s Haunting Wind.  

Obsessed with Wind’s Tithing,  
the Way it Whistles and Breathes—  
a Hollow, Beautiful Tone.  

Envious of Winds, Aureate and Free,  
Stretching Far, Endlessly Heard.  

Eternally Wishing for Thoughts  
to Stretch into Oblivion,  

as Our Forgotten Do,  
that Dream Solace Beneath our Feet.  

---

Equinotic Slumber  

Still You Reach from Far Beyond,  
a Scorchful Hand in the Scar of Earth,  
Sundering Deep-Etched Echoes,  
where my Festering Thoughts Rot Unheard.  

I will Forever Bask in Neverending Equinox,  
where my Nightmares Pool in the Desolate Ebon—  
to a Stilled, Stagnant State.  

My Screams ever Dissipate,  
Flickering Out  
into the Place where Nightmares Sleep.

"She left the city as a girl
And returned a woman
In the same shoes
On the same night.
A face in the darkness;
The reaper glimpsed
At journey's end.
He straddles the bridge
Between tonight and tomorrow--
He's a revolver with
One bullet missing
From the chamber;
He's the Wheel of Fortune
With its terms unwritten;
He's an unsigned DNR notice.
He's the end of the line."

...Now, here, I stand,
miles ahead,
on disconnecting tracks,
a once-raging fire,
slowly fading,
to a silver smoke...

Wondering,
...where did you go?

Have your own wolfish eyes,
peered into glassy irises
that even, in the silences,

reminded you,
of mine?

What existed, in me
that you let me, survive?

Mister, oh, please, let,
me in on your secret...
and tell me, now, do you regret ...

how you kept me... alive...?

On a busy afternoon i sat on the floor,
and i felt someone looking at me.
Through the glass frame peering into room,
Was an old, brown wood tree.

The tree was old, yet rather slim,
And i wondered how it spent it's day.
Was it by feeling the raindrops fall?
Or by watching the children play?

The tree had rusty green leaves,
Dwelling on its branches all along.
When the wind blew and the leaves moved,
They'd whistle it a beautiful song.

The tree was still and i could move,
Yet to me, it felt more alive.
As i could move, still feel stuck.
And it was still, at peace and thrived.

I often envy the brown wood tree,
As it enjoys the sunset of june.
Thinking that, i get up and realize that I'm late,
To continue with my busy afternoon.

sad, and heart-wrenching. you don't know how else to describe it.
you're approaching graduation, and slowly starting to see your campus, your home away from home (that eventually became home), through the eyes of an alumna.
Slowly, yet instantly, your lasts begin to accumulate.
Last coffee & pastry from the arts cafe.
Last paper printed from the library.
Last haphazard multiple choice question selection.
You picked "c" again because it has always felt safe.
And don't even get started on the last moments in your dorm.
Your last classes.
Last walks around the lakes.
The best and worst thing about lasts is oftentimes, you are not aware (fully at least)
of the true finality of these experiences.
But that's what commencement is for... right?
Not directly, but sort of. Because commencement means 'beginning', not 'end'. We talk about all that we have done to get to this faithful graduation day, and it is good that the end is about beginning, but even the beginning ends.
So that space between the beginning of the end and the end of the end is quite strange.

You realize you will no longer attend school here, or maybe even anywhere, starting in just a few days.
Yet you're walking through the student center listening to a song you listened to when you walked around campus for the very first time.

Except everything seemed faster then.

Now, it all seems slow, perhaps even            frozen
           in                                 time.
Years ago, you didn't know the ins and outs of how this place was laid out; how it functioned.
You didn't see fuzzy memories at certain tables and buildings, and in certain nondescript corners.
You couldn't hear the ghostly 'Hello!'s echoing, familiar voices greeting you that now haunt the sidewalks
instead of traveling along them.
You are no longer in the moment when you started to call
this place home.
Except it's your last day of classes, and you've been here
quite a while, but it is, in fact, still home.
But something is fading, unclear in this
space
          between
                          spaces
The­ faces aren't familiar anymore,
and years ago, that would be something you
jokingly wished for, perhaps just to be left alone so you didn't have to pause your music.
But now, you long for that closeness in some way.
You'd find comfort in that sort of chaos.
And maybe you already started your post-grad job
before graduation because you needed to distract yourself
from the fact that it is all
so liminal.
a place between places, spaces between spaces,
a life lived between lives.
Where you're able to recognize that though your worst times were hosted there,
your best times also were.
and maybe it all wasn't truly just a well thought-out blur, because you found so much safety here, and learned to create that for yourself.
Without this place, it would've been tough to deal with what had been dealt.
This place lifted you up, showed you what you could do, and you created a life and love for yourself that you're starting to see now that you're through.
It hurts, yes, I know: to say goodbye to this chapter.
but it remains part of you, now and thereafter.
side note from the future: don't rush into things, just listen to yourself, because you are all you have
and the rest is what you have felt.